#TELL ME WHY HIS SOLOS WERE CULTURAL RESETS

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

also i had to take a good look at my wall where my svt posters are and the way i sat there for a good 5 minutes just LOOKING at them like “hmmm would be a good murderer but also a softie”

anyways with a good look you could go the unexpected route with my boy han vc which is totally doable do u see my vision🤫🧏🏻‍♀️

and ofc u could totally do ur man jihoon like i think he’s a great candidate

i think jun is also an underrated candidate u just need to go watch his solo mvs again for inspo 😛

- the yapper

THIS IS SO FUNNY what posters do you have on your wall 😇 i have svt ode to you vocal unit and all members in my living room and then in my bedroom i have the hengerrae(???) unit posters up where they look like street thugs and sometimes i look at hoshi’s shoes and think huh look at hoshis shoes

I see your vision. But like i write han wayyyy too much, and like i’m so biased with jihoon lets be so fr

BUT JUN…. YOU ARE SO RIGHT LIKE… no one would read that shit BUT he fits this idea in my head so well…

[acdeaky]

bad liar | III

warning: angst, little bit of fluff, strong language

note: there is a part at the beginning about star wars, but even if you’ve never seen it, please don’t skip it bc it’s important to the story! thanks and enjoy :))

word count: 1.4k

black lives matter

“so you’re telling me that you’ve never watched star wars?”

“no, i haven’t,” ben laughed, watching as you face turned from excitement to completely shock. “why’s it such a big deal?”

“why’s it such a big deal? star wars has given us, like, four cultural resets in the past 50 years, and is just an amazing film series.” you argued as you got up off of the sofa, heading towards ben’s kitchen to grab a bag of popcorn.

“four cultural resets? really? that many?” he teased, turning his body to the side to watch you over the back of the sofa.

“yes, ben, that many. there’s the original trilogy, the prequel trilogy, the sequel trilogy and the mandalorian.”

“the mandalorian?”

“the mandalorian,” you sighed, sitting back down next to ben while grabbing the remote. he took the bowl of popcorn from off your lap and into his as you found disney plus. “you know, the one with pedro pascal? that series?”

“oh, yeh,” came his muffled reply. “i think i remember hearing about it.”

“well, you won’t be able to watch it until after return of the jedi.” was all you said as you found the phantom menace and pressed play.

“and which trilogy is that in?”

“the original.”

“so i won’t have to wait too long to watch it.” only if he knew.

“yeh, you do,” you giggle, turning to face him completely as his face dropped. “it’s the original trilogy, but we’re watching them in chronological order of the story.”

“so how many films is there between the beginning and the mandalorian?”

“about eight.”

“eight?” ben asked in disbelief, watching your face for any tell-tale signs of you lying.

“yeh, eight. there’s the prequel and the original triology and then there’s solo and rogue one.”

“i cannot believe i agreed to this.” he huffed, completely leaning back into the cushions of the sofa.

“but you did, so let’s go.” just as you said that, the iconic orchestral piece of the star wars theme played through the speakers. you leaned back and moved slightly closer to ben, moving so you were comfortable before grabbing a handful of popcorn.

without you knowing, ben watched you as the credits rolled, seeing your eyes flick over the written synopsis of the movie like you haven’t seen it hundreds of times. he smiled subconsciously, his brain choosing that now would be the best time for his heart to thud against his chest and send a light blush up his neck and cheeks.

seeing you here and like this, in your element, was something ben loved. god, he would do anything, watch anything, listen to anything, if it meant that he would be with you and it would make you happy.

without realising, ben was falling in love with you, but he never knew that he would have a chance.

***

it wasn’t the pounding on the door that scared you, nor was it the coolness of the floor beneath you, but the reminder of last night. the tears, the sobs, more like. ben showing up unannounced. the emotion, the overwhelming nature of the situation. the half eaten tub of ice cream. the TV.

the TV.

surely enough, it was still playing in the near distance, but that wasn’t the biggest thought inside your mind as a second knock brought you back to the wooden floor beneath you.

you used the wall to help you up, looking at the mirror hanging on the wall to check how awful you looked; at least nothing was fresh, except for the pain.

just as the person on the other side rised their knuckle to rap against the door again, you clicked the lock, opening the door to be greeted by a hand in your face.

“oh, gosh, i’m sorry, miss. here’s your parcel.” right. the parcel you ordered yesterday as a ‘feeling sorry for yourself’ purchase. as you took the box out of the person’s hands and signed the tablet, shutting the door before they had even turned away, you felt shitter than you did when you woke up.

just the thought of what was in the box brought back last night and everything about it. but as you threw it onto your sofa with little care, it reminded you of one of the good nights. a good night with ben. the day you invited yourself over to his and forced him to watch every single star wars film, which was also the day you realised you were falling in love with him.

all that was in the box was a stupid figurine of ben’s favourite character (one you had (sub)consciously choosen to buy) and you couldn’t find it in yourself to open it. you couldn’t find it in yourself to open the box and be reminded of a time when things weren’t complicated. a time when your feelings were submerged by other things.

a time when you were certain with yourself and your feelings that you let your heart control everything.

but none of that mattered now. you ignored the glares you felt from the box, leaving it be where it landed. you switched off the TV, threw away the ice cream (tub and all) and decided the best thing to do to shower.

yes; a nice, warm shower would wash away the bad night. well, it would wash away the tears, the sweat and, hopefully, the backache from sleeping on the floor all night.

the first thing you noticed (after your shower) was your phone was dead. what you dreaded the most was the many missed calls and texts from ben, or anyone, which you would inevitably have to reply to. you found there was a few: a couple of texts saying sorry, a few voicemails which you debated listening to; you weren’t sure if you could handle another heartbreak.

so you didn’t. you left them unopened, as you did the texts, and got dressed, throwing on whatever felt the most comfy for another day of wallowing in self-pity.

you debated calling joe, or gwil, just to have someone to talk to about all this. but you decided against it, not wanting to pull other people into the breaking of two hearts. it didn’t matter to then. well, not personally anyway, but both joe and gwil would have been there for you, and for ben, if you had let them.

but you didn’t, and that’s how it stayed. you opened a new tub of ice cream (only after eating something that would be classed as a meal) and sat in the same position as the night before, the same crappy TV playing in front of you.

you were about three episodes in when the phone began to ring. you didn’t even bother looking at the caller-ID, knowing that you would just be ignoring them anyway. the phone completed it’s ring before the automated voicemail began to speak. when it beeped, you paused the TV.

“hi, Y/N, it’s me, ben. i’m guessing you didn’t answering because you saw it was me... or your phone’s dead... or you just aren’t answering any calls - which is understandable. i just wanted to apologise for last night; me coming over was stupid and greedy and selfish, but i had to see you. i had to see if you were hurting as much as i was when you ended this ‘relationship’.

“i’m sorry i put you under so much pressure, but i hoped that if you felt that way, that you’d talk to me... obviously i was wrong. and i want to apologise for everything: the relationship, the press, the unwanted feelings; i felt them, too. hell, i’ve felt a lot of things for you over the past few months, but i’ve been too afraid to say anything. and yet, here i am, pouring my heart out on voicemail.

“god, you’re probably not even gonna listen to this. your phone’s probably in your room on silent while you watch crappy TV and eat your weight in ice cream. which is fine, i’d do the same if i was with you. but i’m not with you, and that’s the hardest part. if, by some chance you’re hearing this, please pick up. i want to make things right, i want to tell you things i’ve been wanting to say for months, i want to-”

“hello? ben?” you picked up to silence. as soon as you answered, ben stood still, thinking this wasn’t going to happen, that you wouldn’t have answered.

but you did.

“ben? you okay?”

“i-”

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[7-wonders]

Shatter pt. 11

Summary: It’s back to the future for you and Mallory, to either find out what went right...or what went very wrong.

Word Count: 4556

A/N: One or two more chapters for this lil fic! As always, feedback is always appreciated, like, reblog, and comment, you know the drill by now.

The first thing that you hear when you arrive back in the year that you left is...nothing. In fact, you’re surrounded by complete silence. The eerie stillness of the room is an unwelcome presence that witnesses your return, considering all you could hear was screaming and gunshots when you pulled Mallory under the water. Coughing water up to get your lungs working properly, you wipe your hands over your eyes until you can finally see again. Droplets hang off of your eyelashes like small crystals, clouding your eyesight whenever you blink. Mallory sits next to you, mimicking your actions as she tries to regain her bearings again after being thrown through time and space again and again in such a short amount of time.

“Did...did we do it?” Mallory asks, taking your hands in hers as you both stand and clamber out of the tub. The room that you’re in doesn’t look like the one at the Outpost, even though the large stone tub is the same. Mallory’s still wearing the clothes that she was in when you were stopping the execution of Ms. Mead, and a quick look down confirms that you are, too. 

“I don’t know, did Cordelia ever tell you how you would know if events were changed?”

“No. Honestly, I assumed there would be some giant flash of light or something to signify that we had accomplished what we set out to achieve.” Mallory grabs your hand, muttering a spell that dries both your body and hers.

“I guess the only way to find out is by leaving the room,” you say without showing any intention towards actually leaving the room. 

“I guess so,” Mallory concurs, also standing still next to you. You glance at her at the same time that she glances at you, a silent battle over who is going to actually take the initiative first. 

“I’m going to have to lead the way, aren’t I.” It’s not a question: you’re going to have to lead.

“Hey, it’s not my Antichrist lover that we’re up against.”

She’s right, and you hate that she is, but you’re the one who convinced her to change the plan that she had been working towards for three years, just for the sake of saving Michael. You’re uncharacteristically hesitant, and you know that it all leads back to Michael. Everything, it seems, leads back to Michael. If the apocalypse didn’t happen, what has become of him? If he still ended the world, what’s going to happen to you? With a nod and a reassuring smile from Mallory, you wave your hand to open the door in front of you. 

It’s obvious that you’re not in the Outpost, but it’s not immediately clear where you could be. The large open window at the end of the hallway allowing a light breeze to filter through and blow the translucent curtains inwards captures your attention. Not only is there wind, but there’s also natural light coming in. It’s impossible to make any assumptions based solely on this observation, but it’s certainly a promising sign. Mallory, however, focuses on a different facet of the hallway.

“Are we at Miss Robichaux’s?” 

Her question sends your glee to a screeching halt. A closer look at the hallway reveals stark white walls and the French Quarter architecture synonymous with historic New Orleans. Any doubts you may have about where you’re at is erased when you look at the portraits on the wall; classes of years past, a variety of young women all in black dresses that vary from time period to time period. It’s odd to be back at the school that fostered your magical abilities, since the last time you were here, you had to see the dead bodies of your sisters. Still, no matter what could have happened here, this was once home for you. I am home, you think in amazement. I am home.

“I’m so confused, I thought we came back to the present. Why are we here and not at Hawthorne?” You ask, fingertips tracing along an old picture frame from 1912. 

“Maybe the timeline resets when we come back and we’ve actually changed something, maybe this is where we would be if there was no apocalypse,” Mallory surmises, grinning at the thought that you’ve stopped the end of the world. “Miss Cordelia!” She calls, taking off around the corner as she looks for any sign of other witches.

“Mal, wait!” You follow behind her, glancing into the bedrooms and coming up empty. “Anybody home?”

You follow her down the grand staircase, still looking around for any of your sisters. You’re so preoccupied with looking towards the dining room for anyone doing homework that you run smack into Mallory’s back at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ouch! Why’d you stop?” She doesn’t answer, and you move out from behind her to see what stopped her so suddenly. Your attention, originally solely on Mallory, is drawn to the figure standing in the middle of the main entrance. The smirk that’s directed at you is one that has your heart nearly jumping out of your chest, your head spinning as you try to wrap your mind around what you’re seeing.

“You look surprised to see me.”

“Michael, you’re--you’re here. And you look like...you.” By ‘you,’ of course, you mean that Michael Langdon looks like the Michael Langdon that you had been hoping to come back to. His long golden locks fall to his shoulders, and he’s wearing a luxurious black velvet cloak with a deep red lining on top of a black suit that’s somehow a shade or two lighter than the cloak. His eyes twinkle at your confusion, accented by his signature red shade that somehow makes those baby blues of his pop even more.

“Of course I am. I would not miss the chance to welcome you back to the present after your time traveling adventure.” Your feet move of their own accord, propelling you over to him as you choke back a cry. “Love, there is no reason for your tears. I’m here now, it’s going to be alright.”

“I was just so worried that it wouldn’t work and that you would either die or the apocalypse would still happen,” you smile up at him, stroking his hair away from his face as he kisses you softly. “Sorry Mallory, I didn’t mean to make you the third wheel-”

Your words trail off as you turn around in Michael’s arms, Mallory frozen where she’s standing. She’s not frozen in the sense that she’s so stunned by the scene in front of her that she can’t even move; she’s actually frozen, suspended in time as if she’s a statue of someone walking down the stairs. Her hand rests on the bannister, one foot stuck in the air as she prepares to take a step that’s never coming. Her head is tilted up, eyes focusing to the side as if she were turning around to look at you.

“Michael, you promised me that you wouldn’t hurt her,” you say seriously, taking a step closer to make sure that Mallory’s still alive and hasn’t unknowingly faced some sort of Medusa-like creature. Michael grabs at your hand, gracefully taking your chin in his free hand and tilting it so that you’re looking at him again.

“And it’s a promise that I intend to keep. She’s not dead, or harmed, she is just--”

“You froze her like Han Solo, basically.” He looks at you in confusion and you shake your head. “Never mind. Could you unfreeze her now?”

“Hmm, but I quite like her like that, she’s a lot less...annoying this way.” You roll your eyes, jokingly hitting his chest while he chuckles. The small moment of playfulness is needed, it helps to remind you that the world is okay again. Michael sighs, smiling at you before blinking once and releasing Mallory from the spell.

She stumbles forward down the remaining step, almost as if Michael hit the ‘play’ button on a television remote. Her mind reels as she takes in the sight of you next to Michael when the last she remembers, you were still behind her. She glances between both you and Michael, trying to figure out what magic was used to manipulate the situation. 

“Wipe that confused look off of your face, Mallory, it’s very unbecoming of you,” Michael scoffs.

“So we did it, then? We--,” Mallory trails off, not sure if the rules of time travel allow for people to discuss the prior timeline.

“Oh don’t worry, Bill and Ted, I already know about your most excellent adventure.” You stifle a laugh at Michael’s reference of pop culture, knowing that the only reason he’s seen the movie is because you forced him to. 

“But I thought nobody was supposed to remember the erased timeline except for us?” You question, looking at Mallory, who’s far more knowledgeable on the spell than you are. 

“You forget that I’m not just any normal person,” Michael says proudly. “When I had reached the room that Cordelia had locked you in, both you and Mallory were already gone. It seemed like mere seconds, although I assume that you were actually gone for hours. Suddenly, I started getting flashes of memories. They were memories that I hadn’t experienced, but that I were mine all the same. Instead of my Ms. Mead being burned at the stake, you were there to stop the execution and convince me to join forces with Cordelia. I had conflicting memories from both of these timelines, sort of like a fork in the road of two different lives that I was living simultaneously.”

“Ms. Mead was the catalyst, then. Her death is the reason that you brought about the end of the world.”

“In the original timeline, yes.” Your heart sinks at Michael’s words.

“What do you mean, ‘in the original timeline?’ Did something happen in this timeline to cause the apocalypse?” Mallory asks, barely controlling the shaking in her voice. 

“Not in the way that you think. See, if there’s one thing retaining my memories from the original timeline taught me, it’s that my original apocalypse was far too messy. I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty; learned that from my father. This time around, I decided, it wasn’t the Earth that was the problem: it was the people. I wasn’t going to launch my little plan without a justified reason, and so I waited and watched to see if my assumptions about the human race were correct.”

The walls feel like they’re closing in on you, and you have to will yourself to not stumble over your feet. “What did--what did you do? Michael, what did you do?” You gasp out.

“The real question is what they did to bring this upon themselves,” he says with a grim look on his face.

“I don’t understand.”

“The witches tried to use the one person I care for more than Ms. Mead, more than anybody in the entire world: you.”

“They did that in the original timeline too, though.”

“This wasn’t something as simple as erasing your memory and sending you off to wait for the moment the witches needed you again. Cordelia almost killed you, (Y/N).”

“She wouldn’t do that, she wouldn’t--she couldn’t kill one of us,” Mallory says, both of you feeling a bit faint at this bombshell of a revelation.

“She never forgave your actions at the would-be triple execution that day, considering your interference treasonous. That and your relationship with me, along with a few...other events that, while miniscule, only seemed to add fuel to her fire. Therefore, she decided that you needed to die.”

Your mouth goes dry as Mallory lets out a heavy breath next to you. “How?” You ask, only managing to get one syllable out.

“‘How’ what?”

“How did she try to kill me?” Your voice is hoarse, and you swallow thickly to try and clear your throat.

“Cordelia attempted to slit your throat on an evening that I was supposed to be back in California for a meeting with some of my father’s subjects. I, however, knew she was plotting something, had seen it through the carefully-constructed walls she had attempted to put up to guard her mind. It really would just be easier if I showed you.” Michael holds his hand out expectantly, but you look at Mallory before looking pleadingly back at him. “Fine. Mallory, take (Y/N)’s hand.”

She does as instructed, holding onto you as Michael clasps your free one in his large hands. The coolness of his large, bejeweled rings on your skin is comfortingly familiar, and you raise his hands to your lips to kiss them softly. Michael’s eyes roll back into his head, and the scene flickers to life in your head like a movie being played on a projector.

Cordelia approaches your bedroom, a knife in her hand and a plan in her head. She’s been waiting for the right moment to do this, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to get close to you with Michael always around. Michael being gone on a sudden trip to California, though, presents the Supreme with the perfect opportunity. Her plan is simple: slit your throat, lock your soul up before whatever entity (she’s not sure if Satan’s laid claim to your soul, but she hopes for her sake that he hasn’t) that has dibs on it gets there first, and burn your body to ashes. It’s a quick and painless death, one that Cordelia feels is a mercy to you. She could burn you alive, listen to you writhe and scream in agony as the flames consume every inch of your flesh, but she won’t. That punishment is reserved only for those who have murdered their fellow witches or warlocks.

She supposes she has her mother to thank for the creativity that comes with killing a problematic witch. Fiona Goode, may God have mercy on her soul, was a conniving, stone-cold bitch who was only good for drinking copious amounts of fine alcohol and accruing untold amounts of money. Her one skill, however, happened to be getting rid of those witches who wouldn’t fall in line, the ones who were always on the verge of causing complete chaos within the Coven. Her methods are legendary, each disposal carefully recorded in a little book that resides inside of a larger book inside of a locked box in a secret drawer of Cordelia’s desk. A trophy, because of course Fiona wouldn’t be able to not gloat about her supposed accomplishments. For years she avoided looking inside of the book, having never had a reason or desire to do so. Now, however, she has both a reason and a desire.

Her mother’s drink of choice--whiskey sour, on the rocks--perched in her manicured hand, Cordelia perused the book like it was a magazine catalogue, quickly and calculatingly reading through each entry to decide which would be the best way to end your life. Some entries surprised her, while others warranted barely more than a second glance. She always had a niggling suspicion that Fiona had had something to do with Madison’s first death. Fiona hardly strayed from the tried-and-true method of throat slitting in her later years, and Cordelia admitted to herself that she saw the appeal in it too. If she had to kill someone, one of her girls, at that, at least it was a quick way for the person to go. 

The door to your room opens without even a squeak to announce Cordelia’s presence. Even if there had been a noise, it wouldn’t have woken you up. The benzodiazepine that the Supreme slipped into the glass of water you use to take your pills with made absolutely sure that you would remain asleep until it was too late. You’re facing away from the door, moonlight bathing your form as your chest rises and falls evenly with deep breaths. Cordelia’s heart clenches at the thought of what she’s about to do, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut to avoid turning around and forgetting about her plan to murder you in the first place. 

With each step she takes, she reminds herself of a reason why she needs to do this. Left foot, you stopped Ms. Mead from being killed. Right foot, you recruited Mallory to your side. Left foot, you were involved in a romantic relationship with the Antichrist and loved him despite the fact. Right foot, your relationship was only prolonging the inevitable apocalypse that would befall the Earth for as long as Michael remained alive. The point now is to catch Michael when he’s at his weakest, in the throes of grief, and kill him as well.

Cordelia tangles her fingers in your hair, exposing your neck to her as your head lolls limply to the side. The light from the hallway glints off of the silver blade of the knife when Cordelia lifts it up. She looks at it closely, ‘inspecting’ it and certainly not trying to stall in the hopes that you’ll just spontaneously combust and do the job for her. With a deep breath, the Supreme digs the knife into the left side of your neck, pressing down until it cuts the surface of your skin and blood wells up before readying her hand for one quick slice. When she does finally go to complete the action, her hand seizes, refusing to cooperate with her mind before the knife flies across the room and lands in the wall.

You shoot up with a gasp, too many things happening at once. Cordelia tries to escape, but she shrieks and stumbles backwards when she’s engulfed in flames. Just as quickly as the flames appear, they extinguish, but Cordelia finds herself pinned against the wall by an unseen force. Your hand claps over the deep cut on your neck as you stare at the scene with wide eyes. The shadows in the corner of the room seem to move and warp, and it’s not at all surprising when Michael walks out of the darkness. The shadows and all of the creatures that lurk within are Satan’s domain, so it was only a matter of time until Michael harnessed that power as well.

Fire blazes in Michael’s eyes, and he stalks towards Cordelia like a predator closing in on its kill. Her heart sinks when she realizes that he must have been able to break through the fortress she put up around her mind, devising a clever lie about having to suddenly leave town in order to catch her in the act. The only thing that stops his slow, methodical pace is when he reaches you. His hand closes gently around yours, removing it from your neck so he can fully see the wound. His nostrils flare at the damage, and you cling to him in fear and disorientation as the benzo tries it's hardest to knock you back out. He looks into your eyes, muttering words of reassurance to you and kissing your forehead before you finally agree to let go of the hem of his coat.

Michael holds his hand out, and the knife dislodges from the wall and lands back in his hand. He traces it along Cordelia’s bare skin, watching with glee as her body stiffens. The tip comes dangerously close to nicking her collarbone, Michael purposely applying more pressure. When the blade reaches the swell of her breast, he stops, angling the knife so one skillful shove could have pierced her heart. Cordelia’s chest heaves as she engages in a silent battle with Michael, both parties refusing to concede any ground.

“Go ahead, kill me. You won’t be able to do it,” Cordelia declares. Michael clicks his tongue, laughing darkly and shaking his head.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. That would be too much of a mercy for you.” His hand closes itself over her neck, slowly applying pressure on her windpipe until only shallow breaths are escaping her throat. “Instead, I’m going to end the world, and you’re going to be forced to watch, knowing all the while that it’s your fault this is happening. And only then, after the world is remade in my father’s image, will I kill you. And I promise you, Cordelia, that it will be a slow and painful death, the likes of which you could never even imagine.”

Tears are falling down your face when Michael lets go of you, and once glance at Mallory confirms that she’s in the same state. You’re in disbelief that your Supreme, the woman you trusted with your life and who became a surrogate mother to you, would choose to kill you because of your relationship with Michael. How could she so callously plan out your execution as if each choice were for some sort of a dinner party? You knew she could go to great extremes to do what she believed needed to be done to keep the coven safe, but you never thought murdering one of her girls would be an option.

“Now you see. I tested Cordelia, and she failed. The human race failed, and the world needed to be cleansed and ruled by myself and my father,” Michael says.

“How are we above ground, then?” You ask.

“As I said previously, my first attempt at Armageddon was far too messy and complicated. This time around, a simple plague was all it took to wipe out humanity while leaving the good parts of the world intact. That way, it’s much easier to rebuild with an already-strong foundation.”

“How very biblical of you, Michael. Did lamb’s blood over a doorway save people, as well?” You scoff at the irony of his method this time around, invoking a plague much like that brought upon the Egyptians to free the Israelites.

“Part of a strong foundation,” Michael says, choosing to ignore your comment instead of taking the bait, “includes those with the right genetic makeup to repopulate the world. The people who were originally saved in the first timeline survived the plague this time.” You sigh in relief at the knowledge that Timothy and Emily are both still alive. “You’ll be pleased to know, (Y/N), that your dear friend Gallant also has superior DNA. He’s alive and well in California right now.” That’s news you could cry at, and you almost do.

“What about the witches and warlocks? Did you slaughter all of them again?” Mallory asks.

“No, I presented them with a choice: either they joined me and pledged their loyalty as my obedient subjects, or they died. Quite simple, really.”

Mallory looks at you as you both start mentally cataloguing who would have accepted Michael’s offer. A good number of the warlocks must have, but you can’t imagine that John Henry Moore would. As for witches, the numbers are slim. Zoe wouldn’t unless Madison did, the two sticking together even though they’ve long claimed that there’s nothing special going on between them. Queenie, too, if Michael managed to gain her trust again in this timeline. It’s possible that Coco did, considering the Coco you knew before your memories were wiped was sweet and caring. Besides those few, the rest most likely perished.

“You’re correct, for the most part,” Michael says, having listened in on Mallory’s thoughts. “A lot of the warlocks were never going to be worthy of living in the New World, so I disposed of them quick enough. Madison, Queenie, and Coco all decided to save themselves, but Zoe refused to go down without a fight. I was honestly quite surprised at just how many witches jumped at the chance to fall to their knees at my feet.”

“So that’s it, then. We lost. Even going back in time and killing Michael wouldn’t have stopped this,” Mallory says in despair.

“You were right in the Outpost, when you said you were always going to win,” you say in almost a whisper.

“Time travel is a fickle thing, and it’s almost impossible to work out if there are any true rules that govern it. However, I’ve come to believe that time is a repeating loop. Think of it like...developing photographs in a darkroom. You can change the contrast, and how much light is exposed, and how long you develop it for, but the image itself will always remain the same. You can’t change what’s on that film, no matter what edits you do during the process of developing said photo. Nothing you did would have stopped the end result, what has been printed on the very fabric of the universe since the beginning of time,” Michael explains.

“Now what?”

“We rebuild the world, of course. But that leaves you both with a choice.” His eyes meet yours first, a rare flash of vulnerability hidden within the pale irises, like he’s worrying that you’ll have finally decided to leave him just like everyone in his life. “(Y/N), will you stand beside me as my equal, as my queen, and help me with the mission bestowed upon me as my father’s one begotten son?”

There’s not a moment’s hesitation behind your eager nod, “of course I will, Michael. I’ll always stand at your side.” Michael takes your face in between his hands, kissing you gratefully. Although he’s rather eloquent with words, sometimes his actions prove far more effective at conveying what he wants to say.

“I love you,” he mutters against your lips, causing you to smile before repeating the words back to him. When he pulls away from you, the only sign that he was even kissing you are his slightly red lips, managing to look as put-together and stoic as ever, even though Mallory watched the entire encounter. 

“Mallory, will you accept your place in this world as your sister witches prior to you have done?” Michael asks as you look at her hopefully. She’s silent, studying Michael as she calculates her next move.

“I...I need to know that we won’t be used and thrown away as you had planned in the original timeline. Witches can be a valuable asset to you, Michael, but you won’t be able to use that asset if you don’t hold our magic, and our people, in high regard. You certainly haven’t forgotten that (Y/N) is one of us, too?”

“You have my word. If anything, your actions over those eighteen months in the other timeline have proven your loyalty, not only to (Y/N), but to your coven. That loyalty is an admirable quality, and it’s one that we’ll need when rebuilding.”

“Then yes, I will accept.” You clasp your hands in front of your face, hiding your wide smile as Mallory accepts. Your cheeks burn as Michael replaces your hands with just two of his delicate fingers, turning your attention back to him as he smiles lovingly down at you. 

“And now, my love, my queen,” you giggle nervously at the moniker, “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Your eyes light up, although you’re not quite sure you could be anymore surprised after everything that’s happened since you emerged from that tub upstairs.

“Mmhm. It involves a certain fading Supreme, and an immense amount of retribution.”

///////////////

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[analytic-chaoticism]

Who’s Going To Die In The Homestuck Epilogue Tomorrow?

Homestuck is finally ending for real now so, obviously, somebody is staring down the barrel of Hussie’s final Chekhov’s gun, except also for real now. After 10 years, the shed wall has more bullet holes than wood knots and the proverbial horse stands dutifully awaiting the next shot in a series of hundreds, but it might actually get put out of its misery forever this time, with John and Vriska - in my mind - the most obvious candidates for permadeath. I’ll briefly discuss the (de)merits of both outcomes - and how both could (maybe, hopefully, please?) be averted - under the cut.

For context, I’m assuming that John will meet Terezi and Vriska at the Green Sun/Black Hole before he goes gallivanting with them through time and space. 

We’ve known John Egbert for 10 years and for all the characters and perspective switching we’ve done since 4/13/2009, he is our protagonist. Homestuck is a story about breaking free from fated suffering - the will of Lord English - and becoming an independent agent, so it should only make sense that the main character is an embodiment of that freedom: the Heir of Breath.  

It’s for this reason that John dying forever at the end of it all - having survived the death of his dad, an omnicidal dog god, the reset of reality, misadventure in the bubbles, a solo retcon journey through Paradox Space, a fight with Caliborn and another on the horizon, killing the Condesce, and making it to Earth C - would be really bad narratively and philosophically! There are no merits! Let’s go over why it Just Won’t Happen. 

1. As the quintessential bildungsroman character (a story requiring the survival of its protagonist to gain experience of the world, find their place in it, and mature with hope for the future) and audience surrogate, killing him in the final act would just be bad writing. It goes against the story’s holistic narrative and philosophical arc and totally undermines Act 7 thematically. 

2. In a story about overcoming fated suffering, the depressed character with the most repressed trauma - who represents freedom and is working to help everyone escape that suffering - dying without coming to terms with sadness and reconciling with his friends and purpose to find happniness? It’s even worse writing. The only possible merit to his death is having to directly confront that trauma in a super sadstuck way; what stakes will it take for him to overcome his disaffected ennui, right? But killing him is a real shitty way of dealing with those problems. Dying with regret is just... super lame. It could be said many characters die with possible regret in HS but if a character doesn’t at some point get revived in one way or another and their death served a purpose, then, on word of God, they just weren’t that important. 

3. It defies the narrative of fantastical escapism. At one of its many cores, Homestuck is a story about kids playing a crazy game about wish fulfillment: bringing the dead back to life, meeting their friends, having an adventure, and becoming super heroes. As the Heir of Breath, especially with the retcon powers, John is ALL ABOUT fantastical escapism. John dying for suffering, subverting escapism, is 100% counterintuitive thematically. Super unsatisfying conclusion to his arc. 

4. People cite this scene with Scratch as evidence that John is going to have a permanent heroic death one day, but I would argue that the metaphysical way in which John would permanently be tying himself to the narrative to ‘maintain canonicity’ (whatever the FUCK that entails) would be a little bit more than a Just or Heroic thing. For me, this was more about Scratch acknowledging John as - though not infallible personally - a totally good guy. And note that reference to Vriska and her ‘Justness’ at the end there: 

Instead, I imagine the whole situation, despite the seeming distinction between Meat and Candy, COULD go something a little more like this - 

A story that is just meat - dense with exposition, action, violence, and tension (plotcentric) - is bad, and a story that is just candy - light with fluff, fanservice, frivolity, and comfort (charactercentric) - is bad. In isolation neither is of consequence to the reader, and reader investment is what this whole epilogue and the quest to avoid ‘dissipation’ is about. You need both to develop the other in a healthy and satisfying way, ultimately producing a well-developed set of characters. Homestuck is the best story of all time and it’s been meat and candy all the way, I don’t foresee that changing. For me, the ‘dual epilogue’ is a 1+1=3 situation. Typheus’ choice for John here was a practice for a metacosmic-scale third option regarding the meat/candy ‘binary’ he’s faced with now.  

The whole story, John - though he represents freedom - has never made his own choice besides in this moment. He’s gone on quests for prophets, just like he’s doing now, and done whatever people told him or expected him to do. Becoming a free agent is the capstone of his character arc and what better way to realize that than assuming control of the narrative and Doing Whatever You Want For Real - the Ultimate Riddle (as many people theorize) which I imagine we’ll see more of soon being ‘do as you will.’ 

But let’s imagine that John does become in every way a martyr for the narrative itself in a Christ-like sacrifice befitting of the Easter Sunday I will probably be reading this upd8 on. How could he get out of it because, trust me, John Is Not Dying Forever:

Transcendence. We’ve descended and ascended, so what comes next?

Juju nonsense. The house or something else, who knows?

Denizen nonsense. I’ll get into this in a second.

A second John takes his place and we get ours back. ‘2 endings,’ right?

The Ultimate Self is gearing up to be important. It’s Jesus 101 people. 

So I’m expecting Abraxas, Jake and possibly Karkat’s denizen, to make a significant appearance in the epilogue. The epilogue itself, as the rest of the story, is geared up (with it’s black and white symbolism) to basically revolve around the cherubs which I fully expect to get more lore on. As @revolutionaryduelist details in this video, Abraxas is “technically at the center of Paradox Space, as a deity that represents both everything in the multiverse that exists ever both physically and conceptually,and the very process which leads to the creation of those things.” Abraxas is, as the true god in enlightenment, the opposite of Yaldabaoth, the false god in ignorance: more relevant, truthful, and essential as a deity - representing the 3 pillars of canon. Yaldabaoth was Caliborn’s denizen, giving him the clock and juju he required to assume ultimate power in the first place. It makes sense that Abraxas would have a hand in his undoing. Abraxas also shares a connection with the cherubs physically and metaphorically, and considering the importance of the cherubs, I think it’s safe to assume this similarity will become relevant. In this way, Abraxas could Just Get Up To Some Nonsense to save John (who is related to Typheus, a potentially Christ-like figure within the denizen genealogy as John is to the story). Resurrection of Christ anybody? Our snakey parent who art above Paradox Space? As somebody connected to magic, it also makes sense that Abraxas could pull off the miracle of the century if needs be.

All in all, John’s not dying. So what about... 

Vriska?

Vriska dying forever is almost ALL merits. This is NOT because I hate Vriska: she is one of the best characters ever written, has never done anything wrong, if she dies I will weep, and I NEED Vrisrezi to become Earth C endgame, but I can’t deny the narrative quality of a potential sacrifice. 

Vriska has never had direct karmic comeuppance for anything she’s done besides Make Her Pay and getting killed by Terezi: all other forms of punishment for her actions were either problems with self-hatred or people she cares about suffering - there’s been little direct consequential action taken against her. Even when She’s 8ack with a second chance she gets to dominate and bully others and still be the leader. And look at what she did to Tavros. That was just mean (but will hopefully be relevant in the epilogue because I love GCATavros oops). Her character is also marred in the emulation of Mindfang, and being an inauthentic individual is a Great Crime in Paradox Space which you could say she has been punished for but we can always squeeze a few more drops out of the cloth. Key to understanding Vriska is knowing that she has little ill will. She said herself, she wants to be a hero. That’s why she’s obsessed with becoming the Most Important Person. She wants to save everyone. It just so happens this conflicts with her selfishness (coming in parts from Spidermom, Mindfang, and her caste) which sweeps people up as collateral damage. The important thing is that she feels really guilty about losing control to her ego/persona and hurting people. 

And she turns to John for absolution. For freedom from her circumstance and misery. 

EB: i guess i had no idea how different we really were.

EB: what i am hearing is seriously scaring the shit out of me!

AG: Yeah, I know. I wish we didn't have to 8e so different. I'm just trying to 8e honest with you, 8ecause like I said, I have nowhere else to go.

John is ignorant of her culture and her behaviour at large, and his kind, innocent disposition makes him the perfect person to tell her that she hasn’t done anything wrong, or - at least - can become a better person. That’s why his opinion matters so much to her when nobody else’s does. 

And even knowing that she’s not a flawless person, she still doesn’t think that she deserved to die. She has never been truly absolved of her guilt, and turning to a stranger - and an alien, whom you manipulate even though NOT doing that is the WHOLE point - to do that for her is cheating in the same way Tricksterism was for the alpha kids. 

That said, John does present a genuine avenue of character development and emotional vulnerability for the girl who would become (Vriska). (Vriska) became her own person free of Mindfang’s shadow, having overcome the trauma of her past and the need to be ‘the best,’ which is as close to well-adjusted as we could hope for Vriska to be. But this character arc - a form of redemption itself - ends with the death of (Vriska) with GO!Terezi as Paradox Space collapses around them in the most emotional and romantic moment in storytelling history. John’s effects have yet to take hold on post-retcon Vriska as they did on pre-retcon Vriska starting from the above interaction forward, as Vriska is still a 8ig 8itch. John has come to recognize this, and I’m sure it will come up at some point, perhaps inspiring some kind of change in our anti-heroine. 

Sacrificing herself for canonicity - maintaining all relevance EVER in a mostly selfless but still kind of selfish act that represents a major step in a redemption she would never get to complete but may not fully deserve besides - is the perfect end for her personally and thematically. Vriska saving John would be wild after their entire relationship including but not limited to the pivotal moments of their ghosts meeting and him saving her life so she could once again experience relevance in the first place; she’d basically be repaying him: something she has never done willingly for totally selfless reasons in good faith and karma before. Wouldn’t that be the most bittersweet character growth to end on? John would FINALLY be a mechanism for her absolution. It was cheating when John didn’t know her. Now it’s been earned after their relationship has evolved so thoroughly and John sees her for what she is, presumably removing his ability to absolve her from the equation entirely. What a 180 that would be. Her arc would technically be incomplete as a character who never fully matured, but what a beautiful step in that journey to end on. It would also be a form of direct recompense to John, having manipulated him in the past as Scratch alluded to! The (Just) master becomes the (Heroic) student! What a great fuck you to Scratch that would be after he ruined her life and fucked up her personality (so would her surviving to become a better person outside of Scratch’s narrative but we’ll get into that). 

Vriska has been primed to destroy the Green Sun for a loooooooong time. 

Within the scope of the story before we were introduced to serious meta like ‘dissipation,’ destroying the Green Sun would have been the most significant thing a person could ever do. But there’s a reality beyond Paradox Space and a wider ‘canon’ that needs to be maintained both within and outside of the Green Sun’s influence. Vriska never truly got to cash in on the Green Sun imagery. What if she got a second chance to do so?

Assume in some way that the most significant object within Paradox Space and its resulting black hole eating all of reality - which, as Terezi showed us in the Credits (making it still canon) has something strange at its centre - plays a role in maintaining canonicity. I know, a bit of a gimme, right? Presumably,we’re going to explore the confrontation with Lord English as part of the ‘unloading’ of the house juju. If the mechanism for canonicity lies in all this green mess, we’re killing 2 birds with 1 stone! Her relationship with John serves its original purpose in a newly genuine context and the green sun foreshadowing would finally amount to something. 

I think Vriska would be almost perfectly content to die like this. It fulfils her philosophy and places her in canonical lore as the most significant, undeniable hero. As Hussie discusses in the Viz book 4 author notes, one of the dynamics Homestuck revolves around is Vriska inserting herself into everything and the Scourge Sisters’ karmic cycle that arises from that, so wiping it all clean would be a fitting end. 

That said, I don’t want Vriska to die forever, because I love her with all my heart and I would never want to do that to Terezi, and Earth C would be way more fun if Vriska got to fully develop as a character with friends outside of canonical restraints/pressures. Let her enjoy candy after a life of meat! (Vriska) got to enjoy candy with Meenah and Terezi after she gave up on meat. Vriska has never had true candy comparatively. All of her relationships and romantic leads have had undertones of contention and manipulation that it would be fantastic to be free of in a new world where she can leave the burdens of ‘importance’ behind. This happening, I feel, is one of (if not the best ways) Hussie can further the commentary on candy being just as important as meat: making someone who has prioritized meat her whole life happy with candy once she learns to let it into her life. Meat is NOT the only important thing, Vriska. 

How could she escape dying forever if she wanted to sacrifice herself to save John from doing the same? Sounds pretty final. I can’t imagine the ultimate self is in her near future, she doesn’t have retcon powers, and unless she pulls a juju out of her ass (maybe auryn somehow???) then the only mechanism I can see working is denizen nonsense. Beyond this, we know Terezi would not be content to let Vriska be dead forever. I was thinking maybe, on Earth C once the dust has settled and canon is Gucci, the kids could use their god tier powers to recreate Vriska (Terezi/Dirk for memory and self, life from Jane, a body from Roxy/Jake/Jade etc.) but that might be a long shot. Who knows. But also resurrecting Vriska as a free person in a free world would be... really Cool. Like, wow... what a scene. Ultimately, I think both potentialities would be pretty rad and would make me weep like a baby. I’m open to anything here. 

In the end, we’ll see what happens tomorrow! I started Homestuck when I was 12 and its influence on me for the last 6 years as both a person and a creative is incomprehensible. I cannot imagine who I would be without it, and I don’t want to. Making analysis/theory posts and getting involved with community discussion has been one of the best things ever and I’m glad I could squeeze this one in before the end of everything. I’ll have plenty more to write about Homestuck and Hiveswap in the future, but it’s crazy to think this is the end of theorizing for Homestuck proper. Homestuck as a property has plenty more to give and I’ll be here with ideas for all of it :)

Thanks for reading!

[wanderingaunt]

No One Will Take You Seriously

“No one is going to take you serious about your business, Robin.” 

This is the thought that woke me up abruptly at 5 a.m. from a nightmare. In my dream, I was teaching a yoga class. I had a class full of students, several of whom were my friends. Everyone was talking as the class began. I couldn’t get my playlist to play properly. It was on the wrong Spotify account and ads kept playing in the background. I kept switching songs until I finally got it to work. All the while, I was trying to instruct my students to get into various yoga poses. Some people were listening and trying to follow along. Others were not paying attention and were instead having mini conversations. I finally got them through the integration and warm up. I looked at the clock, and I had already been teaching for 30 minutes, and there was only 30 minutes left to teach a full sequence. I clapped my hands to get the student’s attention. It took everything for me to not yell at them out of frustration for not listening to me. Even my friends who are yoga teachers were talking and laughing and not listening. I felt helpless. Finally, the talking stopped. At one point someone asked me if I could speak up. I was already straining my voice and told them I was trying my best. As I was trying to teach again, a group of people in the back of the room started singing A Capella. Their singing was beautiful, but it wasn’t the time for that. It was time for yoga! I got so frustrated. I marched to the back of the room and clapped my hands to get their attention. I told them this was a yoga class and they needed to be in it or get out of the room. And if they wanted to sing, fine, but they needed to do so out of the room. 

Anger and frustration consumed me. 

Not only was I not being heard, I was not taken seriously as a teacher—not even by my friends. 

I awoke abruptly from this nightmare. My body was drenched in sweat. The statement, “No one is going to take you seriously, Robin.” was running through my mind. 

Luckily, it was just a dream.

But the message rang loud and clear. I’ve been so afraid to put myself out there, offer my services, and tell the world what I’m doing, and how I can be of service and support. I’ve been afraid to promote myself and toot my own horn about amazing things I’m already doing (speaking on stage, leading retreats, modeling in photoshoots all over the world!). I’ve made hints of what it is that I’m doing, yet, I’ve been afraid that I won’t be taken seriously or will be seen as flaky. I’ve been afraid that people won’t believe me or think it’s real.

“There’s Robin telling us something else that she’s “thinking” of doing.”

Fear is a b**tch sometimes. It fills our heads with lies and stories to keep us safe from taking any type of step that could jeopardize or change our reality.

I quit my corporate career a year and a half ago to follow my dream of traveling the world. Since that time, I’ve solo traveled to 17 countries across 6 continents. I’ve spent time resting, resetting, exploring, and trying on different opportunities to sustain this lifestyle. I’ve given myself time and space to ask what it is that I really want to do. I’ve hinted at it off and on, yet haven’t fully flipped the switch. I’ve held my ideas and projects close to my heart, and I’ve allowed fear and resistance to stop me from fully launching—or better yet, owning it.

In many ways, I’ve felt like a fraud.

On the surface (and on social media), I look like I’ve got it “all together”. I’m a free spirit. I’m bouncing from experience to experience and live among different cultures. I’m modeling in photoshoots in exotic places. I’ve placed such high expectations on myself because people are watching me and living vicariously through me. What if I fail and let people down? Or what if I succeed and people expect more from me? It’s the good ole’ Upper Limit problem that Gay Hendricks speaks about in his book, The Big Leap.

These false expectations have gotten in the way from me owning my potential and earning my worth.

When I meet new people or reunite with old acquaintances, I am met with this question — “How are you affording your travels or this lifestyle?” Every time this question is asked of me, I’m cringing on the inside. I feel exposed. While many are asking out of sheer curiosity or from a standpoint of “how can it be possible?”, I feel like I’m being violated. I don’t ask how you afford your mortgage each month, so why are you asking me how I can afford this lifestyle?

It’s not really about the question or the lifestyle. Yes, this lifestyle can be extravagant, however, it can also be very simple and affordable. The question is asked because we have this notion that travel is expensive, or that anything outside of societal norms must be difficult to keep up. For me, however, the question is mirroring my fear on the inside— “How am I making enough money to sustain this Lifestyle? How can I be a business owner and make enough money to support myself? Why haven’t I owned what it is that I’m doing or committed to it?”

The thought “if you only knew” runs through my mind. It’s Imposter Syndrome at its finest. Yet, you wouldn’t know that. Being “the poised, look-good-no-matter-what” kind of person that I am, I always reply that I’m doing freelance work while I’m building my business. Or I can afford it because I don’t have rent, a car payment, or other bills. I justify it to make others (and myself) feel good.

It’s not about the business or the questions about my lifestyle. It’s about the mindset I’ve had around it.

The truth is, I’m not where I thought I would be at this point in my journey.  I’m turning 35 in 2 weeks, and I honestly thought I would have had my business fully launched by now and would be further along. I thought I’d have numerous clients, sponsors, investors—income flowing in. I thought I’d have my book draft written. I thought I’d have it all figured out by now. Even writing that seems laughable…do we ever have it figured out?

Perhaps I am not where I thought I would be (or where you thought I’d be), yet I am where I’m meant to be. And so are you.

I’ve been on a journey of discovering more and more about who I am and what I want. I’ve invested thousands of dollars and hours in myself. I’ve learned to wholeheartedly accept and love who I am despite what others may think. I’ve learned to believe in myself. I’ve allowed my whole self to be seen and validated by the women in my coaching program, and I am learning to do the same to each person reading this. I’ve let go of attachment to people who were not serving me in a healthy way. I’ve put my beliefs on the line and dared to claim that I believe something different. I’ve been living my dream of traveling the world! I’ve discovered what it is that I’m meant to be doing, and I’m learning to own it. I’ve learned to take things at my pace and understand that some things take more time. I’ve allowed myself to be supported by others through coaching, mentoring, food, lodging, hugs, and encouragement. I’ve launched online programs, co-lead my first retreat, modeled in 7 international photoshoots, spoken on stage at a conference in New Zealand, and partnered on many writing projects.

I have all of the evidence to show how supported, loved and cared for I am no matter the circumstance. I’ve been met with such kindness all over the world, and even online. 

I can look back and see all that has happened and how much I’ve grown from it. That’s how clever and sly fear is. It knows how to pull you from what you’ve done or what you’re doing and pull you back into the safety of despair.

The fear, resistance, doubt, shame, and judgment that have been blocking me from fully owning who I am and what I want, are “just” emotions. Of course, they are strong and powerful emotions that continue to show up. But they are just emotions.

I can acknowledge them, sit with them and feel their weight, but they don’t have to own or consume me anymore. 

As Elizabeth Gilbert says about Fear in her book, Big Magic, “There’s plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us, so make yourself at home, but understand this: Creativity and I are the only ones who will be making any decisions along the way. I recognize and respect that you (Fear) are part of this family, and so I will never exclude you from our activities, but still—your suggestions will never be followed. You’re allowed to have a seat, and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote.”

Fear/Ego/Resistance tells me no one will take me or my business seriously. It tells me I’m a fraud and people will see right through me. It tells me to stop playing and grow up. It tells me I’m almost 35 and should have it “all together” by now. It tells me not to show others who I really am—that if I do, I will lose them and be alone. It tells me to play small and not be too big. And it tells me that I have to do it all on my own so that I can prove to others and myself that I did it.

Fear/Judgement/Doubt/Shame/Guilt/Resistance will consume you and tear you apart if you allow them to.  

They are not going anywhere. They will be with you and show up again and again. They will try to keep you safe and stop you. They will try to convince you that you’re not ready, and likely never will be. They will tell you that you’ll never make money working for yourself and that it’s time to get a “real job.” And better yet, after you do the thing you’ve been wanting to do, they will beat you up and tell you how you “should’ve” done this or that. They will try to knock you down. While these thoughts are real, they’re just that—thoughts. They don’t have to consume you.

The less attention you give to them, the more powerless they become, and the more powerful you become.

To Fear and its dis-empowering friends, I say, “No more.” You are not allowed to have a vote or a say as to how I live my life or receive money. You will not rob me of my talents and gifts by telling me I’m not good enough. You will not stop me from putting myself out there because you think I’ll be hurt or rejected or that no one will take me seriously.

Enough is enough. 

I wrote all of this to remind you (and myself) that I am human and so are you. I deal with fears and sometimes allow them to consume me. I wrote this to show you that life doesn’t have to look the way that others’ lives do or how society tells you it’s supposed to be. I write to show you that you are not alone; to pay attention to what life is showing you, and to wake up when dreams are screaming at you with a message. To own who you are, what you want, and step boldly towards it. To believe that support is there for you when you’re ready to receive it.

If you don’t know where to find that support, reach out to me. I AM a coach, writer, model, speaker, world traveler, and retreat leader. I have a true gift for holding space for others and listening with intent to what it is that their heart desires. I help to cut through the noise and validate fears with love and acceptance. I fully own who I am and all that I have to offer. I know the value of having a container of support. And I am ready for you. Are You Ready for You?