#i know the answer in SPIRIT of the question but by the LETTER of it. its still the rona.

[istherewifiinhell]

Spending more effort looking for a post than it would be to just. Remake a post but otherwise i HAVE. reaffirmed my timeline

Sept 12th. Get the rona. Put [1? 2?] Ep of tf 07 in fever haze

Sept 13-19 watch utena

Sept 20 [like 3-6 am] The Good Fic

Sept 21 -> 84 tf.

Also my first rona sts was in there sept 17 and i was stuck on the couch watching like 5 eps of tng. Thats not really related to the arc its just a good [bad] time

[quietwingsinthesky]

Still bothered by Azazel possessing a reaper. How tf did you do that, old man.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 9

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8

Jeff calls her. It’s the first time they’ve spoken on the phone, and something flutters in her chest.

“How did you get this number?” she asks, finger twirling the coiled wire of the phone as she smiles down at her socked feet.

“There’s only one Cunningham in the phone book, Chrissy,” he replies, all dry wit—she can almost see the smirk on his face. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”

She laughs, shuffling around her kitchen, suddenly desperate to move, but she’s leashed to the wall by her phone’s cord, so it’s only about four steps each way until she’s bungee-corded back to the starting point.

“Smartass.”

Jeff laughs this time, quiet the way he always is, but her chest feels like a supernova’s exploding in it. “But that’s not why I called.”

Chrissy’s smile fixes to her face before drooping down into her shoes with her gut. “What’s wrong?” she asks, now standing statuesque in her kitchen, cold tiles leaching all the warmth from her feet even through her thick socks.

“Nothing,” Jeff sighs, and there’s a crackling sound, like he’s rubbing his face in exhaustion. “Just—Steve drove me home.”

“Is he okay?” she asks, clenching the phone hard enough in her hand that the cheap plastic creaks.

“I think so?” Jeff replies, sounding unsure. “He just seems sad, man.”

Steve and Jeff don’t spend a lot of time together, but he’s been around enough that she trusts his judgment.

Steve is sad.

Chrissy wants to sink down to the cold tile beneath her and never get up. Instead, she shuffles back over to the phone and swings herself up onto the countertop—what her mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Her heels clack against the cupboards noisily, broadcasting her restlessness even as the worry sinks straight through her.

“What about?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“He thinks Eddie hates him.”

Chrissy sucks in a breath and lets it shudder out before biting her lip against the next logical question. “Does he?”

“He thinks he does,” Jeff replies promptly. “But he definitely doesn’t.”

Chrissy hums, too lost in her own head to think of a reply. It doesn’t matter what Eddie feels if the effect is the same: a sad Steve Harrington.

“I don’t think you guys should do this anymore,” Jeff says, snapping her out of her spiral.

“I know,” she groans, shoulders slumping. “But Steve’s hellbent on keeping it up.”

He sighs again, muttering, “boys,” with such a defeated air that she can’t help but laugh again.

“You just keep an eye on yours, and I’ll do the same for mine,” she says, smile audible in her voice. “Deal?”

“I feel like yours is a bit easier to wrangle than mine,” Jeff scoffs, a twinge of bitterness leaking into his tone.

And he’s right; Eddie still hasn’t even told Jeff about the letters he’s been getting, much less asked his opinion on them. Steve, at least, keeps her appraised of his next moves, shares his feelings, and asks for her help even if he won’t always take her advice.

So, when Steve’s acting weird when she sees him the next morning—all shifty-eyed and nervous—she doesn’t ask. He’ll tell her when he’s ready. Besides, the hallway’s too crowded, and she’s got a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with her and Jeff’s conversation last night.

She’s proved right when they hit the library at lunch instead of the cafeteria, and Steve barely waits until they’re settled in their usual table, feet interlaced.

“He hates me,” Steve whispers.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Steve pouts across at her, bottom lip stuck out like a puppy dog as he accuses, “you’ve been talking to Jeff.”

Chrissy bites her lip. “I always talk to Jeff.”

He rolls his eyes, but it seems to lift his spirits. “Did you ask him out yet?”

“Shut up.” She kicks him beneath the table until he laughs.

Without further preamble, he pulls a piece of paper from his bag and pushes it across to her. She expects the latest note from Eddie, having yet to read the last one, but it’s not—it’s a letter from Steve, clearly responding to something she’s yet to see.

“Did you pick up the letter yourself?” she asks, panic sinking through her. He could get caught, and then all their subterfuge will be for nothing. She might lose her best friend. 

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, so shyly that she can’t bear to chastise him further. “What do you think?”

She reads it again, trying to look past the panic to the words in front of her. “It’s good,” she says, and it is. “Do you want to send it like this?”

His handwriting is barely legible, even to her with her weeks of practice, and there’s a few misspellings, but she’ll do whatever he wants, forever and always. But he shakes his head, and asks, “Will you edit it?”

“Can I see the one you’re responding to?” she asks.

He pulls it out of his bag and pushes it across the table without a complaint. She picks it up and begins to read.

         Secret Admirer,

         There was a little hiccup with my guitar and plugging her in, but otherwise it went great! All four of the drunks at the Hideout clapped politely when we were done, and not even one of them booed us off stage!

         The riff is still getting on my last nerve, darling, you have no idea. I wish I could hear you play, I bet you’d inspire me so much, a stroke of genius would strike me and I’d know exactly what I’m missing.

         (I don’t know how to ride a bike. My dad was never around to teach me, and by the time I moved in with Uncle Wayne, I was too old to learn.)

         Darling, did you dream of me? Was it a naughty dream?

         Yours,

         Eddie

P.S. The Lord of the Rings is the name of the whole trilogy, so I hope you find it in The Fellowship. Can’t believe you don’t even know Tolkein. It’s okay, baby, I like you anyway. 

She smiles when she’s done, kicking him beneath the table as she asks, “Does this sound like someone who hates you?”

If anything, Steve just gets droopier. “It’s for you,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t have anything to say.

Chrissy squeezes his foot tighter between her own in a pantomime of a hug.

Even with his newfound pessimism, he carefully rereads her edited words once she’s done. He smiles down at it, clearly cheered by the act of writing to Eddie.

“It looks great, Chris,” he says genuinely, as if she’d done more than correct his spelling and rewrite his letter word for word.

“Thanks,” she replies, smiling across at him, relieved his spirits have risen. “Now, let’s drop this in his locker so he doesn’t have to wait too long to read your lovely letter.”

Steve’s ears turn red with embarrassment, but he dutifully wraps his arm around her waist and leads her out of the library.

Jason’s loitering outside of it, leaning against the wall like it’s a coincidence he’s here at all, but the way his eyes glare at the point where they’re in contact makes a liar out of him.

Steve seems to agree because he pulls her closer and asks, “problem, Carver?” in his snootiest King Steve voice.

Jason holds his hands up, smiling like this is all a coincidence, but he seems to have forgotten that Chrissy knows him, maybe better than anyone. She sees the way his arms are flexing, the way he’s baring his canines more than smiling, and it makes her feel on edge.

“No problem, man,” he replies, untold violence behind every word.

“Let’s just go,” she whispers to Steve.

She’s relieved when he nods, not sparing Jason another look as they take the most direct route to Eddie’s locker. He doesn’t respond until they’re well out of Jason’s hearing range. “That guy’s starting to really freak me out,” he says, talking quietly still, even after putting all this distance between them.

Chrissy sighs. The thing is, she still misses Jason, but the Jason she misses is at least a year dead and gone. Now, all that’s left of him is someone who wants to own her.

“Me, too.”

*** 

There’s something different about the letter he finds in his locker this time.

  Eddie —

  You were the best damn thing those drunks have ever seen, hands down. No, before you ask, I wasn’t there. But when I had that letter under my pillow, I dreamed a little dream (not naughty, I know you’re disappointed, sorry). I don’t remember the songs, but I remember the way you looked for me in the crowd and smiled. All the dream people gave you a standing ovation, me loudest of all.

  You’re never too old to learn to ride a bike. My dad didn’t teach me either, but a friend did. Maybe someday, I could be that friend for you, and when I tell you I won’t let go, you can rest easy knowing I’m not lying.

  Sincerely,

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. I know it’s still winter, but I’ll meet you in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The handwriting is just the same, and it’s as sweet as always, but still. There’s—something Eddie can’t quite put his finger on no matter how many times he rereads the letter. Maybe he should have paid more attention in English class instead of always working on his next campaign.

He watches Chrissy when she’s not paying attention, trying to figure out what’s changed, but Harrington always catches him and stares him down like a dog marking his territory.

It leaves him flushed, desperately trying to focus on whatever he’s supposed to be doing. By the time he looks up, Harrington’s always moved onto something else.

Maybe it’s just because they know each other now, spend time with each other, are even becoming friends? Eddie doesn’t mind, as long as the letters keep coming. He might even like this letter best of all. It feels more honest, real somehow, like he’s peeling back the layers of bullshit obfuscation to get to the truth of who she is.

He hopes it lasts.

It’s hard to write his own letter back, to meet that same level of transparency to someone who, despite now having a name and face, still feels like a nebulous being. A nebulous being whose favorite color he knows, who’s insecurities feel like they’re his own, whose words he’s stroked on the page late at night while unable to sleep.

He tries to pour that same energy back into his letter.

  Secret Admirer,

  I wish I could dream about you, too. I want to know your face well enough to hold it in my mind, even unconscious. I want to lay my head on my pillow tonight and know that you’ll be waiting for me in dreamland, ready to be the best groupie a guy could ask for.

  The truth is, no one’s loved me before. No one’s liked me, or kissed me, or held my hand during a scary movie. And, that’s scarier than any movie could ever be. Because, you’re it, baby. The one and only, and all that shit.

  I’ve got friends, and that’s enough for me! It really is! But a part of me just wants to hold someone’s hand—your hand. Maybe we can someday. Maybe we can do all the things we’ve talked about: go to a drive-in, play music together, learn to ride a bike. But even if we never do, I’m grateful for every one of these letters. Being wanted is new to me, and I’m not ready to give it up.

  Yours, always,

  Eddie

He steps into the Shakespeare section once more and slips the note into A Midsummer Night’s Dream and promptly tries his best to forget about it. It doesn’t work.

He wants a response immediately, dreads waiting the typical days it takes for a letter to appear in his locker, so no one can blame him for panicking.

“Do you want to come to a Corroded Coffin practice?” Eddie blurts after the latest Hellfire session.

Chrissy’s brow’s all furrowed up as she asks, “Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie’s surprised she doesn’t already know. He’s mentioned it at least once in one of his letters; does she not spend her nights pouring over the words like he does? Does she not have every dotted i and crossed t seared into her retinas?

His intestines wriggle around in his body, fingers itching to tear his letter into tiny little pieces before she reads his desperate, yearning words.

“My band,” Eddie replies, his response overlapping eerily with Harrington’s, “his band.”

Chrissy smirks between them but Eddie barely notices, too caught up in staring at Harrington. “How do you know that?” he demands.

Harrington’s shoulders curl, like Eddie’s the threat here as he mutters his response barely loud enough to hear over the sounds of the other Hellfire members packing up, “uh, the middle school talent show?”

Eddie’s lip quirks up as Harrington looks up from his own shoes and meets Eddie’s eyes. “You remember that?”

Harrington snorts. “Hard to forget, dude.”

Harrington’s smiling—he’s never noticed before but it’s a little off center, just enough to be endearing. Eddie smiles back helplessly, taking a step forward as he asks, “the king remembers little old me?”

He gets a laugh this time, Harrington’s eyes almost crinkling shut with his amusement. He’s got a nice laugh. Eddie’s never noticed before, hasn’t heard anything from him that wasn’t at least a little snide.

Eddie opens his mouth, desperate to elicit that noise again, when Chrissy pointedly clears her throat and reality comes rushing back in—what was that? He snaps his gaze back to her, shuffling his feet, feeling absurdly guilty. For what? Being nice to her boyfriend?

“When is it?” she asks.

It takes him a minute to remember what they were talking about. “Oh!” he exclaims, taking a step back when he realizes how close he’s gotten. “Uh, tomorrow night in Gareth’s garage.”

Chrissy’s smiling, but there’s something sly about it, Eddie knows, watching the flashing of her eyes, that Chrissy Cunningham knows what evil is and has the capacity to perform it. So much for his pet theory that she’s actually a golden retriever stuffed into a human girl’s body.

“Can Steve come?” When Eddie frowns, shifting his eyes to a red-eared Harrington standing stock-still beside her, she continues, “it’s just, Jason’s been a little intense lately?”

Carver’s name seems to bring Harrington back to life. He damn-near growls as he wraps his arm around Chrissy’s waist. “The word you’re looking for is stalkery.”

She snorts, “not a word, but yeah.”

Now that they mention it, Carver has seemed to be within arm’s reach of Chrissy for a while now, loitering on her fringes with his arms crossed like he’s staking his claim, even all these months after they broke up.

“Sure,” Eddie replies, and he means it. Harrington can come if it keeps Eddie from ending up on the wrong side of Carver’s fists. “Harrington can come.”

Harrington’s ears flush again, and he mutters an awkward, “thank you,” before leading Chrissy out of the drama room.

Once they’ve cleared out, Gareth sighs, long and loud as he says, “band practice is going to be so awkward.”

Eddie glares at him, having forgotten entirely about his audience while talking to Harrington and Chrissy. “Oh, it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, right,” Doug snorts, shouldering his bag and heading toward the door.

“Oh, ye of little faith!” he replies as all three of them head out the door, Jeff having inexplicably already left despite Eddie being his usual ride home on Hellfire days. “It’ll be fine!”

Before he drives the guys home, he doubles back to the library to try and steal back his note, but it’s too late: the doors are locked and by the morning, the note’s sure to be gone.

They’re right; band practice is awkward, and it’s not even Eddie’s fault. It’s not even Harrington’s fault. It’s Jeff’s.

“You look nice today,” Jeff says, looking directly at Chrissy, who blushes.

He’s right, she does look nice in a cute pink cardigan and some light-wash jeans that fit her well. It’s not Eddie’s style, but it suits her. But Jeff doesn’t have to say it while her boyfriend is standing right there.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling at Jeff.

Harrington just keeps standing there while Jeff does what can only be described as flirting, with his girlfriend. Everyone else carries on like this is normal, but Gareth’s sending him crazy-eyed looks proving that Eddie’s not the only sane one.

Doug’s too busy practicing his riffs, sure, and Jeff’s clearly gone off the deep end, but Harrington? What’s his excuse?

When he’d been dating Wheeler, he’d been all over her at all times, monopolizing her time whenever possible. And sure, Chrissy and Harrington are always together, but there’s never more than an arm around her waist or sitting close together. He’s never even seen them kiss.

And now here he is, letting Jeff flirt with his girlfriend right in front of him.

Eddie just doesn’t get it.

Corroded Coffin’s a fucking mess, Gareth keeping a beat only he can hear, Eddie missing every other note, and Jeff too busy looking at Chrissy to keep tempo. Only Doug is on his game, clearly getting more and more fed up with each new fuck-up.

Chrissy stays by Jeff’s side, whispering with him between songs while Harrington flops down on the couch and watches them play like it’s his own, personal concert.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off Steve. He wants to peel the guy like an onion, figure out what makes him tick, what makes him smile, why the hell he’s here in Gareth’s smelly garage watching his girlfriend make eyes at Jeff while she writes love letters to Eddie in her free time.

He wants to know.

He just—

Wants.

*** 

Steve’s words have been echoing around her brain for days—have you asked him out yet? It’s ridiculous, but before he’d said those words, she’d never even considered it as an option. Boys ask girls out, that’s how it works. But if Steve can like a boy, she can ask out Jeff.

That doesn’t make it any less scary though. She sits on the revelation for a few days more, watching Jeff out of the corner of her eye, flirting back after he instigates. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s still him instigating.

“I’m going to ask him out,” she tells Steve, not looking at him as they walk into the school together, too afraid of what she’ll see.

“Yeah?” he asks, bumping their shoulders together. “When?”

When she glances his way, he’s grinning ear to ear. She huffs, “I don’t know, soon?” Looking away so she doesn’t have to see that sly look on his face. “It’s just so scary.”

“I know, Chris,” he says, bumping into her again and again just to annoy her. “But you’re the strongest person I know.”

She doesn’t feel strong—she feels like a breeze might swipe her feet out from under her, but Steve believes in her. Steve thinks she’s strong, and she told him she’d ask Jeff out, so she will.

So, when Jeff next slides into her passenger seat, she starts the car and drives away without saying a word.

This has become something of a habit lately—if there’s no Hellfire, she drives Jeff home. Usually they talk, or turn on music they both like and sing along. The quiet has his feet tapping and fingers picking at the seam of his jeans. He grows more restless with each minute that passes.

“Chrissy?” he asks finally, a shyness to his voice that she’s not used to hearing. From the first time they’d spoken, he’s been confident—quiet, yeah, but assured. “Are you okay?”

Unable to take the waver of his voice sitting down, Chrissy veers off the side of the road, holding her arm out to keep Jeff from smacking into the dash at the abrupt change in momentum. She puts the thing in park, takes off her seatbelt, and turns in her seat to face Jeff head-on.

His eyes are wide, clearly freaked out by her erratic behavior, but he still unlatches his own seatbelt and mimics her position, awkwardly pulling his feet beneath him when it becomes clear his legs are too long to fit.

She’s helplessly charmed; it may just be Steve and Eddie’s letters rubbing off on her, but she wants to reach out and take his hand. So she does.

His fingers jerk in hers, pulling back a little like it’s instinct before he drops his hand on the console separating them and lets her link their fingers together. Even with the heater on, the interior of her car’s cold enough that his skin scalds against hers, sending a shudder through her.

“Is this the part where you murder me?” he asks, squeezing her hand. “Because if so, let me know.”

“So you can run away?” she asks, grateful for the moment of levity.

“No, because I’m a gentleman,” he replies, winking at her, “and I can help dig the grave, save you some work.”

Chrissy laughs, once again captivated by him. He’s a nerd, how is he so gosh darn charming? Her cheeks hurt, her heart hurts, her whole body is tingling with the anticipation of what she’s about to do.

“Chrissy—“

“Will you go out with me?” she asks, slapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes she interrupted him. She closes her eyes, entirely mortified. “Shoot, sorry!”

His hand spasms in hers before he tightens his hold. “You’re…” he starts, hand shaking in hers. She opens her eyes, horrible visions of him crying dancing behind her lids, but he’s laughing, whole body moving with the effort of suppressing it. “You’re apologizing for the best moment of my life?”

She laughs, too, helpless not to. “Is that a yes, or are you just laughing at me?”

He hums, tilting his head closer to hers, chuckles finally fading away as he replies, “can it be both?”

“Always.”

Chrissy bounces a little in her seat, vibrating with pent-up excitement. Maybe sometimes the girl can get the guy instead of the other way around.

He hums again, low down in his throat, and their gazes lock. The energy in her car is so electric her skin is buzzing with it. She wants to reach across the distance between them and steal a kiss. But girls don’t do that sort of thing. Girls aren’t supposed to—

She leans across the console separating them and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. Jeff gasps into it, like he’s the one being electrocuted now, and suddenly his hand is out of hers, but that’s okay because it’s on her face now, drawing her closer, closer, closer, as he sucks on her bottom lip until she gasps.

She might have stayed in that position forever, craning her body uncomfortably forward like a sunflower toward the light, if she hadn’t shifted a little too far to the left into her car’s horn with a bony hip.

As it blares, they both jump apart, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, looking around for a threat that will never come.

“Oops,” she whispers, settling back into her seat, back protesting at the change of angle.

Jeff laughs, head thrown back, long throat on full display. She wants to bite it, but the moment’s long since broken, so she puts her seatbelt on and shifts back onto the road, cheeks flaming, heart warm.

“Does this mean you’re going to give me your letterman jacket?” he asks once he’s finally stopped laughing. “I’m not familiar with jocks courting rituals.”

Chrissy’s responding laugh isn’t her usual cultivated giggle—it’s a bark that makes Jeff grin at her. “Oh my goodness, can you even imagine the looks we’d get?”

“Or that Steve would.” Jeff replies. “But you’ve gotta admit, I’d look good in his jacket.”

She almost wants to do it for the drama, Eddie’s presence rubbing off on her surely, but it’s not quite worth doubling the lynch mobs that will already be after all of them.

“You realize this is only making this whole situation even messier, don’t you?” she asks, eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” Jeff sighs, but his fingers reach across the car and settle atop her hand where it’s clasping the stick shift. “But worth it, right?”

She’s been smiling so much that her cheeks hurt, but at that, she damn-near beams ear to ear. “Yeah, baby,” she says, heat pooling low in her stomach when Jeff lets out a soft little gasp. “You’re worth it.”

PART 10

[alyrasturnz]

THIS IS ME TRYING

❐ summary » y/n struggles silently with a heavy heart. unable to open up to matt, y/n pens a poignant suicide note, a final cry for help. unbeknownst to y/n, matt stumbles upon the note, unraveling the depth of y/n's hidden pain. as the weight of the discovery settles, matt is determined to bridge the chasm of silence and offer the support y/n desperately needs.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » suicidal thoughts, suicide letter, implied depression

❐ a/n && w/c » this was a request but i forgot to reply to the ask and i only realized when i was balls deep into designing this. so this was my 3rd update tonight.. i literally have school in an hour i didnt sleep at all. • 3.54k

you lay in bed, motionless, enveloped by the stillness of the room, your thoughts a tangled web of inertia and despondency. each breath felt like an echo in the cavernous silence. the world outside continued to spin, oblivious to the stasis that had overtaken your being, leaving you suspended in a void where time seemed to stretch infinitely.

you haven't been able to get out of your bed lately. the weight of innumerable burdens has been amassing, creating an insurmountable heap that leaves you paralyzed with indecision. you grapple with an internal tumult, yet the words to articulate your struggle elude you, leaving you in a silent battle against an invisible adversary.

you didn’t know much, countless questions swirling in your mind without answers. yet amidst the haze, one truth crystallized with stark clarity: you were utterly and profoundly tired, both in body and spirit.

so, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you mustered the strength to sit up. you stood, the chill of the hardwood floor seeping through your feet, grounding you in the present. with deliberate steps, you made your way to your desk, each movement a small yet significant triumph over the inertia that had held you captive.

you had brushed matt off countless times, relying on the familiar refrains of "i'm busy" or "i don't feel well." there were even moments when you chose silence over any response at all, letting the unspoken words hang in the air like a heavy fog.

and you felt a gnawing guilt that only compounded your stress. it was as if the weight of your actions, or lack thereof, was an additional burden you were too weak to carry. each moment of avoidance chipped away at your already fragile resolve, leaving you feeling utterly incapable of handling anything.

you had endured this countless times before, but this time, it felt almost surreal. it was as if a cruel twist had taken hold of your very core, leaving you with a nauseating sense of unease. the sensation was both visceral and disorienting, amplifying the sickening nature of the experience.

you lowered yourself into the chair, the familiar creak accompanying your descent. with deliberate movements, you opened your notebook, the rustle of pages breaking the silence. you tore out a sheet, the sound sharp and final, before reaching into the drawer to retrieve a pen, its cool metal a reminder of the task at hand.

your thumb instinctively navigated to the pen's tip, the satisfying click resonating in the quiet room as you began to inscribe your thoughts upon the paper.

your mind was a chaotic whirlwind, the words on the page becoming an indecipherable jumble. amidst the confusion, one truth remained clear: you needed to muster the strength to say a proper goodbye.

you were writing, but the words felt disjointed and uncertain. the only coherent threads in your mind were the vivid memories you held with matt, each one weaving through your thoughts like a haunting refrain.

the ink from your pen flowed freely onto the paper, creating a tapestry of words even as tears welled in your eyes, blurring the lines between emotion and expression.

as you completed the final sentence, you gently placed your pen down, allowing the tears that had been welling up to cascade freely from your eyes, each drop a silent testament to the emotions etched within your words.

your heart constricted with a sudden, intense pang. but then, the sound of your front door clicking open broke through the haze, your head snapping toward the source of the unexpected intrusion.

"y/n?" matt's voice reverberated through the house, a resonant echo that amplified your growing panic.

you quickly opened your drawer, tossing your pen inside with a sense of urgency. grasping the piece of paper tightly, your eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for a suitable place to hide it, if only for the meantime. your mind raced, considering and discarding potential hiding spots, each one seeming inadequate under the pressure of the moment.

your heart raced with mounting intensity as you discerned the deliberate footsteps of matt ascending the stairs, each step echoing ominously and amplifying your sense of impending confrontation.

you swiftly crumpled the paper in your trembling hands, casting it to the ground with a hurried flick. using your foot, you deftly kicked it to the side, hoping to obscure it from view.

matt opened the door, his gaze locking onto yours. his eyes, which had initially held a stern intensity, softened almost immediately, a subtle shift that spoke volumes.

"hi, sweetheart," he murmured, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he quietly closed the door behind him. "you okay? you don't look well," he continued, his voice laced with concern as he approached you. his hands tenderly cupped your face, his eyes meticulously examining your features for any sign of distress.

his eyes meticulously traced the contours of your face, lingering on the more pronounced cheekbones that seemed to have become more defined over time. he noted the somber shadows beneath your eyes, dark bags that told the silent tale of sleepless nights and unspoken worries. 

his gaze moved with a deliberate slowness, absorbing every detail as if trying to understand the depth of your weariness through the subtle changes in your appearance.

it's true. you don't look well at all. it seems you've neglected self-care, with showering becoming an infrequent luxury rather than a daily ritual. you haven't been nourishing yourself properly, if at all. sleep has eluded you for many moons, leaving you in a state of perpetual exhaustion. your once sun-kissed skin had now taken on a pallid hue, a stark contrast to its former vitality.

he surveyed your room, his eyes taking in the disarray before finally settling back on you.

"i was going to discuss something else with you, but..." he murmured softly, his thumb delicately tracing the contours of your face, lingering as if to memorize every curve. "do you want me to run a bath for you?" matt inquired, his voice a soothing balm to your weary soul.

a bath does sound nice, you muse internally, the thought wrapping around you like a warm, comforting embrace.

"yeah..." you murmur softly, accompanied by a gentle nod. matt's smile widens, his hands falling to his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if reluctant to let go. you turn around slowly, the weight of the moment lingering in the air, a silent understanding passing between you.

his hand found its way to the small of your back, a reassuring presence that guided you with gentle insistence towards the bathroom, each step a silent promise of comfort and care.

you stood in the middle of the bathroom, feeling the cool tiles beneath your feet, as he turned the faucet of your bathtub on. he then bent down, opening the cabinet under your sink with practiced ease, retrieving a bath bomb with a flourish, its vibrant colors promising a moment of tranquility.

he plopped the bath bomb into the water, watching as it dissolved and painted a mesmerizing tapestry of colors across the surface. turning to face you, his eyes reflected the swirling hues, a silent invitation to join in the moment of serene beauty.

"up," he said softly, his hands deftly finding their way to the hem of your shirt. as you lifted your arms, matt carefully guided the fabric upwards, the motion slow and deliberate, as though savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

matt discards the shirt into the laundry basket with a casual flick, his hands then finding their place on your hips. with a gentle yet firm pull, he slides your sweatpants down, the fabric pooling at your feet as you step out of them, the movement fluid and unhurried.

you slowly walked over to the bathtub, each step deliberate and measured. as you approached, matt turned the faucet off with a precise motion, the water now still and inviting as you stepped inside, feeling the warmth envelop you.

you felt the warmth of the water envelop your skin, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips for the first time in what felt like an eternity. the gentle embrace of the water seemed to wash away the weight of countless days, leaving behind a fleeting moment of pure serenity.

"i'm gonna be back," matt said, his voice a gentle promise as he left the bathroom, the door closing softly behind him. you sank further into the bathtub, the water cradling you as you closed your eyes, surrendering to a moment of deep relaxation.

matt surveyed your room, his eyes absorbing the disarray with a contemplative gaze before he made his way to your bed, each step deliberate amidst the chaos.

he meticulously made your bed, replacing the sheets with fresh, crisp ones and arranging the pillows with deliberate care, ensuring each one found its rightful place.

he then gathered the scattered dirty clothes from the floor, swiftly descending to the laundry room. with a practiced motion, he deposited the soiled sheets and garments into the washer before making his way back upstairs.

he then approached your desk with a discerning eye, methodically organizing the clutter and discarding any paper that served no purpose. his gaze landed on a piece of paper lying adjacent to the bin. he intended to discard it, but the extensive writing it bore caught his attention.

he picked it up, carefully uncrumpling it and placing it onto your table. he was about to move on, but something made him glance back at it. there, amidst the text, was his name, written with unmistakable clarity.

his brow furrowed in contemplation as he delicately retrieved the piece of paper, his fingers tracing its edges with a sense of curiosity.

matt,

i don't even know where to begin. my heart is breaking as i write this, and i can't help but think of all the memories we've shared. every laugh, every tear, every quiet moment where we just existed together. you were my everything, and i wish i could have been stronger for you.

i've been fighting this darkness for so long, and it's like a weight that i can't lift anymore. i've tried to hold on, for you, for us, but i'm so tired, matt. i feel like i'm suffocating, and there's no air left for me to breathe. please know that this isn't your fault. you did everything you could, and you were my light in the darkest times.

i'm so sorry for the pain this will cause you. i wish i could stay and be the person you deserve, but i can't keep pretending that i'm okay. i don't want you to remember me like this, broken and lost. think of the times we danced in the kitchen, the nights we stayed up talking about our dreams, the mornings we woke up tangled in each other's arms. hold on to those moments and let them bring you comfort.

whenever you look at the sunset, think of me. think of the warmth and the beauty, and let it remind you of the love we shared. as much as it might hurt, i want you to move on. my selfish actions shouldn't take away your happiness and your potential to become better. you deserve all the happiness in the world, and i hope one day you'll find it again. don't let my absence take away your light. keep shining, keep loving, and keep living. i'll always be with you, in your heart, in your memories.

with all my love,

y/n

as soon as matt finished reading the letter, tears began to cascade down his face uncontrollably. he felt as though the very air had been stolen from his lungs, each breath a struggle as the weight of the words pressed heavily upon his heart.

he let out a soft sob at the thought of losing you to something he could’ve helped with. oblivious to your suffering, he was tormented by the realization that you had never confided in him.

matt stumbled into the bathroom, his hands trembling as he clutched the note, the paper crinkling under the pressure of his grip. his eyes, red and swollen from the relentless tears that refused to cease, bore the weight of his anguish. y

ou looked up from the bathtub, your face a poignant blend of exhaustion and sorrow, the dark circles under your eyes speaking volumes of sleepless nights and silent suffering. the room seemed to close in around him, the air thick with unspoken words and the heavy scent of despair.

"matt?" you mutter, your voice laced with a palpable concern, each syllable trembling as it escapes your lips, reflecting the depth of your unease and the gravity of the moment.

matt raises his trembling hand, revealing the crumpled letter, and in that instant, you feel your heart seize, as if time itself has momentarily halted.

"what is this?" his voice cracked, but now it carried a sharp, almost accusatory edge. "what are you doing?"

you could barely meet his eyes, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you like an unrelenting tide. "matt, i... i don't know what i'm doing. i'm so lost. i'm so alone."

he dropped to his knees beside the tub, the note still clutched tightly in his hand. "you think this is the answer? just leaving me like this?" his voice trembled, a volatile mix of anger and hurt lacing every word.

tears streamed down your cheeks as you reached out to touch his face, your fingers trembling. "i'm sorry, matt. i feel like i'm drowning in my own thoughts. i don't know how to make it stop."

he shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface like a simmering cauldron. "you don't care about what this would do to me? to us? you think disappearing is the solution?"

you leaned in, your breath trembling as you delicately brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. you paused for a moment, your fingers lingering on his skin, tracing the contours of his face as if trying to memorize every detail. 

then, with a tenderness that belied the turmoil within you, you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "i don't want to, but i feel so trapped. it's like i'm stuck in this darkness and i can't find my way out."

matt's eyes flashed with a tumultuous blend of anger and desperation. "you can't just give up! we have to fight this together. running away won't solve anything."

"i don't know how, matt. i don't know how to let you in when i can't even understand what's happening to me," you whispered, your voice trembling as you pulled away, feeling the warmth of his hands cupping your face.

"we'll figure it out together," he whispered, his voice filled with determination but still tinged with frustration. he took a deep breath, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face, as if trying to imprint the moment into his memory. "just promise me you'll stay. we'll find a way through this, i swear."

you nodded, tears cascading down your cheeks like a relentless stream. "i'm scared, matt. i'm so scared of what i'm feeling," you confessed, your voice quivering with the weight of your emotions.

he pulled you into a tight embrace, his own tears mingling with yours. "i know, but you're not alone. i'm right here with you, every step of the way," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of your fears, as his arms tightened around you, anchoring you in the shared vulnerability of the moment.

you clung to him, the warmth of his hug a small comfort in the storm of your mind. "thank you, matt. i don't know what i'd do without you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you buried your face in his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

"you'll never have to find out," he vowed, his voice steady and strong, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface. "we'll get through this, together," he promised, his words a resolute anchor as his grip tightened, conveying a fierce determination to weather the storm side by side.

with that, you allowed yourself to lean into his strength, the darkness still looming but no longer as suffocating. matt's unwavering support and his raw, honest emotions were the beacon you needed to start navigating your way back from the abyss.

»--•--«

it had been half a year since matt had stumbled upon the letter that bared your soul's darkest thoughts. true to his word, he had been a steadfast beacon, guiding you through the tempestuous seas of your despair.

now, you find yourself enveloped in a profound sense of contentment, a state of happiness that has eluded you for what feels like an eternity. matt, with unwavering dedication, facilitated your journey into therapy, and his presence has become a constant in your life, as if he has seamlessly integrated himself into your very existence, never straying from your side.

you would find solace in the nights spent at his place, and he would reciprocate by staying over at yours. matt, with meticulous care, ensured that every action he took was aimed at nurturing your well-being and lifting your spirits.

he unearthed a myriad of shared hobbies for the two of you to indulge in, much like the one you're presently engaged in.

you and matt find yourselves amidst a picturesque picnic, where he has decided to embrace the art of painting as well.

your paintbrush delicately grazed the canvas, a gentle smile playing on your lips as you meticulously brought a beautiful garden to life through your strokes.

"matt! look," you giggle softly, your voice a melodic whisper, as matt leans over, his eyes twinkling with curiosity and admiration, to behold the intricate masterpiece you've crafted.

"that looks beautiful, sweetheart," he murmured tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, as a delicate pink hue blossomed across your cheeks.

“y’think so?” you inquire, turning towards him with a mixture of hope and curiosity in your eyes, seeking the affirmation and reassurance that only his words could provide.

he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in, planting a tender kiss onto your lips. "i know so," he murmured with a smile that spoke volumes of his unwavering certainty.

as you both continued painting, a comfortable silence enveloped the space between you. the gentle hum of nature filled the air, with the chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves composing a symphony of tranquility that seemed to dance around you.

matt broke the silence, his voice imbued with a thoughtful resonance. he paused for a moment, glancing around as if the memories were painted in the very air around you. "do you remember the first time we came here? it was right after that big storm, and everything was so fresh and new."

you laughed softly, the memory vivid in your mind. the sound of your laughter seemed to blend with the gentle rustling of leaves, creating a harmonious melody. "yeah, we got soaked trying to find shelter, but it was worth it. the meadow looked like a scene from a fairy tale."

he nodded, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes reflecting the warmth of the memory. "i think that's when i knew this place would always be special to us. it's like our own little world, untouched by everything else."

you looked at him, feeling a surge of affection swell within you, like a tide rising to meet the shore. "it's not just the place, matt. it's what we've built together. the memories, the growth... it's all part of our story."

he squeezed your hand gently, his eyes reflecting the same sentiment, a silent echo of your own feelings. "you're right. and i wouldn't trade any of it for the world."

"you know," you began, dipping your brush into a shade of blue, watching the pigment mix with the water, swirling gently before lifting it to the canvas and applying it with careful, deliberate strokes, "i never thought i'd feel this peaceful again."

matt glanced over, his own painting a beautiful mess of colors and emotions, each brushstroke layered with meaning and depth. "i always knew you would," he replied, his voice soft yet unwavering. "you've come so far, y/n. it's incredible to see you like this." 

you smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling with genuine happiness, a warmth spreading through your chest. "i couldn't have done it without you, matt. your support, your patience... it meant everything."

you both fell silent again, the weight of your shared history settling comfortably around you like a well-worn blanket. it was in these moments of quiet reflection that you truly appreciated the profound depth of your bond.

finally, you lifted your brush, a newfound resolve kindling within your heart. "to new beginnings," you said, your voice steady and imbued with hope.

matt echoed your words, his smile a reflection of your own. "to new beginnings," he repeated, his voice resonating with the same hopeful resolve.

tags — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668

[lightyaoigami]

☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ how to resume ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ

after 10 years & 6 jobs in corporate america, i would like to share how to game the system. we all want the biggest payoff for the least amount of work, right?

know thine enemy: beating the robots

i see a lot of misinformation about how AI is used to scrape resumes. i can't speak for every company but most corporations use what is called applicant tracking software (ATS).

no respectable company is using chatgpt to sort applications. i don't know how you'd even write the prompt to get a consumer-facing product to do this. i guarantee that target, walmart, bank of america, whatever, they are all using B2B SaaS enterprise solutions. there is not one hiring manager plinking away at at a large language model.

ATS scans your resume in comparison to the job posting, parses which resumes contain key words, and presents the recruiter and/or hiring manager with resumes with a high "score." the goal of writing your resume is to get your "score" as high as possible.

but tumblr user lightyaoigami, how do i beat the robots?

great question, y/n. you will want to seek out an ATS resume checker. i have personally found success with jobscan, which is not free, but works extremely well. there is a free trial period, and other ATS scanners are in fact free. some of these tools are so sophisticated that they can actually help build your resume from scratch with your input. i wrote my own resume and used jobscan to compare it to the applications i was finishing.

do not use chatgpt to write your resume or cover letter. it is painfully obvious. here is a tutorial on how to use jobscan. for the zillionth time i do not work for jobscan nor am i a #jobscanpartner i am just a person who used this tool to land a job at a challenging time.

the resume checkers will tell you what words and/or phrases you need to shoehorn into your bullet points - i.e., if you are applying for a job that requires you to be a strong collaborator, the resume checker might suggest you include the phrase "cross-functional teams." you can easily re-word your bullets to include this with a little noodling.

don't i need a cover letter?

it depends on the job. after you have about 5 years of experience, i would say that they are largely unnecessary. while i was laid off, i applied to about 100 jobs in a three-month period (#blessed to have been hired quickly). i did not submit a cover letter for any of them, and i had a solid rate of phone screens/interviews after submission despite not having a cover letter. if you are absolutely required to write one, do not have chatgpt do it for you. use a guide from a human being who knows what they are talking about, like ask a manager or betterup.

but i don't even know where to start!

i know it's hard, but you have to have a bit of entrepreneurial spirit here. google duckduckgo is your friend. don't pull any bean soup what-about-me-isms. if you truly don't know where to start, look for an ATS-optimized resume template.

a word about neurodivergence and job applications

i, like many of you, am autistic. i am intimately familiar with how painful it is to expend limited energy on this demoralizing task only to have your "reward" be an equally, if not more so, demoralizing work experience. i don't have a lot of advice for this beyond craft your worksona like you're making a d&d character (or a fursona or a sim or an OC or whatever made up blorbo generator you personally enjoy).

and, remember, while a lot of office work is really uncomfortable and involves stuff like "talking in meetings" and "answering the phone," these things are not an inherent risk. discomfort is not tantamount to danger, and we all have to do uncomfortable things in order to thrive. there are a lot of ways to do this and there is no one-size-fits-all answer. not everyone can mask for extended periods, so be your own judge of what you can or can't do.

i like to think of work as a drag show where i perform this other personality in exchange for money. it is much easier to do this than to fight tooth and nail to be unmasked at work, which can be a risk to your livelihood and peace of mind. i don't think it's a good thing that we have to mask at work, but it's an important survival skill.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ good luck ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ｡⋆

[servantofthefates]

How I Speak to My Ancestors

My elders have taught me this process, because it is the safest and surest. The modern way of simply sitting down and meditating opens itself up to other spirits responding, lying, pretending.

The Time

Whenever I feel the need, I approach. But the most potent occasion for communing with the dead is on the anniversary of their birth or their death, as well as on the last days of October and the first days of November, when the veil between realms is at its thinnest.

The Place

Wherever I am in the world, if I feel the need, I approach. But the most powerful location for meeting the dead is the cemetery where they are buried, or the room where their ashes are kept, and the place where they spent most of their years – their true home.

The Conduit

I hold in both hands a goblet filled with water and three drops of my blood. Water takes the path of least resistance, making it the best vehicle for intent. As for blood, my earliest ancestors do not know my face. I need to show them who I am deep inside.

The Summoning

Alone – in a quiet corner or inside a tent if I am somewhere public – I gaze upon the goblet and say, “In the name of those who made me, I call upon those who came before me.” If it is someone in particular whom I wish to speak to, I say their name.

The Query

The moment I feel the atmosphere change around me – from cold to warm, or the other way around; from light to heavy, or from dark to bright, I recite my query. A question about my past, present or future. Whatever requires my ancestors’ advice or answer.

The Answer

I wait. Sometimes the blood rises up to the surface, forming symbols or letters. Other times the goblet sends vibrations – soothing or frightening, conveying how I will soon be feeling. Other times yet, sound originates from the water and travels up to my ear, delivering names, dates and entire sentences.

The Token

After I have received my answer, I empty the goblet, pouring its contents on the ground or down the drain – whatever my surroundings allow. The moment I reach home, I fill the goblet with wine, and place it among plants or flowers (the garden or an altar) as a token of my gratitude to my ancestors. I dispose of it respectfully a day later.

[transformation4life]

Army, Man

Juan was your average guy before his life was changed forever. Decent grades at his dream college, but no friends to speak of. So when he received a letter to join the US army in his assigned mailbox Juan was very confused. "The army? They must joking." Juan spoke as he looked at the recruitment flyer in his dorm room.

Juan and being enlisted in the army sounded like a twisted joke to him. He was scrawny and could barely do one pushup in gym class. Either way, Juan noticed a number at the bottom of the flyer in big bold letters and some voice in his head was nagging at him to call it.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll be fun! Who knows!" So Juan grabbed his phone and dialed the number.

Some rings later and it sounded like a guy picked a phone. "Hey there, Name's Gruff, I'm assuming you're calling cause of the flyer you got in the mail, yeah?" Gruff's was deep and masculine. Definitely Juan's type but I bet he was straight.

"Y-Yeah! I thought I'd give it a shot since it's not like I got anything better to do!"

"That's the spirit man! Our army count has been real low due to... events so even one guy joining is great! But first I just need to ask you a few questions..." "A-Alright. Go on ahead..." Juan had to wonder what they would ask. "First question! Are you sure you want to join the army?" Gruff's tone was dead serious on this one and it shook Juan up a bit. "U-Uh... Yeah!" Juan was too far in to quit now at least that was his reasoning.

"Wonderful! Next question. How muscular are you?"

Juan frowned. As mentioned before, he barely had muscle and never went to the gym. Still, he felt the need to answer honestly.

"N-Not really sir. Sorry." "Haha don't worry about it! Alright that's all see you soon!" Gruff hung up before Juan could even say bye.

Juan was a bit shaken but that wasn't too bad. Juan pondered the interaction and something hit him. "Wait... I didn't tell him my address and he said he'll see me soo-" A wave of pain immediately hit Juan and he fell to the floor.

It wasn't before long Juan's body began to grow and get more muscular. Juan's arms became much beefier as his biceps were the size of sports balls. Six perfect abs popped onto Juan's stomach as his nonexistent chest began to inflate and become thick poppable pecs as his back expanded to support his new musculature making his tshirt real tight. Soon after, Juan's neck got thicker as his adam's apple was now ever more prominent than before as he gained some facial hair around his mouth. Juan's legs were next to grow as his thighs became much larger and his legs more defined as feet increased some sizes. Luckily Juan wasn't wearing any shoes but Juan's socks definitely didn't survive the growth. Some more minor changes appeared like a bigger dick and Juan's body aging physically. It's a miracle none of Juan's clothes ripped apart but it's not like it mattered anyway as Juan's apparel began to change.

Juan's graphic tee became more tough material and more generic as it became a dark green. It was still tight around Juan's figure though. Next up was Juan's pants as it gained a camouflage pattern and became cargo pants. A belt magically appeared and looped around the belt holes of his news pants as well as an army hat wrapping around Juan's head. Juan's socks were stitched back together and went a dark black and suddenly army boots were now being worn by Juan. The last change was an army tag appearing around Juan's neck saying "Juan Graham". Juan was now the definition of a buff army man.

Once the pain subsided and Juan regained his bearings he readjusted his glasses and looked at the mirror nearby. "What the- WHAT THE FU- Oh god, my voice... my EVERYTHING!" Juan was amazed but also scared. He gained muscles in seconds but how?

And before Juan could question things further, Juan's phone rang once again. Juan saw that it was the army recruit number. He concluded they must be involved so he answered the call.

"Hey Juan, ready for your first day?" It was Gruff again "First day? You did this to me, didn't you?"

"Not sure what you mean, but you agreed to join the army and we need you now." "But I don't even know anything about how to do anythin-" One more sound of pain hit Juan as memories of years of military training and gym workouts filled his mind. Everything he could ever need to be in the army was now in his brain. Juan now much more confident started a new sentence. "Nevermind. When does the car get here?"

"That's our Juan! Should be there soon. You can walk out and wait already." "Perfect. See you soon." Juan hung up and left his dorm and old life behind. It was probably for the best anyway. He much preferred being a beefcake army man than some twink in college.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Apologies for not posting for a couple months. I got major writer's block but here's a story for you guys hope you like it!

[mysticheathenn]

What Are The Lies You Tell Yourself?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is about the many things you tell yourself to keep yourself small, stay in toxic relationships, make yourself feel bad, etc. Maybe even words of kindness to help dispel those lies.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

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Next Reading: Patreon (unless spirit says otherwise)

Pile l:

What are the lies you tell yourself? Tarot: 4 Swords (reversed), 2 of Swords, Awakening, 9 of Wands, 7 of Swords (reversed)

Pile l you have two different messages so I will start off with the first message of those who like to self-sabotage their lives. You like to feed yourself the narrative that you are too busy and everything is hard because you are afraid of failure. You are afraid of the things that can come from actually doing the many things that you say you want and will do. This might be success, failure, or fear of losing those around you because you aren't sure if leveling up will cause a rift or if people will start asking for money but either way, you refuse to look at yourself with complete honesty and accountability when it comes to achieving your goals because you are always feeding yourself lies as to why you can't do them out of fear of the unknown and it's time you stop lying to yourself. This doesn't even have to be a fear of failure or success, etc this could just be you feeding into your imposter syndrome or for some of you feeding into your Lana Del Rey era where you fear if you aren't sad, stressed, or anxious you won't be loved, be a funny person anymore, whatever the reasoning is. You have to give yourself a chance to fly or else you will never know what you are truly capable of or even know if you can really fly.

The 2nd message is for those who identify with hyper-independence. You refuse to acknowledge the fact that the reason you do everything yourself is because you fear having the few people around you let you down like others have. So you continue to feed this narrative of "I like to do things myself." "I'm the only one who can do things right around here." While some of it may be true...you really deep down fear people letting you down again. You are prolonging the inevitable of letting people show you who they really are. Let others around you help you so you can have a break now and then, stop always trying to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. If someone messes up or doesn't come through...so be it. You can't control everything in your life...you are going to have to release some of that control and go with the flow and allow things to come and go no matter how lonely or horrible the feeling may feel. Better will come when you stop trying to control everything.

Extra Messages: Tea Trea Oracle Deck: June, Slowly but surely getting ahead, dissatisfaction with life, An exciting life, waiting for news/ package/ or letter, Do not back down from the opposition show strength and fortitude, solid foundation success with effort, feeling tied down or frustrated.

Pile ll:

What are the lies you tell yourself? Tarot: 7 of Cups, The Star, Page of Cups, 8 of Swords, Queen of Pentacles.

Similar to how pile l has two messages so does this pile. The first message I would like to ask is who hurt you? Who hurt you enough to where it made you believe that you can't be loved, shouldn't be loved, nor seek love. You continuously keep yourself in a small corner...my own little corner from the Cinderella movie featuring Brandi is playing in my head (Link to Song). Long story short you feel small when you are around others like you have to change who you are in order to be and feel loved but when you are alone you are exactly who you want to be if not exactly who you want to be at least you have an idea or a sense that who you are currently is not who you want to be and it's sad love. I want to hug you and let you know that you should be around others who see you, for you. You are not hard to love and you deserve the best and purest love there is. Stop feeding into the narrative of others as your own, because it's not.

The second message is similar to the first message and a little bit of the first message of pile l. You like to tell yourself reasons why you don't deserve nice things or feed into the mindset that you will never amount to financial abundance. I feel some of this mindset has to deal with childhood/adolescent trauma others of you this may have developed because you kept feeling like every time you got a leg up life would knock you down a peg as to tell you, you aren't meant to have good things when in reality life was trying to redirect you or point you in a direction of something better. You were meant to shine and have many options of abundance in your life. This message is for a few of you but this also has to deal with your looks. You possibly feel that your looks are not up to par and that everyone you meet is always better looking than you. You may also have a fear that if you ever did decide to date that the person you are with would leave you for someone better looking or "better" in general.

Extra Messages: Tea Trea Oracle Deck: A path with money is waiting for you to find it, Getting together with friends, Take care or there will be a loss of material wealth, Opportunity of windfall, Stepping into a new experience, Work/success/achievement, Affairs with your family.

Pile lll:

What are the lies you tell yourself? Tarot: 5 of Wands, Justice, 6 of Cups, 10 of Wands

This doesn't feel like a lie per se that you tell yourself like the other piles but more so of the delusion you feed yourself. This feels more of a victim mentality mixed in with entitlement and before you say nope not me....*David Beckham's voice* Be Honest. How do you feel when you aren't getting your way or dealing with small inconveniences. Be Honest. If the answer is you complain about life not being fair and you go into victim mentality mode that everything always happens to you and not for you or you just feel for whatever delusional reason that life must always cater to you without any kind of effort is....quite bold...I will applaud you for that love. You have the confidence of a mediocre white man, haha. I love to see it. This per se again isn't all that bad but it kind of is as it stems from your childhood of you parents always handing you gold stars for just existing or putting in "at least they did it" energy. You like to believe that you are doing hard work or you are doing a lot when really you self-sabotage or you do one little thing and expect life or others to bend towards your will because you "tried". This message doesn't even feel like a message to help guide you but more so to act as a mirror because it has been a while since you have been completely honest with yourself and your behavior. Some of you might be sick of yourselves and need this while others of you don't smell your own shit.

Extra Messages: None. You don't really need extra messages as your reading was all the message that you needed for a shift and clarity on how things are. Stop lying to yourself. Look in the mirror and ask if you really love what you see? If you really love the kind of person you are? If you really love how you move in your life towards things you want.

Pile lV:

What are the lies you tell yourself? Tarot: The Tower, The Empress, The Sun, Queen of Cups

Three major arcana cards and one minor arcana say a lot about you, pile lV. At first because of the type of reading this is I thought maybe you might be afraid or lying to yourself about becoming successful or experiencing happiness but as I drew clarifiers for your pile it started to come together that you are not being authentic to who you are in your feminine energy. What I mean is that you are people-pleasing way too much to the point where when you want to say no, you say yes instead. This pile gives me the vibes that when a guy approaches you, you are on your "best lady-like behavior when politely declining the guy." Even when he keeps persisting and etc you refuse to act out of character and say listen my guy back the fuck up and fuck off. Take a hint. You can be in your feminine energy and still maintain boundaries, and say what you want to say without coming off as "hard, rough around the edges, etc. There was a YouTube short the other day that was from the Clock app where someone was making fun while also having a point when it comes to people pleasers. "Oh, you're such a people pleaser...how many people have you pleased?" So many people have stitched it not being able to answer this question because who have you pleased? Do you consider yourself a dog pleasing its owner for treats, shelter, and so forth. For some of you, this all stems from childhood because maybe you grew up in a transactional household where your parents or family didn't do anything for you without expecting something in return, or even romantic and friendships have done this. It's okay to say no from time to time. It's okay to not be this prime and prissy-like persona. Again you can be loving and kind while still painting boundaries and saying no to things you don't want to do.

Extra Messages: None like pile lll, you don't really need any extra messages as your message has everything that you need to hear.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

Next Reading: Patreon (Unless spirit says otherwise)

[sparxwrites]

“Grian?” calls Mumbo, pushing the door to his friend’s precariously-perched cliffside home open. It hadn’t been an easy climb up, not without elytra, and now he’s up here he’s half-worried the whole thing might collapse underneath him. Not that elytra would really help with that if it did. “You in here, mate? Just, uh – friendly friend check-in! I mean, neighbour check-in! Friendly neighbour check-in! I mean– look, no one’s seen you for a couple of days, and I just wanted to make sure–”

Then Mumbo registers what he’s actually looking at. Or, rather, registers that he’s looking at something, anyway. It’s not entirely clear what the something is. 

“Grian. Mate. What on earth are you doing?”

Grian’s head perks up, from the middle of a truly bewildering pile of clothing, all bright and beady-eyed. His wings perk up too, an odd little raise so the elbow-joints are higher than his head, the wings themselves slightly flared. Mumbo’s never seen him make that gesture before.

“Mumbo!” Grian says, brightly – and then, blissful, says “Nest.”

“I can see that.” Mumbo can, indeed, see that. It’s definitely a nest, for a given definition (‘bunch of stuff piled up approximately in a circle’) of nest. It’s also technically an answer to his question, but it feels very much more letter of the law than the spirit. And not that it’s unknown for Grian to be an obstructive pain in the behind, or to be a rules lawyer, but this feels… different. “Why’re you in a nest, buddy?”

For a moment, Grian considers that, head cocked to one side. “Nest,” he concludes, eventually, conclusively, which– again, doesn’t really answer the question, but answers a few others. “Give me your jacket.”

Mumbo sighs, and starts shrugging off his jacket. He knows what happens if he tries to refuse; his moustache is only just recovering from the last time he attempted to preserve his clothing in the face of Grian’s nesting instincts. “That time of the year?” he asks, sympathetically. “Something made you broody? Based too high up and now you’re all bird-brained?”

“Jacket,” says Grian, holding out both hands expectantly, which is a firm yes on the bird-brained and a vague who knows on everything else.

Mumbo sighs, and hands the jacket over. He watches, pained, as it immediately gets shoved in amongst all the other clothing lining the nest. The fabric gets, undoubtedly, horribly creased by the inclusion. He just hopes he doesn’t lose a button again this time.

“Okay,” he says, as Grian chirps happily, arches his wings higher and starts fussing further at the clothing. “Okay, bird-brain. Fine. I’ll put out a call for clothing, see if Scar can run us across some golden–”

“Scar,” says Grian, suddenly, head turned in Mumbo’s direction and beady eyes locked on to Mumbo’s face.

“Uh. Yeah? What about him, buddy?”

Grian hums, and then holds out his hands, expectantly. “Scar,” he says, with a single-minded intensity. “Give me your Scar.”

[ao3cassandraic]

Kayfabe: A Good Omens meta

"Kayfabe," in wrestling, is the performance (including outside the wrestling ring) of whatever storyline is being woven around the wrestlers. Breaking kayfabe is Serious Business for a wrestler; the illusion is part of the event. If you ever wondered how John Cena could anchor an entire HBO miniseries brilliantly, kayfabe is a big part of the answer.

Because of their histories and how their respective Head Offices treat them, Crowley and Aziraphale approach their version of kayfabe -- their whole "I am an angel! You are a demon! We're hereditary enemies!" schtick, also their "we are good bad proper little footsoldiers, honest, Boss" schtick to their respective Head Offices -- very, very differently.

I promise there's a point to this. I PROMISE. But let me walk through it first.

Both of them know that one awkward question to Upstairs at the wrong moment and its Fallsville. Crowley, however, knows a couple of things that Aziraphale doesn't have to:

Punishment isn't just once; in some ways, the Fall is never over. Beelzebub or Hastur can throw you in the Dung Pits whenever, after all, or feed you to a Hellhound, or zap you like an Eric. Crowley's lot do not send rude notes. (s2: we do not know what happened to Crowley after Hell dragged him back at the end of the Resurrectionists 'sode, but I think it safe to say it was not great for Crowley. Litotes: your key to quality meta.)

Downstairs can and does check in -- or drag Crowley Downstairs for a chat and possibly a bit of idle torture -- whenever they feel like it. Downstairs seems pretty disorganized, especially its leadership, so I'd expect ad-hoc surprise inspections from them. Downstairs can invade Crowley's flat's TV, his Bentley's radio, and his very mind to perform those inspections. Crowley is never, ever safe from this. He can't relax. Ever.

Heaven, on the other hand, has 37 levels of scriveners and zero interest in Earth. Talk of "reprimands" and "miracle budgets" and Michael being a stickler and whatnot suggests a formal review process happening on a schedule, governed largely by the dreaded (but quite possibly fake-able or spinnable) "paperwork" rather than direct observation by Aziraphale's peers or superiors. Otherwise, Aziraphale is usually left to his own devices. Remember how startled he is when Gabriel shows up at the sushi restaurant in s1? This is unusual!

(We also know from Muriel that Heaven's records office doesn't seem to get consulted a whole lot. It's possible this just means that first-through-thirty-sixth-level scriveners handle everything, but in my experience of large bureaucracies, it's the folks at the bottom of the hierarchy who invariably get run off their feet first. Don't see why Heaven would be any different.)

Moreover, Heaven's punishments seem pretty light, on the whole? Our angel is so anxious and so sensitive to slights that I'm sure the reprimands aren't fun, and nobody likes a reduced miracle budget... but Heavenly "needs improvement" reviews don't seem to be a patch on the Dung Pits. The real threat is Falling, which is more than horrible enough to serve as deterrent; Heaven doesn't need to add torments.

Moreover moreover, Aziraphale is mostly aligned with his Head Office in a way that Crowley really, really isn't. I'm sure Aziraphale does a lot of his Heaven assignments with a song in his heart and a skip in his step -- it's mostly not smiting or the like. Crowley... probably spends a lot of his work time figuring out how to obey the letter of Hellish law while defying its spirit. Crowley's in far more danger of angering his bosses.

So Aziraphale doesn't have to keep up kayfabe a lot of the time, not even while interacting with Crowley. He can and does save it for the rare occasions Heaven takes a personal interest. Crowley, however, must keep up kayfabe always, whether Aziraphale's there or not. The courage it must have taken that snake to slither up the wall of Eden!

The way Crowley navigates his permanent need for kayfabe is twofold. First, his all but instinctive refusal to accept any positive word or compliment about himself or his actions from anyone ever -- "I'M NOT NICE!" If Hell were ever to hear someone characterizing Crowley that way... That's also why Crowley is a bit less exercised when Jimbriel calls him nice: "nobody'll ever believe you."

Second, a species of Orwellian doublethink: maintaining a running commentary in his head of how he's going to justify any unHellish actions to Hell, since he can never know exactly when he'll have to or what exactly they'll have a bug up their butt (sorry, Beez) about. Even high as a kite on laudanum in the Edinburgh cemetery, Crowley can explain his current justification (in a curiously sober voice -- is Crowley ever really high in that scene? or is it all kayfabe? I lean toward kayfabe) to Aziraphale, "Not kind! Off my head on laudanum, not responsible for my actions."

We can see the kayfabe mismatch play out a few times, and it does appear that Aziraphale gets more concerned for Crowley's safety and more aware of Crowley's need for kayfabe post-Arrangement. That doesn't mean he always remembers, of course -- he wouldn't, he just doesn't have that same desperate need. And, of course, the ineffable walnuts do not communicate, as s2 went to some lengths to point out. I do think kayfabe is part of that -- it's hard for Crowley to be sincere when he's constantly doublethinking, and Aziraphale's off-and-on involvement with kayfabe (and all his other tendencies toward lying) disincline him to achieve or even learn about honest communication.

One s1 scene I went back and rewatched while thinking about this was the Globe scene, which contains Aziraphale's Saint-Peter-esque three-time denial of Crowley. I find it easy now to read that as Aziraphale going "oh crap do I need to drop back into kayfabe now? I didn't break kayfabe, did I?" and Crowley grinning, at least partly as reassurance. (Partly, of course, because Aziraphale is cute and funny even when kayfabing -- and partly because Aziraphale's sudden drop into kayfabe is Aziraphale trying to protect Crowley, of course Crowley's pleased by that.)

The wall pin, now that I think about it, also gains a little nuance from this. Crowley's fear-laced ire is genuine, but how many times must Aziraphale have heard Crowley snarl at him not to break kayfabe in this way? No surprise he's a little unimpressed. (With Crowley's demand. He's clearly very impressed by Crowley.)

In the s2 Job minisode, Aziraphale hilariously drops kayfabe (and that epic whole-body halo, loved that, great job FX folks) almost immediately. Crowley allows it, because Crowley is on firm ground -- Hell will be just fine with Crowley wrapping the angel in a Chuck-Jones-cartoon amount of scroll parchment and flipping him off.

When angel and demon collude on the con later, of course, they observe kayfabe, improv-style -- Crowley helps Aziraphale deal with the Job's-children situation without giving either of them away to the watching angel posse. Interestingly, it's Aziraphale who de-gecko-izes the kids. That gives Crowley an out, sort of: "look, the mansion collapse missed them because they were in the cellar, I turned them into geckos, totally Hellish thing to do, they'd never survive in the wild, but then this bloody interfering angel went and changed them back!"

And how does Crowley console a distraught angel who thinks he's about to be dragged to Hell? Crowley explains kayfabe in the fewest and clearest words possible. "Well, yeah, you did, but... I'm not going to tell anybody. Are you?"

So yeah. That's kayfabe for the Ineffable Walnuts.

But I promised there was a point to this, didn't I? Yes, I have a point.

My point is...

my POINT is...

my point IS...

(not dolphins, not this time)

My point is, how much of s2's Final Fifteen Minutes is kayfabe?

That's my point.

[sarahreesbrennan]

Quick Evil Note

To all my wicked darlings, I have now received rather a lot of messages asking me about the influences of Long Live Evil. And I wish to get messages about LLE and truly appreciate the ones I do get! And I wish to answer them. But answers about influences are tricky.

The book has been out in the US for a little over two weeks, and it’s going so well so far, I couldn’t be more delighted and appreciative about its reception.

But also I’ve been informed (not asked) that two of my characters are obviously somehow both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy of Harry Potter, and Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji of Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. (Very puzzling as I don’t think these pairings - and one isn’t a pair - have much in common with each other or with mine. Vague hostility against a vaguely academic backdrop for a bit? For the record… in the book everyone is an adult and I don’t even have any academic backdrops to be vaguely hostile in front of…) This hasn’t happened to me in a long time, because I haven’t had an original novel out in a long time due to illness, and it is upsetting to always be discussed differently than writers who didn’t openly link their real names to their fan identity.

I have very different feelings and new appreciation for fandom than I once had. It’s been amazing to see and meet people who have stuck with me for decades. People are generally way more open and affectionate to and within fandom than they once were. Love matters to me a good deal more than hate. But getting death threats in your early 20s for excitedly telling your Internet friends you were going to publish a book does mark the psyche, and so does having your characters dismissed as other people’s characters.

And we can say there is nothing wrong with fanfiction or writing fanfiction and there isn’t! Fanfiction is great and can be genius. Terry Pratchett wrote Jane Austen fanfiction, and didn’t (and shouldn’t) have people saying Captain Wentworth = Captain Vimes. Still, when a TV show is discussed as ‘like fanfiction’ or when Diana Gabaldon said she didn’t like fanfiction and many said ‘YOU write fanfiction’ it isn’t intended in any kind spirit, even when it’s fannish folk saying it. And it’s just generally odd to have everyone call your apple a tomato, and has had professional consequences for me in the past.

However! All the asks I’ve received have been very kind, and I do want to answer them. I do want to talk about my influences because they are manifold and because I actually think it’s important to always talk about influences. I don’t believe stories exist in isolation - we tell tales in a rich tradition, and also a story doesn’t come alive to me all the way until it’s heard or read.

Long Live Evil is a love letter to fandom: it’s chock full of references to many many stories I’ve loved, to fairytales, myths and legend and Internet memes and epic fantasy and meta. My acknowledgements are endless partly for this reason. I do owe a great debt to many portal fantasies and archetypes and musicals and jokes about genre and plays through the ages, though I do think of my characters as themselves and nobody else.

I was frankly tempted to go ‘Yes I stole EVERYTHING! Bwhahaha!’ But while I am thoroughly enjoying and finding great freedom in my villain era, I do want to talk sincerely to you all as well, especially when asked sincerely interested questions.

But I’m a little scared to do so and have people say ‘AHA! Now we know what it’s fanfiction of’ (it’s happened before) or ignore me and go ‘we know the truth!’ (it’s happened before) and to feel like I’ve injured my book. Long Live Evil means more to me than any other and I really want to get talking about it right, and make sure it has the best reception I can give it.

So. Questions on all Evil topics very very welcome but answers to influence questions may come slowly. Bear with me. I am working on this!

[brujaluas]

MASTERLIST OF THE BRUJALUAS

Donates: https://ko-fi.com/brujaluastarot if you want a paid reading or spiritual spells and ritual with me send me a message, don´t be shy list of paid readings and spells

The Love Readings...

The pink letters are about future spouse...

What will my wedding night be like?

What do cupids want to offer me? What is the gift of love?

If it were a poem dedicated to me, what remained written with me in mind?

the things about you that most attract your future spouse

Your love life in 2024

how to speed up the connection with your future spouse

What would it be like if you had immersed in a fiction story with your love?

What will our love story be like?

the red and green flags of my future spouse

If my future lover sent me a text message, what would it be?

All about your future spouse

How is my ex's life and what are your thoughts?

Letter from your soulmate

Who is my soulmate?

Who loves me secretly?

the personality and appearance of your future spouse

How will your future spouse show their love?

Romantic letter for you

reasons that will make you and your future spouse fight

playlist of your relationship with your future spouse

first thought by your future spouse when look you

Readings only for +18

The kinks your future spouse will have with you

Things you need to know about them +18 nsfw

the first time in bed with your future spouse

How will your future spouse treat you in bed? +18

SPIRITUAL MESSAGES

things you need to hear

Message from spiritual beings that accompany you

What will happen to you this summer?

What you need to hear, the universe want to see you

What's stopping me from reaching my goals?

What is your power?

everything that the person you have in mind want to tell you

advice you should follow immediately

yes or no.

How do men see you?

Readings for your personal growth

ANALYZING YOUR 2024, THE NEW YEAR WILL BEGIN

your next glow up

your feminine and masculine energy

The impression you leave on people when they look at you

things you are not developing

your next successful manifestation

your hidden talents

Secrets you keep in your heart

your next physical and mental change

everthing about my paid readings and spells

About personal readings for you - tarot readings

two hearts method - everything about your future spouse's relationship with you + nsfw about the two of you- 15 dollars

silver method - one question about anything (15 minutes or more of reading, be ready for read an ebook) - 10 dollars

silvers methods - two questions about anything - 20 dollars

pearl method - all about YOU, focus only on you and your growth in life - 10 dollars

yes or no (with resolutions) - 5 dollars

lovers method - Letter with channeled messages about someone you want to know (soulmate, future spouse, friends, family, celebrity crush) - 16 dollars

pinks method - what would your relationship be like with the celebrity you like? (I would like to remember that it would not be something specifically loving and romantic) - 8 dollars

past lifes - everything about your past life - 12 dollars

lapis lazuli - 4 answers for you, reading about your financial life in the future, reading about your love life, can ask a yes or no question (with resolutions) and updates about your connection with your future spouse - 50 dollars

SPIRITUAL WORKS

"love, you are honey in my mouth" - love work to make the person you love or your crush see you with heart eyes. ( the person becomes more gentle and affectionate) - 15 dollars

"I don't want you, I don't want your touch or company" - I work to make the person move away from you, you know that toxic person? it can be dissolved from your life with my works - 15 dollars

"my spirit feels good" energetic spiritual cleansing, oh my dear, if you knew that sometimes something is not flowing positively because of the bad energy that surrounds you, I am here to cleanse. - 15 dollars

Prosperity - "my life is as sweet as strawberries with honey" - prosperity in everything - 15 dollars

[watarfallar]

I don't know what to put for a title...INCORRECT QUOTES!

BigB: Are you drunk? Impulse: Only on the spirit of Christmas! Pearl: And the spirit of whisky.

Skizz: Three of the four elements are represented as types of hockey. Air hockey, ice hockey, and field hockey. Fire hockey needs to be a thing. Scar: Fire hockey absolutely does NOT need to be a thing. BigB: Do you care NOTHING for the balance of the four elements?!

Gem: What must it be like to live in your head? Are there happy ponies in there? It’s really something how utterly delusional your optimism is. If I didn’t hate you so much, I might even be impressed. Martyn: Huzzah! I got a heavily qualified and slightly sarcastic compliment from Gem!

Etho: But when all hope seemed lost, I had an epiphany! Etho, earlier: I'm going to throw myself into the sea.

Joel: I hate Scar. Pearl: "Hate' is a strong word. Joel: I have strong opinions.

Impulse: I am strong! I beat Jimmy at arm wrestling! BigB: Anyone can beat Jimmy at arm wrestling! Jimmy: Hey-

Grian: Hey, I see those leaves, where are you from? Impulse: Illinois. Grian: AAYYYE, I KNEW IT! ME TOO! Ren: Did you just identify a state by looking at its leaves.

BigB, when Scott walks in: Oh, hey, I'm just making pizza. BigB: *accidentally smacks Ren in the face with the baking sheet*

Grian: *walks into the kitchen, ignoring everyone* Martyn: Hey, Grian, how was your day? Grian: *picks up an onion and bites into it, staring at Martyn* Hell. Mumbo, watching this unfold: *whispers* Who hurt you?

Martyn: It’s impossible to make a sentence without using the letter A. Scar: Despite your thinking, it is quite possible, yet difficult, to form one without the specific letter. Here’s one more to further disprove your theory. Joel: Fuck you.

Etho: Are you ever going to listen to me? Ren: Yes. Absolutely. Etho: When? Ren: When you're right.

Skizz, teaching Grian to drive: Okay Grian, what does a green light mean? Grian: Go! Skizz: A red light? Grian: Stop! Skizz: And what about a yellow light? Grian: If you floor it, you can make it! Skizz: …No—

Lizzie: We are gathered here today because someone- *glares at Bdubs’s coffin* -couldn’t stay alive!

Martyn: What if we were stranded on a desert island? Who would you eat? Jimmy: Etho. Martyn: So fast? Wh-what about me? I would eat you! Jimmy: That’s very nice, I guess. Martyn: Why wouldn’t you eat me? I’m your best friend. Jimmy: Look, if other people are having some, I’ll try you.

Tango: Say no to drugs. Gem: Say yes to drugs. Jimmy: It doesn't matter if you say yes or no to drugs. If you're talking to drugs.. then you're on drugs.

Impulse: "What are you into?" is such a broad question, like do I reply with a TV series or choking?

Lizzie: There. How do I look? Jimmy: Like a cheap French harlot. Lizzie: French?!

BigB: My dad died when I was little so whenever someone jokes about fucking my mom I’ll pretend to be really sincere and say some shit like “Glad to see she’s moving on, my dad’s death hit her pretty hard.” Then watch them absolutely fumble trying to figure out a response to that statement. BigB: Update, she got a new partner I can no longer make the joke.

Cleo: It'll be fun. Cleo: We'll make a day of it. Cleo: Come on you punk bitch. Scar: I can't believe I have to say this. Scar: I don't have time to get tested for sti's with you tomorrow.

Grian: Capitalization is the difference between "I had to help my uncle Jack off a horse.." and "I had to help my uncle jack off a horse.."

Scar: I haven’t lost my virginity. Jimmy: Because you have no friends? Scar: No... because I never lose!

Lizzie: *banging a pen on the table out of frustration* Gem: Stop that. How would YOU feel if I banged you on the table? Lizzie: I— Lizzie: I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 12

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 3669

Warnings: Angst, suspense, emotional situations, Dean and Benny being themselves.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 12

Your birthday was getting closer, but you weren’t really thinking much about it. It wasn’t like you could go anywhere or even be around family. The nightmares came on some nights as well, and they were always the same. On the mornings after those, you’d find Dean snuggled up to you. He never made anything weird, nor did he push to be close to you. Your mind was always swimming with questions, and there was no way of getting any answers.

There was an odd thing you’d found one day, wandering around the game room. In almost all of the rooms, at least upstairs, your parents had hidden things for you to find. So, you’d gone exploring in an all different sort of way. You checked the shelves, the walls, the doorframes, and even along the baseboards but hadn’t found anything.

Then, you looked over at the pool table, tilting your head in mild curiosity. You and Dean had played several games of pool over the last couple of weeks and you’d gotten much better at not focusing on him as much when trying to actually win. One of the places you’d never looked was under it.

Getting down on all fours, you crawled under the pool table, checking along the legs before looking up at the base of it. You tilted your head a bit, and your face contorted with curiosity as you noticed what looked like a hidden compartment that had been built into the base of it.

What the…

You reached up and unclipped the tiny clasp that was holding it closed, and several pieces of paper slipped forward. Thinking they’d fall, you quickly moved to catch them, nearly falling backward yourself. With a mild grumble, you reached up and pulled the papers from their hiding place and crawled out from under the pool table.

Leaning against it, you looked through them. They looked like a family tree or some sort of genealogy chart. It seemed to go back several generations, but what you found the most interesting was that near the pairs of names was an S. It was like that with almost every pair of names on the charts. The last piece of paper was another letter from your parents, and it brought tears to your eyes.

Dear Y/N, This is our family tree. We’re hoping that it will help you. Our family has been keeping track of its lineage for a long time. You’re special, Y/N. Empaths are born to our line every other generation as long as we are with our soulmate.  Sometimes, there is no gap, and an empath is born in the next generation. Each empath born will have an E next to their name on this chart. It’s not an initial. These are not the originals but copies of them. There’s a law firm in California that has the originals. The man who can help you is Fergus McCloud. He prefers to go by Crowley, though. All he’s waiting for is for you to contact him. He knows everything, but without you, he can’t make a move against the Vaught family. We’ll be with you in spirit, dearest daughter. Love, Your Parents

You were sitting on the floor at this point, tears again slipping down your cheeks when Dean found you. He quickly went to your side, kneeling on the floor as he pulled you close to him. You let the papers slip to the floor so you could bury your face in his chest and sob. He picked up the letter and read it while he held you, though.

He didn’t push you to talk about anything for the rest of the night, but you did notice how he had disappeared just before he did dinner. You weren't sure what to even talk about or how to form your thoughts into coherent sentences. Dean at least made sure you ate, though, and then held you close during a movie that night, which helped relax you.

It was a week from your birthday when your phone rang. While Dean was in the monitor room, you were sitting on the couch, reading one of the books you’d found in the game room. It was Sam, and that puzzled you.

“Hey, Sam. What’s up?” you asked, setting your book down on the end table.

“I have good news and bad news,” he replied, and you almost thought he sounded worried.

“Okay. I guess good news first,” you told him, a little curious now.

“Good news, your case wasn’t just thrown out of court The bad news, you have to be present because they want you to testify,” he explained.

Your heart began beating quickly while your chest tightened with anxiety. It was bad. Dean was sitting on the coffee table in front of you only a few seconds later.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, searching your expression when he noticed the phone in your hand. “It’s Sam…” was all you could manage to get out.

Dean didn’t hesitate, taking the phone from you and walking into the kitchen. You couldn’t hear the conversation, though. Your mind was racing, and you swore you might be having a panic attack at the thought of leaving the bunker. 

Damnit. I’m more level-headed than this! Think,

As you sat there, you forced yourself to take slow, deep breaths and let them out just as slowly. You knew you had to calm yourself down so you could think straight. As you slowly felt your body relax, you realized that you no longer had your phone. You glanced up and looked into the kitchen. Dean was pacing, still talking with his brother.

He’ll get the details, you mentally reassured yourself. It wasn’t like you understood how court proceedings worked or any of the legal jargon most of them used. Dean’s frustrated tone pulled your attention again, so you headed into the kitchen to find out what was going on.

“She can’t, Sam. No amount of protection is going to keep her safe. There has to be another way,” Dean stated, clearly frustrated but also worried.

You leaned against the opening to the kitchen, just watching him.

“Damnit! Fine. I’ll work out how to get her there,” he grumbled before hanging up and looking over at you. “You’re not gonna like this.”

—--------

Here it was, three hours later, and he was right: you didn’t like it. He’d set up transportation for the two of you. Then, you’d gone and packed up a bag of things you’d need for your court appearance. Your nerves were on edge the entire time. The sun felt nice, but it took time to adjust to it again, having been in the bunker for as long as you had been.

Benny had opted to go with the two of you, knowing Dean wouldn’t make the drive on his own, and also knew that he’d never let you drive his car. He’d also been let in on everything that was going on. The two talked, but your mind was far too full of thoughts to pay attention to anything they were talking about.

Your mind raced as Dean drove down the freeway, one black SUV behind him and one in front of him. Due to the complications of the paperwork, they were your escorts. Dean hadn’t spoken about much, and you hadn’t asked. He had at least explained that he was driving straight through to the location in California where the two of you were going to be staying. During the drive, you admired how the outside world looked. It felt like a lifetime ago, the last time you’d looked at anything in the outside world. You would have had the window down, but it was mid-January, and the air was chilly due to winter. Your soulmate’s name still hadn’t shown up completely, and so far, it still looked like rubbish, and it still stung.

You eventually climbed in the back at one of the pit stops for gas so you could sleep while Benny took over driving and Dean sat in the passenger seat. Part of you didn’t want to sleep; you didn’t want to dream. The two up front were silent until you fell asleep.

—----------

When you woke up, the sun was already bright, and Dean was driving again. You yawned and stretched before sitting up to look around. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, another yawn overtook you, and you heard Dean chuckle quietly in the front seat.

“Where are we?” you mumbled, half asleep, glancing out the window again.

“Almost to the safe house. We should be there in another ten minutes,” he explained, focusing on the road. “How’d you sleep?”

“No nightmares, and the back seat is far more comfortable than I thought it’d be,” you answered, noticing Benny was awake but quiet. 

It didn’t look like you were in the city anymore, at least not the dense part of it. Dean had briefly described how things would work and that you wouldn’t be staying in a hotel. From what you understood, your case was very complicated. Luckily, though, you were only required to be in court to testify, and hopefully, it would only be once. 

Dean pulled the Impala into the garage of a small house nestled in a small neighborhood. One SUV parked on the street, while the other parked in the driveway. You didn’t want to get out of the car, even after Benny and Dean had. Your anxiety felt like it was through the roof, and the thoughts of worry hadn’t stopped.

You didn’t even notice that Dean had opened your door until he spoke, “Hey, I won’t let anything happen to you. It’ll be alright,” he tried to reassure you.

With a shaky breath, you looked up at him, “I know. Doesn’t seem to stop me from worrying,” you replied, barely managing a small smile.

You stepped out of the car, and Dean closed the door behind you. He and Benny shared some silent conversation before Benny headed inside the house with you following. The four FBI agents were already inside, as were two others you hadn’t met yet. They were setting up laptops and monitoring equipment in the living room.

“There’s only two rooms, so two of you will have to share,” one of the male agents told you and Benny, but you were only partially paying attention.

Dean soon showed up with his and your bags, but you were already heading toward the rooms, wanting to see where you figured you’d be spending most of your time. He silently followed you as you went down the hallway, peeking inside the open doors as you went. There wasn’t much to them: a bathroom, linen closet, and hall closet, and the two rooms were identical. 

You chose the one closest to the living room because it somehow made you feel a little safer, even though all the windows did have wrought iron bars on them. Deep down, you were terrified that someone would come and find you and Dean and that your nightmare would end up becoming reality. Dean closed the bedroom door behind you, causing you to jump.

He sighed, setting the bags on the bed before he wrapped you up in his arms, doing his best to comfort you. “I know this is hard, but I’ll be here, every step of the way,” he soothed you, gently stroking your hair with one hand.

“I’m just scared,” you whispered, then hissed as your mark burned again.

Dean only let go of you to retrieve the cream from his bag, returning to your side and leading you to the bed. You sat down, still feeling in a daze as he sat next to you. His fingers were gentle as they moved your shirt just enough so he could apply the cream, but he froze.

“What?” you asked, looking at him a little puzzled.

“Nothing, sorry,” he quickly mumbled. He then applied the cream to your mark and fixed your shirt.

You hated when he did that, but with the mental state you were in, you didn’t have the brainpower to argue with him. You also mentally told yourself you’d just look at it later on in the bathroom, even knowing you’d probably forget. Dean unpacked not only his bag but also yours as you sat there, lost in your worried thoughts.

“Sitting there worrying about what-ifs isn’t going to make them go away. It’s just going to stress you out more,” he told you from in front of the closet, hanging up his suit.

“I know. I just…,” you sighed, looking at your hands in your lap, “...I can’t seem to make it stop, the thoughts.”

“Well, we’ve got internet again. We could always watch something that’s newer than what was back at your place,” he suggested, hanging a black dress next to his suit that you didn’t even notice.

“But, the agents,” you attempted to argue, looking up at him.

“So, we’ll bring the TV in here,” he replied, turning around with a soft smile.

“What about Benny?” you asked.

“If you don’t mind the company, he probably wouldn’t mind joining us,” he answered, sitting down next to you.

You looked from him to the floor, thinking again, letting a silence fall between the two of you for a bit. “Why did Benny stop being short with me after you started working at the garage?” you asked quietly, as it had been plaguing your mind for months.

He sighed, “I told him the truth, as much as I could, at least. He’d honestly like to get to know you if you were willing,” he answered, watching you.

That caused you to look up at him, wishing you knew the entire story but knew Dean would only share so much with you. “It might be nice to have more than just one friend,” you replied with a small, quiet chuckle.

Dean smirked playfully, “What if I don’t want to share you with other people?” he asked teasingly.

You giggled, turning his smirk into a smile, “What? Want to keep me all to yourself or something?” you teased back, just as playfully, appreciating how he’d lightened the mood. It always helped you get out of your head.

“Nope. Gonna keep you all to myself,” he teased, making you giggle, but a knock on your door pulled your gaze.

“Come in, Benny,” Dean said, making you look back at him, a little puzzled.

“The, uh, agents want to see the two of you,” he told you, and you felt your heart rate increase again.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Dean told you softly, taking your hand in his.

With a deep breath, you let him lead you out to the living room. Being around so many strangers was nerve-wracking, even if they were there to protect you and Dean. The entire living room looked like some sort of command center. You even noticed security footage on one of the laptops, which was quickly turned so you couldn’t see it anymore.

I should have guessed they’d have the entire place under surveillance.

“On the morning of your hearing, we’ll be leaving very early. You and Mr. Winchester will be in one vehicle with three agents. Not only is the house under surveillance, but we have agents stationed in key locations. You’ll make it to your hearing,” the male agent told you, and you almost felt bad for not remembering their names.

“Can you just call me Dean? Every time you say, Mr. Winchester, all I can think of is my father,” Dean groaned, making you stifle a giggle.

“Sorry, Mr. Winchester, protocol,” the same agent answered.

Watching Dean groan like an unhappy child did make you giggle, and you also heard Benny stifling his laughter. “Fine,” he sighed, “Benny, help me move the TV to Y/N’s room.”

The agents just watched the two of them move the TV out of the living room, with neither Dean nor Benny giving them any explanation. You cleared off the top of the short dresser, and the guys set it up on top of it. While they were doing that, you glanced over at the bed. It was a full, so you knew the two of you would be able to sleep mostly comfortably. Plus, it wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t shared a bed before. This, though, somehow felt different.

“You’re in your head again,” you heard Dean state from behind you.

You turned around, attempting to look as though you hadn’t been in your head. “No. I was just trying to figure out what side of the bed I was going to sleep on,” you attempted to explain. It was kinda true. It had been a thought.

“Pretty sure that’s not all that’s running around in that pretty little head of yours,” Dean chuckled before turning to Benny. “Wanna watch something with us?” 

“Sur’ brotha’,” he replied, his accent thick. Benny grabbed a chair from the kitchen while you and Dean got as comfortable as possible on the bed against the headboard. It wasn’t as comfortable as your bed or couch, but snuggling up with Dean helped you not think about it too much. 

Benny did chuckle when he came back into your room, though, “You two are kinda cute.”

Dean shot him a look before he went back to flipping through the channels, stopping on Scooby Doo. Benny and Dean shared a silent conversation, which you weren’t privy to, with how you were cuddled up to Dean, plus your attention was on the show.

You didn’t want to think about Wednesday, so you focused on the cartoon, Dean’s heartbeat, and his breathing. You had completely forgotten about earlier when your mark had burned. Dean would rub your shoulder occasionally, and when he wasn’t doing that, he’d rub small circles with his thumb. That night, the agents ordered pizza, enough for everyone at least. It was after that and after you’d changed into some pajamas that things felt awkward for you. Not only did you feel like someone was watching you, but you were staring at the bed you and Dean were supposed to deliberately share. 

He’d never climbed in bed with you when you had gone to bed back at your home. You only woke up with him there, holding you on nights you had had nightmares. Right now, your mind was wandering between nervousness and anxiety over the whole thing. You sighed and looked toward the window, then screamed when you saw a shadow there. Before anyone could make it into your room, the shadow was gone.

It was a cacophony of thudding feet all the way to your room as the agents burst in, guns drawn as two of them moved in front of you, pulling you back, out of the room. The other two were checking your closet, under your bed, and looking out the window. Dean pulled you into his arms in the hallway as Benny stood at his side.

“What happened?” one of the male agents asked you.

“There was someone outside my window,” you answered quietly, still quite shaken.

The agent went to the living room while Dean tried to calm you. The other agents who were in your room came out, giving the all-clear before Dean led you back inside. Your nerves were on edge, and you didn’t want to let go of Dean. You were almost holding onto him so he’d help keep your head above the sea of emotions that threatened to overtake you.

“Benny, grab the whiskey you brought,” Dean told him, not letting you go.

You heard Benny leave and then come back fairly quickly. “I was savin’ that,” he grumbled slightly.

“I know, but she needs something,” Dean pleaded more with his eyes than his tone, as that was soft but gruff.

Dean helped you sit down on the edge of the bed before he finally let go of you. He popped the top and handed you the bottle, just as you looked up at him, hoping you didn’t look as terrified as you felt.

“I feel bad-” you began, but Dean cut you off.

“You need something to calm your nerves and get some sleep,” he insisted, holding the bottle out for you.

Your shoulders slumped as a sigh left your lips, but you did take the bottle, downing a little over a shot. You hissed as it burned down your throat. Benny shifted the chair that had been in your room so that it was just outside your door, leaving the two of you alone by closing the door behind him. Both you and Dean knew that the agents weren’t going to tell you anything, so neither of you went to ask.

After two more shots, you handed the bottle back to Dean, “Thanks,” you mumbled, the worry slowly dissipating.

He gently rubbed your back as you focused on your breathing. When he did finally move away, you quickly looked at him, feeling that anxiety come back.

“It’s alright. I’m just gonna get ready for bed,” he again spoke softly, attempting to reassure you.

Out of respect, you forced yourself to look away from him and more at your hands. You’d never been this terrified in your life, and it was more for Dean’s life than your own, which you still hadn’t told him. He finally pulled back the blankets of the bed, letting you get comfortable first before sliding in behind you, then pulling you close so he could hold you in his arms.

It was different than when you’d wake up to him being there. A sense of peace, safety, and comfort felt as though it washed over and through your entire body. It felt like it soothed something deep inside, almost into your soul.

“Get some sleep, Sweetheart,” he whispered softly, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“You too, Dean,” you sighed happily as your eyes began to close. 

----------------------------------------- Chapter 13

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[1u11ablues]

All I Have Left Of You (Simon Riley X You)

WC: 900+

Warning: Angst, Character Death, Mourning

You received a box of Ghost's belongings.

"This was what he'd left for you."

The object of said statement; a presence pounding its fist as if it was begging for your acknowledgement. Two weeks had gone by after Price had dropped the box off into your lap, with a bullet-marked dogtag belonging to Simon Riley lying mockingly atop it; the one news you had begged Simon to never let reach your ears.

You weren't strong enough to mourn. The day before he went out on his last mission, you were begging on your knees for him to reconsider going. He knew it'd likely end this way, but he went anyway. Your last day together, spent fighting.

The box had remained sealed and hidden under your bed for the two weeks you'd spent in it, keening until your throat was raw. Until there were no tears left to cry. A fuzzy emptiness was all that was left as you stared at the brown cardboard taped neatly down the middle. 

Simon's dog tag, unmoving from the top of your dresser, right next to the picture of you and him together, in bed; one of his rare smiles captured in that flimsy piece of rectangle. A memory, now. One you'd sooner cease to remember even if you tried to make your favourite expression of him last.

Price had offered to comfort you when he'd brought Simon's belongings to you, in case you wanted to open it then and there. You told him you were too busy to be grieving that day.

Now, you're alone, sitting on the edge of the bed, pieces of Simon strewn all over the bedroom, untouched. His shirts. Packets of cigarettes. An iron lighter with your name doodled on the bottom in his handwriting.

And the box. Pieces, still, for you to remember him by. It can't stay buried under your bed forever.

You leaned down, your knees parting so you could drag the box out from its shelter. With not much effort, you lifted the box and placed it by your side, at the foot of the bed—its size as big as those moving boxes.

The pocket knife glides smoothly through the tape. Another of Simon's belongings. The lid popped open ever so slowly as you took a bracing breath. You reach into it with knowledge of what it contained already; Simon Riley was a man of few needs.

His skull balaclava greeted you first. Washed, thankfully. You don't know if you'd be able to go on if you spot dried blood crusting over its fabric, knowing it was likely his.

There were still tears to be cried, after all. The balaclava hugged tight over your chest, you let yourself finally start mourning his loss, inhaling the scent of him from the headwear at every sob. Your lips trembled as you whispered a quiet 'why', as if the universe would be there to answer you. 

Why did you have to go? Why did you have to die? Why do I have to fall in love with you?

Until you're hoarse. Lost your voice in the song of the grief-struck spirit.

You placed the balaclava aside gently after you'd gathered yourself again, sobs still wracking your body as you reach back into the maw of the cardboard before you.

Some of his clothes, which was expected. Some Simon-related knick-knacks: combat knife, a journal full of tactical notes, two trusty pens bearing ink both black and blue. And then, a small box. A small, velvet box.

You managed a brief huff. Stunned. Aware that—if you were right in your assumption of its content—the object you're staring at was now a possibility frozen in time, for the path your life had taken would not permit you to choose 'yes' to its question ever again.

Under it, a letter. Crisp, white paper, folded in half, black ink ghosting on the other side.

Without opening the velvet box, you reach for the letter. Simon's voice is clear in your head as your eyes move to his script.

Love, If you receive this, it means I'm no longer here. Thank you for keeping my head above water, you're my reason for everything. All of mine are yours. Even my heart, however dead it may seem.  I have plans for us. Should I retire from life before those plans are realized, I want you to still find yourself there, even with the changes. Keep your head straight, like we practiced.  I'm sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting. If we part sourly, I don't want that to be your last memory of me. Remember me when I was trying my best at loving you. You have permission to yell as much as you want at my tombstone, as long as you promise not to linger. Do whatever you want with the ring, it's yours. A shame I didn't get the chance to see you in white. I love you. Knowing you love me makes it all worth it. S.R.

A droplet, two. You wiped the tears from his letter quickly in case the ink was not waterproof.

The velvet case stood lonely at the center of the cardboard box. Your ring. An unrealised proposal. Like an axe cleaving you in half; his death took pieces of you with him even if he didn't intend it to be that way.

You place the ring box by his dog tag. Cleaned everything up on autopilot before settling in your bed with his balaclava in your arms.

There will be many nights like this before sunrise comes.

Buy me a ko-fi?

[fillinforlater]

Paradise

Male Reader x Kim Gaeul

Length: 4646 words

Tags: non-smut, story heavy drama, angsty, best friends, young love, looking for paradise

TW: to avoid spoilers, assume all trigger warning apply (I promise nothing sexual!)

Inspiration: "Paradise" by Coldplay (I love that song. Others have inspired me as well e.g. "Clocks" but this is THE one).

(A/N: Happy Anniversary to me <3 fricking 2 years since y'all had to read my first fic. Thanks for all the support! Enjoy this fic that means a lot to me. @firagaarmor, this ones for you too!)

“Can you tell me what paradise is?”

You raise your eyes over the sharp edge of your book, your mind still lost in the adventures of a young sailor, trying to make a name for himself and fighting with the deadly, dark blue sea and the temptation of strong liquor. He’s a brave man, firmly gripping the loose end of a rope to hold the sail steady while a thunderstorm makes his life seem defenseless, fragile, miniscule. The book is too tense, too captivating to stop now!

But then you continue to look past all the letters on old, yellowed paper, straight to her face. Feel her strong gaze grab you and freeze you in place with nothing but softness and innocence. Suddenly, the meaning these words had on you evaporates; the capturing story is nothing but a hallucination you experience while staring at them. You are not hallucinating now. She is here, she is real—and she is absolutely gorgeous.

“Paradise?” you sum up her question in a rather uncertain whisper, Gaeul nods nonetheless.

“Yes!” her eyes beam with thrill and she closes the gap between you and her on the couch. Usually, the two of you leave some space on the worn-out, white sofa, with you reading in one corner and Gaeul resting in the other. It’s rare for her to be this close; it makes you trip up and drop the book on your chest. “Tell me all about it.”

“Well it’s… simple, yet also very complex, you know?” You scratch the back of your head and avoid her face. Straight brown hair frames her soft features, puts a stark contrast between dark beauty and pale beauty, while every nook and cranny on it is just flawlessly carved—you’re red now.

“You need to tell me everything!” Gaeul insists.

“F-fine. Paradise is the place that we go to after we die. We of course don’t know if it’s real or not or if we have to do something or believe something to get in it. Maybe it’s guarded by angels, gods or titans! Maybe it’s just something we tell ourselves to feel better about what death might be: just nothingness. Sometimes people imagine heaven to be this overwhelmingly marvelous forest, where everything is in harmony. Sometimes they see it as a golden gate with everything perfect and beautiful behind it. Sometimes people just call some place on earth paradise.”

“Why?” Gaeul asks, her ears twitching but not really twitching. She is just excited to listen to you, probably. “Where is this place?”

“Well, uhm,” you mutter and scratch harder. Surely you’ll find an answer that will satisfy her. “I think you need to find this place yourself. Like I said, everyone thinks paradise is something different.”

Gaeul nods with the eagerness and naivety of a child. She still possesses this deeply rooted innocence, this greed for knowledge and finding new things. All these years of school could not squeeze it out of her, no belittling, no bullying, nothing can break her spirit. You adore her for it, you envy her for it.

“Paradise,” she says and returns to her original position. “Paradise, paradise.”

She smiles.

“I want to see it with you.”

#

Gaeul and you are stuck to each other like glue. God put this glue on you from the very beginning. Gaeul was born seventeen days after you, in the same hospital, and grew up in the same street, in the same town as you. You’d always meet her at the playground and from wordlessly playing with her in the sand to fighting and hating her, you felt every emotion towards her every day for all those long kindergarten days. 

In school, it was more or less the same. Other people were always interesting for Gaeul, but she kept them at a distance, unlike you, who she never ignored or turned down. You were a bit more difficult back then, frankly, the teasing from the other boys about her was annoying, but you got over it the day you found out she liked the same songs.

“Seventeen?” she chirped when you mentioned their debut track. “You like Seventeen?”

“Well, yes. This song sounds very… nice,” you whispered, phone in hand, eyes on the pavement.

“Do you know all their names?”

“Ha, no way! There is like so many of them.”

Gaeul grins and grabs your hand. Triumphantly, she announces: “I know all of them, all thirteen! I guess I’m smarter than you!”

“Pah, I-I was born seventeen days before you. I’m older and I’m smarter!”

“No~”

The bickering made you bond, while the fantastic songs of Seventeen drowned out all foreign criticism. You found more and more things to like and dislike about each other, which made every day spent together worth it. Be it playing games together, preparing food (let’s be honest, you mostly just tried mixing random ingredients and had her mom save it in the end) or just chilling on the couch—it never got boring.

It was about a year ago when you noticed that she had these long phases where she just did nothing. Her small body was positioned on the couch, always the same way on the same spot, and then she would look into nothingness. You wanted to tease her for it, for being a daydreamer, someone who spaces out and drools while doing it, yet you stopped.

She is so pretty.

You admired her. There was no drool, no dumb, mindless dreaminess in her eyes. She was in her own world, thinking of something so incredible, it made her beam with life. Her eyes were like orbs, set ablaze by golden light. Movies could never get her attention and admiration for this long—movies could never get your attention and admiration for this long. You were the one staring, you were the one drooling over how everything about her is just so flawless—you still do.

This was the day you noticed you liked her. 

Seventeen days later came the day she asked about paradise.

That was the day she stole your heart.

…

Today is the day a cruel devil came to smash it into pieces.

Being friends with Gaeul for almost twenty years, it is only natural that her parents would inform you as soon as possible. You dropped your phone as the words left the speaker, it’s smashing on the floor goes unnoticed by you. Seconds later, you’re already on the street, on the run, straight to her parents’ house. You didn’t need to ring, her father wordlessly held the door open and pointed to her room. 

She sits on her bed, her lower body tugged in a blanket, her back against the wall, her eyes… shut. You look at her mother, a mess of tears and snot; it’s not yet on her face but the moment she looks at you it, the dams break. Her knees unstable, she walks out of the room into her husband's arms. 

“Gaeul, I—”

You look at her again. Her eyes are open, focused on the opposing wall, the sparkle of life, wonder, joy still strong, but it’s slowly getting drowned in this puddle of tears that glisten in them, a stain on her that you can’t bear to see. So you kneel down, reach for her hand and watch her leave whatever world she tried to escape into.

“Gaeul, I-I’m sorry,” you stammer out, your hands the ones shivering more, though you’d love to think that you’re strong and she is the one folding. 

“It’s not your fault, dumbo,” she semi-laughs, semi-sighs. Then she rasps: “Nothing you can do about it.”

“I-I know… and I hate it.”

Silence. You look at her chest, slowly heaving up and down in a rhythmic cycle, gently increasing when you squeeze her hand and she looks down on it. Gaeul cracks a small smile, a smile so full of pain, every second you look at it is sending daggers to your chest. 

Rage is building up inside you. Feel it creep up every limb, every toe, every finger, up to your head where you imagine the cruelest things you could do to the devil or deity who let this happen, no, who made this happen. They are a devil, and you will go down into the depths of hell to make them suffer for eternity. 

How could they do this to her? What did she do? She doesn’t deserve this! 

And you don’t deserve this either. What did you do, to see pain and horror like this? What did you do to hold a warm hand soon to be cold? What did you do, to see the love of your life become nothing but ash and dust, buried somewhere in the ground, forgotten in two generations, a life too short, too cruel to even call it that?

I’ll—

“Do you remember,” Gaeul suddenly asks, her voice soft and calming, like the wonderful, nostalgic wife you never had, you never will have. “The day I asked you about paradise?”

“Of course I do!” you blurt out, voice a bit hoarse. You could never forget the day you fell in love with her.

“You said that people can find paradise here on earth,” Gaeul starts. “I know I should probably go look for it myself but… can you go with me and show me paradise?”

The tears she held back in her eyes must have found their way to yours. Your vision is all blurry, your voice barely registers, but you are certain she hears you and knows what you're saying. You would never let her down, and in this moment, no feeling could be stronger.

“Of course, Gaeul. A-anything for you.”

#

You have only heard of cancer from these dramatic movies that people watch and then cry. Maybe somewhere in the news or a documentary, but then it was usually older people, not young and youthful spirits—those who don't think that a tragedy is right around the corner, waiting to rip apart their bodies, souls but first of all, their dreams.

Gaeul’s condition got worse rapidly. For the first two weeks, Gaeul’s mom would call you every other night because something seemed to be up. She was throwing up, had a high fever, the doctor was late, she didn’t respond—some of them were clearly only in the head of Gaeul’s mother who started to smoke again, the butts of cigarettes soon littering the tiled kitchen floor.

You’re not at all better though. Every time the phone rang, you ran over to her; throughout all other seconds of the day, you were frozen in place. Like a puppet, you sat on your bed, blankly staring at the wall and into nothing. Your body is perfectly fine, nothing hurts or is out of place yet everything feels agonizing in its meaninglessness. 

You can’t even light up this tiny, simmering flame you always see in Gaeul’s eyes when you enter her room. It has not faded, no tears, no vomit, no painful breaths, nothing has put it out. It’s remarkable, beautiful, it’s the only thing that rids you of your agony for a moment. 

When she was just a girl, Gaeul expected the world to tell her everything, to the minutest of details to the broadest of concepts. She sucked it all up like a sponge and let the mechanisms in her small, pretty head work with it for hours. Now it’s about to fly away from her reach in a cruel race where the world might only be jogging, but Gaeul legs are literally withering away under her tiny weight.

Yet you see the dreams in her eyes. She will not relent until she has—

Paradise.

Not even past the door frame, you drop the backpack to the ground. Gaeul jumps a bit and smiles at you in confusion. Your expression must be bewildering, funny, but she has no idea with what conviction your heart is finally urging your stupid brain to get going.

“Hey, what’s up? You alright?” she asks.

“Gaeul.” You reach for her hand, down on your knees to be level with the small, bedridden girl. “I’m going to look for it.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“I will look for it and find it! A-and then, I’m going to take you there, I promise!”

Gaeul looks at you funny, her free hand pushing away your torso in a playful gesture. A coughing fit interrupts her initial chuckle. “You’re playing around, talking weird stuff. But it’s funny.”

“No, I mean it—

“Paradise, Gaeul, I’m going to look for it—and I will find it for you.”

“Really?”

Really?

#

Early in the morning, the sky is still more dark, navy blue than anything else, you stuff whatever you might need into your backpack. Long forgotten and unnecessary are those school books and pens; you’ve not lost a thought about that in weeks. Frantically, you replace them with snacks, some water bottles, a map, a book, a phone, a towel, a shovel and a pocket knife. No dehydration, no getting lost, no boredom will prevent you from undertaking a journey to—

Where to, you wonder. The compass on your phone points in directions, probably the right ones, but it’s meaningless, useless. The correct route to paradise has to come from your heart. Your heart has already embedded its needle in the magnetic field that is Gaeul, now all you need to do is feel in which direction it points. 

On the calm streets of this town you walk, along pretty houses which were always the start to all of yours and Gaeul’s games and adventures. It never ended here however. The two of you were always drawn to what's beyond the tarmac, the stones, the plastic. It all changes, quickly blurs to a mix of brown and green, every color in between, on this spectrum. On the soft soil of the forest underneath your feet, mixed with crunchy leaves and crunchier twigs, your adventure continues.

You might be closer, but this is definitely not yet paradise. Beautiful, but you can find it elsewhere equally as beautiful. Without second thoughts, you march on, deeper into the woods towards the pull. Gaeul’s magnetic field has this tendency to swirl off the main road. Suddenly, you find yourself in between thick bushes and young trees that make walking through them quite challenging. 

Some plants wrap themselves around you like vines trying to hold you back. Slash them with the knife, bite into an apple and don’t stop for nothing. Soon, you find parts of the forest completely unbeknownst to you. The green looks darker, sunlight is a bit sparse and more animals run through your field of view. Bird, mice, dear, they all seem to look at you and when you hush and look back, it’s—

Peaceful. A piece of heaven, of paradise?

Though this spot may fill you with wonder and calm your heart, it's not yet paradise. It's all fleeting; the animals jump at your first motion, all it takes is a single cloud blocking the sun and its soft, faint rays are gone as well. You have to move onwards, past the mushrooms and moss, the deepest you have ever been in this forest.

Thousands of steps later, the dryness in your throat and the hole in your stomach force you to take a break. In midst all the tall, blooming trees you find a patch of grass, a glade, untouched by man. A perfect resting spot for the wild life, unbothered, untouched beauty. You feel a bit out of place, but you won't deny that it's a privilege to just sit down and take a breather.

You quickly down sandwiches and the water, realizing that both are not enough to quench your hunger and thirst. The sun is barely visible from here—how long has your adventure lasted until now? At some point you need to turn around, find your way back; thank God for phones and Google Maps, otherwise you'd be lost forever.

Amongst all of nature's sounds, you suddenly hear the splattering of water, probably in a small creek nearby. You grab your things and move closer to the source. The splattering gets louder and louder, oh, what you would give for the water to be clean and drinkable. 

Uneven terrain and bushes block your way, but you can see the sun bursting through small gaps in between branches. You find an angle, with less thorns and stinging nettles and cut your way through it. Feel your heart throb in excitement, even when nature tries to resist you. There is something behind this, and now you are free to—

Close your eyes, because this cannot be real.

A picture before you, beautiful drawn, everything perfectly decorated, yet it cannot explain the stunningness of the sight before you. A wide open cliff gives you a perfect view of the entire forest and the lake in its middle. To your left, the outskirts of the city, only a couple of streets with both a school and hospital in sight. To your right a miniscule waterfall, fueled by the aforementioned creek. Everything is overstimulating, yet absolutely coherent in both its vibrantness and peacefulness. 

Best of all, above a small rock overhang along this cliff, a pair of butterflies seem to happily dance around each other, blissfully unaware of the steep fall below them. No, they just love each other. Both swing their colorful wings to their own rhythm, not caring if someone sees, not allowing anyone to disturb them. 

You carefully step towards their overhang, take a look down and see that it might be a dangerous fall, but you don’t feel any danger in this place. It is cozy, relaxing and quiet. There is nothing to fear, not even boredom. There is unlimited adventure and excitement amongst these gigantic trees, they embrace you with their twigs and tuck you in with their leaves. You can stay here for eternity, in fact you almost want to.

But not without Gaeul.

“I think I found it,” you’ll tell her. “I think I found paradise.”

#

“Gaeul is in the hospital.”

Your mothers first words when you return from your trip. The strain on your muscles, your back, your hands; they fade into the background the moment you realize what might be happening.

“What, why?”

“Her health has been… rapidly declining the last two days,” your mother says and urges you to sit down. You do not. “At some point, I could hear her scream from across the street, she… she has to be in so much pain.”

“A-and then?” You can barely stand standing around and not being by her side.

“They came like two hours ago, took her to the lake-side hospital. Her mother is—”

“I’m going there,” you say, drop your backpack and turn on your heels. Your mother sighs, deeper than ever. There is tears and misery in her eyes.

“I… don’t want you to go. You shouldn’t see this.”

“Mum, I will go. Why would you stop me? I need to be there; I can’t leave her now!”

Your mother stands up. You watch her reach for a cup of tea and drink the entire thing. Maybe it wasn’t tea. Maybe she needed some strength right now. This strong woman has never looked so vulnerable to you. She reaches for your hand.

“Okay… I’ll drive you.”

#

“You came,” Gaeul whispers, her voice hoarse, her eyes puffy, her skin pale. Well, she has always been quite the pale girl, but now her skin is rivaling snow in terms of whiteness. You push away a doctor and a relative or two and reach for one of Gaeul’s fragile hands.

“Of course I did. I’m never not there.” You smile.

“There you go, saying silly things again.” Gaeul smiles.

This is where you lose yourself in her eyes, those deep brown marbles, like bitter yet sweet chocolate—fitting to the overall mood in this hospital room. While you continue to stare into Gaeul’s dreams, the people around you go through all those stages of grief in front of the doctors, their powerless deities. Denial in her fathers voice, anger in the way her mother grabs her brother, they are bargaining, well onto their way into depression.

But Gaeul is still right there. She is still breathing. She is still breathing, even after they all leave the room. You stay by her side, long after midnight and most of the time, you just listen to her breath. Weak and shallow, but enough to keep her going. Then it starts to rain.

“Did we play in the rain back then?” you ask, looking out through the window into the dark clouds and the impending torrential downpour. 

“Once or twice for sure,” Gaeul responds. You feel her eyes in your neck. “We should have done it more often.”

“Yeah, but only when the rain is warm.” Caress her knuckles. Gaeul sighs.

“Then I could have seen paradise in the rain.”

Feel a rush of excitement run down your spine when you turn to her.

“Gaeul, I think I found it. I found paradise! It’s not far from here. Let’s go there tomorrow or the day after—”

“Y-you did?” Gaeul suddenly squeezes your wrist tightly. “Where is it?” 

“Near the lake, secluded in the forest. It’s beautiful—I’ll show it to you.”

“C-can we go now… please?”

Your eyes widen, your breath quickens. Someone has a belt wrapped around your chest and gradually tightens it. It’s as if there is poison in the air draining your life. This can’t get to you—no, it cannot be true. All the dreadful thoughts, you push them to the side, though they sink into your heart like the pointiest of knives. In your turmoil, you forget to answer.

Gaeul props herself up and stretches her arms out.

“Take me there, please.

“I want to see it tonight.”

No matter how much your heart bleeds, you find a way to work. For your best friend, the childhood love, the—current love. You easily pick up the thin girl and she finds the strength to secure herself on your back. She is light and heartbreakingly weak. Everything falls on you now.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” you hiss when you piggyback carry the girl out of the room and quietly sneak her out through the fire exit. “But I’ll try my best to be your hero, Gaeul.”

“Don’t be some hero from your book,” Gaeul whispers, her lips right on your earlobe. “Just be you, that’s cool enough already.”

The rain is worse than you expected. Thick droplets a plenty make all colors of the quite illuminated town blurr. You just know you have to run away from them, towards the forest. There the roof of leaves will protect you from getting more soaked—which is not possible. After only a hundred meters, both you and Gaeul are two human sponges, drenched in heavenly water.

“It’s warmer than I thought,” Gaeul croaks as you sprint down the final street where the trees finally start. “Let’s play in this rain.”

“S-sure,” you grunt through gritted teeth, your exhausted legs barely keeping you upright. At the first tree, you take a breather. “But let’s get to paradise first.”

“How long is it?”

“About a kilometer. Can you hold my phone?” 

Gaeul grabs it, the faint light showing a messy hill with a hundred reasons to doubt that you can carry her up there. Worriedly, Gaeul clings onto you stronger than before. 

“Isn’t this too steep?”

You smile and adjust Gaeul, the friend on your back and take away all of her doubts by marching onwards, into the mud. Soon your legs are all covered in the heavy mixture of dirt, leaves, twigs, a couple of bugs, some plastic—it’s almost impossible to lift your legs over the taller roots breaching through the ground.

“Sorry that you have to carry me,” Gaeul murmurs, her face sunken into your back. The wind whips above the trees, their tips shake and you get showered in pine needles. You pause for a second, then laugh.

“Look at this mess! Mother nature is really playing with us tonight.”

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t—”

You pull a couple of needles out of Gaeul’s short, muddy, messy hair. In the faint light of your phones’ lamp. She looks like a ghost with barely lit eyes. God, it hurts to see her like this… but you will never deny that she isn’t drop dead gorgeous. The flame in her eyes hasn’t faded yet either. No matter how much fucking water the clouds above you pour down, they burn and they burn into your heart.

“Gaeul,” you say with confidence and unbridled determination as you take the first step on your final surge up to paradise. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t be sad. We are almost there. Hold onto my shoulders and you’ll be fine.”

Gaeul quietly sniffles into your thoroughly wet t-shirt, only a few tears, yet each of them is like a waterfall and adds to the weight of the most water you have ever seen in your life. Not even the oceans can compare to whatever mother nature has decided to unleash onto this area. If this is what it takes to get Gaeul to heaven, you will swim through it.

Again and again, until the end of time. And then you’ll still do it.

A bush brushing over your bodies, its evil thornes piercing your skin. You don’t feel it. Your hand shelters Gaeul, before pushing away the final branches of a familiar oak tree. There it is. Your heart skips a beat. You sink to your knees.

“Hey! Hey, are you okay?” Gaeul shouts, then she looks ahead. In this exact moment, a miracle: a lightning bolt in the distance, bright and wide, hits a far away field. Everything is illuminated, the ridiculous beauty of paradise visible in the middle of the night—for your best friend to see.

“What do you think?” you ask, out of breath and smiling brightly, brighter than the lightning. Gaeul has gotten off of your back and her weak legs carry her towards the overhang. The visual is impeccable, epic on so many levels, it’s like the grand finale to the universe:

Gaeul, the love of your life, looking at her paradise. It should be impossible, but she stands there. What might her face look like right now? You don’t need to see it to know. 

Suddenly, she turns back around and sinks down on the floor. You try to catch her. A second to late, all you can do is prop her back up, shake the collar of her hospital gown. Her eyes are barely open, her lips tremble. You hug her tightly, not caring about the mud below you.

“Gaeul… no!”

Lying underneath the stormy skies, the only thing holding her in this world are your arms underneath her. Gaeul stretches out her pointer towards the horizon.

“I know the sun will rise.”

Her voice is but a whisper in the downpour, quieter than even the waterfall of tears running down your face—but it’s powerful enough to pull a single, all illuminating beam of sunlight from the edge of the world. In a final, painful but infinitely freeing breath, Gaeul says it all:

“This could be… you could be… no—

“You are my paradise.”

“Gaeul, I love you!”

As if to say ‘I love you too’, she puts her cold lips on yours a final time and flies away, forever. You hold her forever, kiss her forever, love her forever while the strongest gusts of wind don’t feel like anything. Gaeul is in your arms, looking so alive with her closed eyes and peaceful smile; but it’s all not true.

You decide to fall 

faster than the rain drops, 

faster than the waterfall 

and then meet her; 

for she is your paradise.