#tomorrow is going to be awful and I don't want it

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which this is the end

She drives you home with one hand on the wheel and the other never letting go of yours.

You’re quiet in the car—not because there’s nothing to say, but because everything has already been said.

You’re engaged.

And somehow the world hasn’t stopped turning.

The first call is to your closest friend.

You barely say hello before you hear, “Did she do it?!”

You laugh through tears. “She did.”

Screams. Actual screams. You hold the phone away from your ear as Paige grins behind the wheel.

The second call is Paige’s.

She FaceTimes Nika, KK and Azzi from the couch while you’re curled into her side, your head on her shoulder, ring catching the afternoon light.

Azzi starts sobbing immediately.

Nika just nods like she knew.

“You guys are gross,” she says.

But her smile doesn’t fade for hours.

The texts come in waves.

Your people.

Her teammates.

The group chat explodes.

KK sends confetti emojis. Geno sends a picture of a bottle of wine with the caption finally. Your aunt texts, I’m crying at work. Your old chef mentor just replies, She better deserve you.

She does.

God, she does.

You keep the engagement offline.

Not because it’s a secret.

Because it’s sacred.

It’s just for now.

Just for you.

The world can wait.

You start planning that same night.

Not for a big ceremony.

Not for a hundred guests or a designer gown.

You want intimacy.

You want to hear her vows without a microphone.

You want to feel her hand in yours without a spotlight.

You want a wedding that feels like an exhale.

Paige offers to plan the whole thing.

You say no.

“I want to plan it with you,” you tell her. “Because I want us to build it together. Even this.”

She nods.

And from then on, every spare moment is yours.

You tour a small vineyard just outside the city.

Paige squeezes your hand as you walk the rows of vines, golden light falling over everything.

“This,” you say.

She doesn’t even ask why.

Because she feels it too.

She picks a suit.

Cream-colored. Soft lapels. No tie.

You run your hands along her collar the moment she tries it on.

“Damn,” you whisper. “I’m in trouble.”

She smirks. “You’re the one marrying me.”

You grin. “That’s exactly why I’m in trouble.”

Your dress is simple.

Light fabric. No corset. No lace.

Just something that breathes with you.

That lets you dance.

That lets you feel like yourself.

You cry when you put it on.

Not because it’s perfect.

But because it’s right.

One night, two weeks before the wedding, you sit on the floor together writing your vows.

You don't share them.

But she looks at you, pen in hand, and says, “You know... every time I think I couldn’t love you more, you prove me wrong.”

You reach over, brush your fingers through her hair.

“Then I’m going to keep trying. Every day we get.”

She kisses your wrist, right where the pulse beats strong.

And you both write the rest of your hearts onto paper.

Together.

The vineyard sleeps under a silver sky.

You’re staying in a tiny guesthouse tucked between the vines. The walls smell like lavender and old books. The windows creak softly in the wind.

The wedding is tomorrow.

And Paige is sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing one of your hoodies and a look you’ve never seen before.

A mix of nerves and awe.

“You okay?” you ask, brushing a hand down her leg as you pass by.

She doesn’t answer immediately.

Just watches you set down two mugs of tea on the nightstand. Honey chamomile. The same kind you made her the first time she stayed the night, long before either of you called this love.

You sit beside her.

She leans in.

“I keep thinking,” she says softly, “what if I forget to say the right thing?”

You smile. “You won’t.”

“But what if I cry in the middle? Or trip? Or say your middle name wrong?”

“You definitely will.”

She laughs. “You're not helping.”

You take her hand.

“Hey.”

She looks at you.

“You could stand there and read me the ingredients on a cereal box and I’d still marry you.”

She exhales. Shaky. Grateful.

You lean in, rest your forehead against hers.

“Tomorrow isn’t about being perfect,” you whisper. “It’s about being real. And I’ve never been more sure of anything than I am about you.”

She wraps her arms around you then.

And holds you like she’s saying thank you without words.

Later, you both lie on the floor.

Backs pressed against the rug. Lights off. Only the glow of the moon washing through the windows.

“Do you remember the night I asked you if you wanted company?” she asks.

You smile in the dark. “Your famous Thai food and chaos text.”

“I was scared,” she says. “You didn’t know that. But I was terrified I was too late. That someone else had already seen you the way I had.”

You turn your head toward her. “You weren’t late.”

“I was just in time.”

You nod. “You were exactly in time.”

Silence again.

But full.

Brimming.

You reach for her hand.

She laces your fingers together without a word.

At some point, she whispers, “Can I tell you something I’ve never said out loud?”

You nod, even though she can’t see you.

“Sometimes I still wake up thinking this is temporary. That you’ll be gone. That I imagined you.”

Your chest tightens.

“Then I reach out,” she continues, “and there you are. Real. Warm. Breathing. And every time, I promise myself I won’t take another second for granted.”

You squeeze her hand.

“You don’t,” you whisper.

“I try not to.”

“You don’t have to try,” you say. “You already love me like time is made of glass.”

You feel her breath catch.

And then she turns toward you.

Pulls you into her chest.

And for a long time, neither of you speak.

You just hold each other.

Letting the night be quiet.

Letting it hold you both before the morning opens everything.

You wake before the sun.

The light hasn’t touched the sky yet, but you’re wide awake, heart pounding like it’s running toward something. Your room is quiet. Paige isn’t here—by choice. You decided the night before to sleep separately, not out of superstition but to feel the moment when you see her again. Fresh. New. Yours.

You roll over and stare at the ceiling.

Today, you marry her.

Today, you promise everything—with no timeline, no guarantees, just love.

You exhale slowly.

And begin.

By 8:00 a.m., your people arrive.

Your best friend brings coffee. Another friend brings a small speaker and plays your “soft mornings” playlist while doing your hair. Your cousin quietly unpacks your dress and steams it, hands trembling just a little because she can’t stop crying every time she looks at you.

You sit by the window while someone curls strands of your hair around their fingers.

No one talks about the illness today.

No one talks about time.

They just talk about love.

About how they knew it would be her.

About how you started glowing the moment she walked into your life.

You laugh.

You cry.

You sip too-hot coffee from a chipped mug and say, “I feel like I’m floating.”

Your best friend smiles. “Then we’ll hold you down until she lifts you higher.”

Across the vineyard, Paige is getting ready too.

Azzi is tying her tie—yes, she changed her mind and went with a soft beige tie after all.

Nika is ironing the hem of her suit jacket.

KK keeps pacing.

“She’s going to pass out,” she mumbles.

“She’s going to cry,” Azzi mutters back.

“I’m already crying,” Paige says, holding her phone in one hand, reading a note she saved weeks ago.

Things I’ll say if I can’t get through my vows without sobbing.

1. I love you more than your banana bread. 2. You are the only one who makes me want forever—even if forever is shorter than it should be. 3. You are the bravest thing that ever happened to me. 4. Yes. Always, yes.

She snaps it shut and stands.

Hands shaking.

Voice steady.

“Let’s do this,” she whispers.

Back in your room, you stand in front of the mirror.

Your dress hangs soft and light around your body.

Your heart feels like it’s beating against your ribs, like it’s trying to get to her before your feet do.

Your friend steps forward and gently clips your necklace.

The same one Paige gave you the night she said “I love you” for the first time.

You look at yourself.

Eyes wide. Lips trembling. Chest full of everything.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

Your friend smiles through her tears.

“That’s how you know it’s real.”

You nod.

And then the knock comes.

Soft. Intentional.

The coordinator opens the door.

“They’re ready for you.”

You step outside.

The wind is gentle.

The light is gold.

Your hands are cold, but your heart is burning.

And somewhere, just beyond the vineyard rows—

She’s waiting.

You step out from behind the vineyard trellis, and for a second—just a second—everything stops.

The sky has turned that exact shade of honey it only holds right before sunset. The rows of grapevines stretch out like open arms, and the soft hum of strings plays from somewhere hidden behind the altar.

But none of that matters.

Because you see her.

And she sees you.

Paige stands at the end of the aisle, under the arch you both chose, her suit kissed by golden light, hands clasped tight in front of her, like she’s praying and shaking and flying all at once.

When her eyes land on you, they don’t blink.

Her breath catches.

You see her whisper something to herself.

There she is.

You take one step forward.

Your knees are trembling.

Your heartbeat is too loud in your ears, and for a terrifying moment, you don’t know if you’ll make it the whole way without falling apart.

But then she smiles.

Soft. Disbelieving. Like she’s never seen anything so holy.

And you forget fear.

You walk.

Not fast. Not slow.

You walk like time has bent itself around this moment.

Like nothing before and nothing after could possibly compare.

The breeze picks up as you pass the first row of chairs—your friends, your people, all of them rising to their feet. Some are already crying. Some are smiling through tears. One of your friends whispers, “Oh my God,” like she’s seeing something divine.

But you don’t look at any of them.

You only look at her.

Paige’s eyes never leave yours.

You see it all in them.

The memory of your first conversation over curry.

The quiet nights.

The broken plate.

The diagnosis.

The fear.

The yes.

The yes.

She swallows hard as you near.

One hand lifts—like she’s reaching without thinking.

You reach back.

The moment your fingers touch, the crowd disappears.

There’s only her.

Only you.

Only this.

“You came,” she whispers.

You laugh through your tears.

“I always was.”

She takes your hand fully now, steps forward, gently presses her forehead to yours.

“Hi,” she murmurs.

“Hi,” you breathe back.

And together, with fingers laced and tears already falling, you turn to face the one person standing at the arch—your officiant, your friend—who says, voice steady, “Are we ready?”

You and Paige look at each other.

Smiling.

Breaking.

Becoming.

And you both say, together,

“We are.”

The wind quiets.

The crowd stills.

Even the sun seems to pause, lingering in the golden sky like it knows this moment matters.

You and Paige stand beneath the arch—hands still joined, eyes full of what words could never contain.

The officiant speaks softly.

“We are gathered here not just to witness a marriage, but to honor a choice. A choice to love boldly, presently, completely—regardless of how many days are ahead. This is not about forever in time, but forever in devotion. In choosing. In staying.”

You squeeze Paige’s hand.

She squeezes back.

Then the officiant nods toward her.

“Paige,” they say. “Your vows.”

She turns to you.

And for a second, she doesn’t speak.

She just stares—eyes glistening, jaw trembling.

And then, in a voice that breaks halfway through the first word.

“I never expected it to be you.”

She smiles through the tears.

“Not because I didn’t believe in love. But because I didn’t believe love could look like this. So quiet. So steady. So brave.”

You bite your lip.

“I thought I knew what strength was,” she continues. “I thought it was scoring in the fourth quarter, pushing through pain, carrying the weight of pressure. But then I met you.”

She steps a little closer.

“And strength became something else entirely. It became waking up with a diagnosis and still smiling at me. It became letting me see you on the hard days. It became writing letters you thought I’d never read. Loving me even when you were scared. Letting me love you even when I was.”

Her voice cracks.

She breathes.

And keeps going.

“I don’t know how much time we have. But I do know this—every second with you has already been a lifetime I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

She reaches for your cheek, brushes away a tear.

“I vow to make joy louder than fear. I vow to make coffee, even if I burn it. I vow to remind you every day that you are not your illness, and you never will be.”

You’re sobbing now.

So is she.

“I vow to stay. As long as I’m allowed. And then longer still—in photos, in stories, in every recipe you taught me, and every breath that carries your name.”

She lets out a shaking breath.

“I love you. And I always will. Still.”

There is no applause.

Just silence.

And then the officiant turns to you.

You nod.

And begin.

“You were supposed to be a customer.”

The crowd chuckles softly.

Paige smiles, crying.

“You sat at my counter and asked for comfort food. I didn’t know then that you’d become it. That you’d sit across from me for so many days that you’d start to feel like home.”

You pause. Blink away the tears.

“I never thought I’d fall in love with someone like you—so focused, so public, so big. But then you laughed at my burnt cookies, cried when you read poetry badly, and showed up with Thai food and hope on the night I couldn’t move.”

Your voice shakes.

“I didn’t know how to let someone stay. But you made it feel safe.”

She’s sobbing.

You step closer, hands shaking in hers.

“I don’t have forever to give you. I wish I did. But what I do have is this. I vow to live every moment with you like it’s the only one that matters. I vow to kiss you like time is folding around us. I vow to let you carry the weight with me—even when I pretend I’m fine. I vow to say ‘I love you’ every morning, even if one day I can’t say much else. And when I can’t say anything anymore…”

You take a trembling breath.

“…I vow that my love will still be here. In the songs you hum. In the recipes we wrote. In the way you breathe in the sunlight and remember that we chose each other.”

A pause.

“I choose you. Still. Always. Yes.”

The officiant steps back, eyes full.

And simply says…

“With these vows, you are already bound. But if your hearts are ready—go ahead and seal it with a kiss.”

You don’t wait.

Neither does she.

You crash into each other with the softest, fiercest kiss—tears on your cheeks, laughter in your mouths, promises on your lips.

Your people cheer.

The sun sinks behind you.

And just like that—

You are wives.

The crowd fades.

The music swells.

But all you feel is her hand in yours.

You and Paige walk back up the aisle to cheers and flower petals and laughter—but it all blurs. She squeezes your hand so tightly, you think maybe it’s the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

When you reach the edge of the vineyard, just past the last row of chairs, she tugs you aside.

Around the corner.

Away from everyone.

Just for a minute.

And then she wraps her arms around your waist, lifts you off the ground, and spins.

You laugh into her neck, still crying, still stunned.

“We did it,” you whisper.

“We did,” she murmurs back. “And you—you were…”

You pull back slightly.

“What?” you ask, smiling.

She cups your face.

“You were the most beautiful thing this world has ever seen.”

You laugh, lips trembling.

“So were you.”

The sun sinks low.

Dinner is soft and loud all at once—clinking glasses, candlelight, warm food, warm eyes.

Toasts are made.

Nika starts hers by saying, “You both are a disaster. But you’re our disaster.”

Your friend reads a line from your favorite poem.

Azzi just raises her glass and says, “To the both of you.”

You look at Paige.

She’s already looking at you.

You reach for her hand under the table.

Later, long after the cake is cut, someone plays your song—the one she danced to in your kitchen the first time she tried to cook for you. The one that makes you cry in the car when it rains.

She stands, holds out her hand.

“May I?”

You nod.

She leads you into the grass, just past the lights, where the shadows are soft and the stars are just beginning to breathe.

You dance barefoot.

Slowly.

No one else joins.

It’s yours.

Only yours.

She rests her forehead to yours.

“I think the universe made you out of everything I needed,” she whispers.

You close your eyes.

“I think the universe gave me you right on time.”

You both cry, swaying under the sky.

Not from sadness.

From fullness.

From wonder.

That night, she carries you over the threshold of the guesthouse, even though you laugh and say she’ll hurt her back.

She says, “I’ll carry you forever if I have to.”

You believe her.

You change into soft clothes—nothing fancy, just you and her, bare feet and quiet sighs.

You brush your teeth beside her and keep catching her looking at you in the mirror like she still can’t believe you said yes.

She wraps her arms around you from behind and whispers, “I love my wife.”

You breathe out a laugh.

You whisper it back.

And when you lie down beside her, pressed together beneath the sheets, legs tangled and fingers tracing rings you haven’t taken off since the ceremony—

You whisper one more thing into the stillness.

“Thank you.”

She pulls you closer.

“For what?” she asks.

“For choosing me,” you whisper. “Even when time doesn’t.”

She kisses your knuckles.

“No matter how much time we get,” she says, “this night will live forever in me.”

And then she kisses you like the vow still lives on her tongue.

And you fall asleep in her arms.

Married.

Still.

It’s been months.

The world hasn’t stopped.

It’s just… slower now.

You and Paige live in rhythms now. Not plans.

You take mornings as they come—some with sunshine, some with numb hands and aching joints, some with tears before coffee.

She never flinches.

She just holds you like the world is still good.

Because with her—it is.

Your body betrays you more often now.

Some days you can’t button your own shirt.

Some days your legs tremble too long after standing.

But Paige learns with you.

She learns how to tie your laces.

She learns how to hold your arm without making it feel like pity.

She learns how to look at you like you’re still you.

And she says, almost daily, “You’re more you now than ever.”

You cook less now.

She tries more.

Sometimes it’s beautiful. Sometimes it’s chaos.

Once, she confused salt and sugar and served you the saltiest pancakes known to mankind.

You ate every bite.

She cried when you told her they were “aggressively unique.”

Then you both laughed until you forgot what pain even felt like.

You still take pictures.

Every morning, just like she asked.

Hair a mess, eyes tired, sun sometimes not even up yet.

She says every photo looks like a love letter.

You say she’s biased.

But maybe she’s right.

Some days, you write.

When your fingers let you.

You keep a journal on the windowsill.

One line a day. No pressure.

She danced with me in the kitchen again.

Today the pain wasn’t louder than her laugh.

She still looks at me like I hung the stars.

You never talked about the countdown again.

Not in numbers.

You just talk about today.

And sometimes tomorrow.

But mostly just now.

It’s been a year.

The doctor calls it progression.

You call it redefining.

You walk slower. Rest more. Your speech has softened, slurred on long days.

But you’re still here.

You’re still.

Paige learns new ways to care for you without making it feel like sacrifice.

She reads to you when your voice gives out.

She paints your nails on days when your hands ache.

She kisses your scars like they’re sacred.

Like they’re proof you’re still fighting.

You don’t go out as much.

But friends come over.

They bring food and flowers and sit on the floor like they always have.

They cry less now.

You all laugh more.

Once, someone said, “You’re teaching us how to live.”

You said, “I’m just learning how to stay.”

And every night, before bed, Paige tucks you in.

Sometimes with a kiss.

Sometimes with silence.

Sometimes with tears.

But always with love.

You rest your head on her chest and whisper, “Another day.”

She holds you tighter.

“Another day,” she repeats. “Still.”

You haven’t been to a game in months.

Not since the symptoms worsened.

Not since travel started taking more from you than it gave.

But when Paige comes home with that look in her eyes—wide, teary, stubborn—you know she’s already decided.

“We’re going to the arena,” she says softly, kneeling beside your chair. “Just one more time.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she shakes her head.

“I want to give you this.”

You press your forehead to hers.

She’s trembling.

So are you.

But you nod.

Because this love has always been about the one more.

The team pulls every string.

The Wings staff reserves a private suite just for you. No cameras. No crowd. Just glass windows and soft lighting and space for Paige to come to you when it’s over.

Your friends help you dress.

A soft jersey over your shoulders. The one with her number on it. The one she signed months ago, when neither of you could say why.

You hold it together until the drive to the arena.

Then Paige reaches across the console, threads your fingers together, and says,

“This one’s for you.”

The crowd is loud.

The lights are bright.

But none of it touches you.

All you see is her.

Number 5. Your wife. Your heart.

She walks out for warmups and glances up at the suite. You’re already there, hands curled in your lap, eyes on her.

When she sees you, she smiles.

Big. Unapologetic. Like you are the sun breaking through the roof.

She taps her chest.

Then points at you.

You mouth, I love you.

She mouths, Forever.

The game starts.

And Paige plays like the clock doesn’t matter.

She weaves through defenders like they’re mist.

She shoots like the basket owes her something.

She flies.

The arena chants her name.

But every time she scores, she looks up.

Not at the scoreboard.

At you.

Fourth quarter. Tie game. Final seconds.

Ball in her hands.

She could pass.

She doesn’t.

She takes the shot.

Swish.

Buzzer.

The crowd erupts.

You don’t hear it.

Because your ears are full of your heartbeat.

Of her name.

Of the weight of this moment.

She did it.

For you.

After the court clears, she sprints up the tunnel.

Still in her jersey.

Still catching her breath.

Your door opens.

She falls to her knees beside your chair.

And you see it—right there in her eyes.

She knows.

So do you.

This was your last game.

Your last adventure.

You smile anyway.

Because what a damn goodbye.

She buries her face in your lap, crying hard now, breath hitching.

You run your hand through her hair, slow, unsteady.

“You were amazing,” you whisper.

She lifts her head.

“You were here,” she says. “That’s what made it everything.”

You pull her close.

“You gave me a life inside a year.”

She nods, broken and shining.

“You gave me every lifetime,” she whispers.

And in that moment, the ending feels less like a goodbye.

And more like a thank you.

—

The house is warm.

Afternoon sun spills across the living room floor in long golden lines. Somewhere outside, wind chimes tinkle softly in the breeze. Inside, crayons are scattered across the kitchen table, a pink plastic tiara lies abandoned on the floor, and a little girl—six years old, with tangled curls and wide eyes—climbs into her mother’s lap, thoughtful.

“Mama,” she says. “Can I ask something?”

Paige Bueckers looks down at her daughter, smiles. “Always.”

“Why is my name Y/N?”

Paige stills.

Just for a second.

A blink. A breath. A flicker of time folding in.

But it’s enough.

Emily—her wife—watches from the hallway, her smile softening, her heart already bracing.

Paige swallows.

Her hands, rough from coaching and gardening and life, wrap gently around their daughter’s smaller ones.

She could lie.

She could say the name just sounded beautiful.

She could say it came to her in a dream.

But instead, she says the truth.

“There was a girl I loved,” Paige begins, her voice steady. “Before you were born. Before even Mommy.”

Little Y/N tilts her head. “Like a girlfriend?”

Paige smiles. “Yes. A long time ago. She was my first great love.”

“What was she like?”

Paige’s eyes glaze, just slightly—like she’s not looking at the room anymore.

“She was... brave. The kind of brave that doesn’t need to shout about it. She made people feel safe just by being near. She cooked like it was magic. She laughed with her whole body. And she had this way of looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.”

Y/N blinks, leaning in. “What happened?”

Paige hesitates. Then continues, voice gentler now.

“She got sick. Really sick. And we didn’t have much time.”

Y/N frowns. “Did she die?”

“Yes, baby,” Paige says, brushing hair back from her daughter’s forehead. “She did. But before she did, she gave me everything. A year that felt like a lifetime. A love that I still feel, even now.”

“Was she sad?”

“Sometimes. But mostly she was kind. And funny. And so, so full of love. She made every day count.”

Y/N stares at her hands for a moment.

“So... I’m named after her?”

Paige nods.

“Because I wanted to remember. Because she deserved to be remembered. And because when you were born, I looked at you and thought—of course. There you are.”

Y/N’s lip wobbles. “I wish I could meet her.”

Paige swallows a lump in her throat.

“I think... in a way, you already have.”

Y/N wraps her arms around Paige’s waist and holds her tight.

Then, a moment later—because she’s six, and that’s what six-year-olds do—she wriggles out of the hug and runs off to play with a cape around her shoulders and mismatched socks on her feet.

Paige watches her go.

And lets the silence return.

Emily steps into the room.

She doesn’t speak.

She just walks up behind Paige and places her hands gently on her shoulders.

Paige leans back into her without looking.

“I didn’t think it would hit me like that,” she murmurs. “It’s been so long.”

Emily presses a kiss into her hair.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

Paige finally turns her head.

Her eyes are glassy. Distant. But not broken.

“She was everything,” she says.

“I know.”

“She’s still in here,” Paige says, pressing a palm to her heart. “Even now.”

Emily nods, kneeling beside her.

“I don’t want to forget her,” Paige whispers.

Emily cups her cheek.

“You never could.”

They stay like that for a while—quiet, held.

And outside, their daughter runs in circles, laughing loud enough to echo.

A name carried forward.

A love still breathing in the spaces between.

Still.

Always.

It had been years.

Paige had stopped counting a long time ago—not because she forgot, but because time began to feel less like something that passed, and more like something she carried.

She kept your memory in quiet places. In the music she played while cooking Sunday breakfast. In the old Polaroid stuck to the back of her journal. In the small ceramic spoon rest you made that still sat by the stove. She didn’t bring you up every day, not out of denial, but reverence.

She had a family now. A beautiful one. Emily was sunlight—kind in the mornings, steady at night. And their daughter, Y/N, was this wide-eyed, wild thing who asked hard questions and loved the moon.

They had a good life.

But grief doesn’t disappear.

It settles.

It takes up residence in the softest corners of joy.

And that’s where it lived now, years later, when Paige opened a box labeled “Kitchen (Keep)” and found the old recipe binder.

She hadn’t touched it in years. Not because she forgot it existed, but because she always knew exactly where it was. She just wasn’t ready. Until now.

It still smelled faintly like rosemary and something sweeter.

She opened it slowly, running her fingers over the familiar cover, smudged with butter, penciled-in substitutions, faded ink.

And then, tucked between the page for your lemon ginger soup and the notes for your banana bread, she saw the envelope.

Her name.

In your handwriting.

And underneath it, smaller, almost as if you’d written it at the last second…

If it’s been a while—read this.

She sat down on the floor, legs folding under her like she was twenty again. Her fingers trembled, but not from fear.

She opened it.

And you began.

Hi, my love.

If you’re reading this, it means I’m not beside you anymore.

And God, I wish I was.

I wish I could reach over and squeeze your hand the way I always did when I couldn’t find the words. I wish I could make you coffee with way too much cinnamon like I did that one time you teased me about seasonal flavors. I wish I could look you in the eyes and tell you, again and again, how proud I am of you. How grateful. How lucky.

But I can’t.

So I’m writing it down, hoping these words hold weight long after I’m gone.

I never imagined a love like the one we built. Not because I didn’t believe in love—but because I didn’t think it could live this quietly. This fiercely. This gently.

You taught me how to be held without shame. How to laugh even when my body hurt. How to sit in silence without needing to fill it. You showed me what it meant to live—not just exist, but live with both hands open.

You were my favorite place to land.

I know the days after me were hard.

I know the air must have felt heavier without my laugh in the kitchen or my voice beside yours in the early morning light. I know that for a while, everything probably tasted a little like salt—grief in the back of your throat, even when you tried to swallow joy.

But I also know you.

And I know you stayed soft. Stayed bright. Stayed Paige. Even when it hurt.

Thank you for that.

If you ever doubted whether you could love again—know this…

I want you to.

I want you to find warmth again. A lap to rest your head. A person to carry your tired. A laugh that stitched your heart back together.

I wanted you to have someone who loved you the way I did—openly, endlessly, and without apology.

To the one who gets to love you, if you’re reading over her shoulder—I hope you know how grateful I am.

Thank you for holding her through the storms I didn’t live to see.

Thank you for loving my girl.

And to the child you got to have…

I never got to meet you. But you carry a piece of me. And I hope when you run through the house yelling about butterflies or astronauts or peanut butter toast, your mama sees the way your smile curls and knows I’m not gone. Not really.

Paige, my heart, I need you to remember something.

You didn’t fail me.

Not once. Not ever.

You loved me through the hardest year of our lives.

You held me when my hands couldn’t hold you back.

You stayed, even as the days grew shorter.

You gave me a thousand lifetimes in one.

And when I closed my eyes for the last time, it was your voice I carried with me.

You are my safe place.

My home.

Still.

So if you’re crying now, that’s okay.

But after you cry—go make something. Paint. Sing. Cook something ridiculous with too much garlic. Take your kid to the lake and tell them the story about the time you burnt the toast and I pretended it was intentional. Let them laugh. Let them know.

Let them know I loved you with everything I had.

Let them know I left this world full.

And when you whisper into the night, when the stars are quiet and the house is sleeping, and you say my name like a secret—

I’ll be there.

I’ll always be there.

Still.

Always.

Yours, 

Y/N.

Paige didn’t move for a long time after finishing.

Her chest ached. Not like it used to. Not hollow. Not breaking.

Just full.

Full of you.

Full of the life you lived together.

Full of the love that never ended—only changed shape.

She looked up.

Outside, Emily was laughing in the garden. Little Y/N danced through the grass, barefoot and fearless.

Paige stood slowly, folded the letter back into its envelope, and held it against her chest.

“I miss you,” she whispered into the quiet room.

Then she walked outside.

To the life she built because you taught her how.

Still.

Always.

[starwovenkiss]

(minor smut / suggestive content)

Frat boys, Soap and Gaz, who take an interest in the pretty TA for their econ 101 class.

The one that shows up with sweaters and jeans and glasses while marking through their tests with red pens and frustrated sighs.

Showing up to you after one class one day with mischevious grins in their matching fraternity t-shirts.

“Bonnie, y’gotta convince the professor to bump me up to an A,” Johnny pauses at this. “Or at least a C.”

You roll your eyes. “Johnny, you spelled your own name wrong on your last test.” He at least has the decency to look ashamed at this.

“What Soap is tryna say,” Kyle cuts in, smooth as ever. He really shouldn’t be here, making A's on every exam this semester, except that he’s been caught cheating and has been placed on academic probation. “is that we really think we could benefit from some tutoring. We do so much better with 1-on-1 attention.”

Both he and Johnny tilt their faces into something pouting and begging, and you want to laugh. Throw the scantrons you're grading at their muscled chests and storm out of here for wasting your time.

“Yeah, 1-on-1 would be great,” Johnny echoes, and you nearly scream.

Dealing with late nights in the library where they're more interested in getting you to go out with them then learning the diffrence between macro and microeconomics.

"So the difference between absolute advantage and -" You tense as Kyle tugs lightly on your ponytail.

"Darling, why don't you ever come to one of our parties?"

“We’re having one this Friday.” Johnny suggests, and you wonder if a part of their stupid initiation is to learn how to complete each other’s sentences like some sort of greek Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. "It’s not really my vibe,” you say, hoping that will be enough to get back to learning what GDP stands for (and not ‘great dick’n’pussy’ like Johnny suggested.)

“Aw, that’s because you’ve never been, bonnie.” Johnny fights back, and Kyle nods eagerly. “Tau Mu is everyone’s vibe.”

And to your horror, they break out into song, singing about the fraternity’s history and legacy. Your eye twitches, and you grip onto your pencil tighter to keep from sticking it in their throats.

”How about this,” you say loudly enough to cut over their caterwauling, and they smile. “if you both get an A on this next test, I will go to your party.”

They both have cheshire grins.

“Deal.” Kyle winks.

Them coming up to you on Thursday looking proud as ever when they have Canvas pulled up on their phones to show off their matching 100s.

“You guys must have cheated,” you say, dumbfounded.

“We would never.” Kyle proclaims, affronted and mocking. “’Sides, even if we did, you have no way to prove it.”

“This whole conversation incriminates you.” you say.

“Incriminates? We’re not under trial here.” Kyle laughs.

"No cheating.” Johnny promises. “It must’ve been thanks to your impressive tutelage.”

“Johnny, spell tutelage.” You deadpan.

There’s a pause. “… That doesn’t matter. We’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiles brightly.

“Make sure to wear red.” Kyle adds on before they both walk out of the classroom.

You showing up to their party, looking like you don’t want to be there and definitely not in red, only to find out it’s a stoplight party, and red screams that you’re taken.

Both of them in their element, shirtless and streaked in red black light paint, as they jump around and body surf in neon sunglasses before seeing you disappointed.

“Bonnie, why aren’t you wearing red?” Johnny asks.

"Johnny, I’m not seeing anyone.”

“So, what do you call all of those late nights in the library?” Kyle asks, putting an arm around you as he leads you to get jungle juice.

“Tutoring. To help get both your GPAs above a 2.5,” You reply.

“Sounds like foreplay to me.” Johnny smiles down at you while wrapping an arm around your waist, and suddenly you feel flustered by the two attractive men who seem enamored with you.

You pick up a solo cup as a distraction and notice that it has “You’re Hell” written on it. “Who wrote this? There’s a typo.”

They both groan, “We were trying to be clever.” Johnny replies.

“You need to relax, darling. Can’t be good for you to be so uptight all the time.” Kyle responds moving to rub your shoulders.

“Yeah, Gaz.” Johnny smiles at him, and suddenly you feel like you’ve walked into some trap. “Relaxing would be good for the lass.”

Finding yourself upstairs in a private bedroom, naked, sprawled out in Kyle’s lap as he holds your legs open for Johnny to examine you.

“Think it’s time we teach her a thing or two, right, Soap?” Kyle whispers, voice low like honey in your ear and you shiver.

“See how well we can make the teacher’s pet behave.” Johnny responds as he grins like the devil, breath tickling your fluttering cunt.

“Bet she’s never had this pretty pussy licked before.” Kyle snickers, and you finally feel the need to speak up.

“Yes, I have. I’m not a prude.” You whine, and you feel like the pastel pink underwear with a tiny bow that Johnny has stuffed in his pocket isn’t doing you any favors.

“Aye, well. Not like this.” Johnny replies before licking into you like a man starved.

[batsovergotham]

I got a little idea for the emperor mark request drabble !!

So uhm maybe he's like in a counsel meeting or something and Mark is INCREDIBLY BORED OUT OF HIS MIND.

then eventually the reader comes in holding baby terra on her arms and Mark already starts to feel lighter, and asks/demands we sit on his lap/chair 😛😛 next to him so that he won't be as bored.

like yes daddy, lemme sit on that lap rq 😛😛

I don't know how to make whatever I wrote here make sense, forgive me 🥀

no because this actually makes so much sense and it’s adorable. like yeah terra’s around seven here but she definitely doesn’t get that mark’s in the middle of, like, huge galactic war talk. she just knows he’s in a big boring room again and always looks tired after, so she grabs your hand and drags you in like “can we get him now??”

and mark? he’s hanging on by a thread. some uptight viltrumite’s been talking about border disputes for half an hour and he looks like he’s about to fall out of his chair. then he sees you at the door, holding terra, her cute black hair all messy, half-asleep on your shoulder, and he just lights up. like visibly relaxes. doesn’t even try to hide it. he’s already waving you over, like “come here.” and you’re whispering “mark. this is the war council.” and he’s like “yeah and i’m losing the will to live. sit on my lap, please.”

so now you’re curled into him sideways, terra flopped across both of you like she owns the empire, and mark’s got one hand on your hip, the other running through her hair while pretending to listen to the meeting. the council is just trying to carry on like this is normal. he’s like “tell the coalition we’ll deal with it tomorrow. i’m busy.”

he’s not cold or power hungry, he’s just dramatic. and you’re the only one who can pull him out of his head like that without getting vaporized.

also marky’s totally there too. probably sitting a little ways off in one of the side chairs, acting like he’s bored but definitely listening to everything. he lives with you guys now, him, mark, terra (when she visits), and you, all together. not with scott like in other fics. and mark’s really soft with him. you can tell he still feels awful about leaving him behind (periodically) when he left earth, even though it wasn’t his fault, and in here, he went back for marky anyway. in the comics, mark wanted to take marky with him, scott just didn’t let it happen. and now that he’s here, mark keeps him close. always watching out of the corner of his eye. always checking in. it’s subtle, but it’s constant.

it’s honestly kind of sweet in a messy, real way. like yeah, there’s galactic drama and high stakes stuff happening every day, but at the end of it, this is still his family. and that’s what he chooses.

i’m writing this. it’s going on the masterlist. thank you for the brainrot. :))

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

It's crazy how I can be like "I'm having a depressive episode" until I'm with the right people and then it's like oh no I'm ok actually

[0xeyedaisy]

Aw man...

[apassingbird]

having a full-blown ugly crying breakdown can truly be something so healing

[oculusxcaro]

Hi everybody, sorry to have been so quiet lately! 2025 started off a little rough on this end but it's probably quite a bit rougher for some of you across the pond for reasons we all know and loathe already. Despite that, I hope life is treating you okay (or will start getting better soon - some of you have been through some really rough patches which none of you deserve and I wish things were better for you all 🙁) Just a smol life update about a little somebody I haven't mentioned for a while - R.orschach, my corn snake! It's been one whole year since he came home with me way back in 2024 as an itty bitty shoelace and he's uh, grown quite a bit since living it up in his lovely big vivarium?

Unfortunately it's the best photo of us since my health hasn't been the best these last few months (curse you winter!) but I'm determined not to let 2025 be a shitty year for writing like 2024 was! Making a spot of dinner really quick and then we'll see about tackling an ask or two. After not writing for a while, it's daunting af to even look at what's waiting but thank you all so much for your patience and love! Really hoping to get connected with you all again in spite of how awful the world state is rn. Keep holding on as best you can, people - nothing is forever and things will get better soon! <3

[doctorwillsolace]

🧍‍♀️ the karaoke event I've been excited about all week is from 8-11 and we're supposed to have a severe snowstorm from 6pm-9am

[adore-gregor]

Lol I keep on doing this, saying I'd come back to tumblr to only disappear again 😂😭

[kozidraws]

.

[astradyke]

.

[marchessa]

Xxx

[lilliankillthisman]

Feeling cold and lonely and awful time to read Queen of the Damned I guess

[carbonateddelusion]

sits here. my mood has been swinging back and forth like a pendulum lately

[pyroselkie]

i am BEGGING restaurants to stop putting cheese and garlic on LITERALLY EVERYTHING EVER

[rapidhighway]

currently choosing between going shopping with my dad tomorrow, cause he could pay for all my shit but on the other hand if we argue again (especially about current events but also other stuff) I might have the public breakdown of my life -_-