#gas problem solution

[hiimshospitalpanchkula]

Natural Home Remedies for Stomach Gas and Acidity Problem

Find lasting relief from gas and acidity with home-based ayurvedic remedies. This guide covers stomach gas treatment, acidity treatment at home, and stomach heat home remedies using simple ingredients and lifestyle tips.

[drbatras101]

Buy Ayurvedic Digestion Medicine Online at Herbal Hills Wellness

Discover Ayurvedic digestion medicine at Herbal Hills Wellness. Improve gut health, relieve indigestion, and promote a balanced digestive system with our herbal products.

https://www.herbalhillswellness.in/collections/ayurvedic-medicine-for-digestion

[allhealthneedsdoctorconsultation]

14 Best Ayurvedic Medicine For Gastric Problem at Livlong

Discover the 14 Best Ayurvedic Medicines for Gastric Problems for ensuring your rapid recovery. Know more about ayurvedic medicine for gastric problems at Livlong.

https://livlong.com/blogs/health-and-wellness/ease-your-stomach-by-gastric-problem-using-ayurvedic-medicine

[july-19th-club]

i have no mouth and i must scream speech but for about insomnia hate hate hate let me tell you how much i have come to hate being awake

[ctl-yuejie]

this series is a delight

what made me giggle and kick my feet the most yelling at every character in this series "it's me!" is the fast pacing of it all which - while needed to make the best use of 24 minute episodes - really drives home the somewhat frantic undercurrent that exists as a 30 year old

probably not much different in your 40s etc but they really do catch the wild pendulum of "i am a professional earning money" and "my crush from highschool turning up thouroughly derails my life"

they are both grasping for life experience they still have to go through to help them which....is obviously not how this works

if anything the preview for next episode makes me even more optimistic: both deciding to lean into their attraction for each other and telling themselves they are able to anticipate the outcome since they're adults...while I can already feel that both will be delightfully wrong

[drjigarpatel]

Intestinal Problems Doctor Gujarat- Dr.Jigar Patel, Your Path to Digestive Wellness

Dr. Jigar Patel provides specialized treatment for intestinal problems in Gujarat, offering expert care for digestive disorders to ensure long-term wellness and relief.

[arolesbianism]

The sadness and agony that emerges everytime I start a new oni save and am forced to remember what it's like to have a dupe without a hat only to put them in a hat because I think they'd look cute only to remember hats make half of them look bald but I spent this long maxing out a skill for them so Im too stubborn to back down and remove the hat

[haru-dipthong]

Did you know that the english word “star” and the japanese word 星（ほし）don’t actually mean the same thing?

Language does not simply name pre-existing categories; categories do not exist in 'the world'

— Daniel Chandler, Semiotics for Beginners

I read this quote a few years ago, but I don’t think I truly understood it until one day, when I was looking at the wikipedia article for “star” and I thought to check the Japanese article, see if I could get some Japanese reading practice in. I was surprised to find that the article was not titled 「星」, but 「恒星」, a word I’d never seen before. I’d always learnt that 星 was the direct translation for “star” (I knew the japanese also contained meanings the english didn’t, like “dot” or “bullseye”, but I thought these were just auxiliary definitions in addition to the direct translation of “star” as in "a celestial body made of hydrogen and helium plasma").

To try and clear things up for myself, I searched japanese wikipedia for 星. It was a disambiguation page, with the main links pointing to the articles for 天体 (astronomical object) and スター（記号）(star symbol). There was no article just called 「星」.

It’s an easy difference to miss, because in everyday conversation, 星 and star are equivalent. They both describe the shining lights in the night sky. They both describe this symbol: ★. They even both describe those enormous celestial objects made of plasma.

But they are different - different enough to not share a wikipedia article. 星 is used to describe any kind of celestial body, especially if it appears shiny and bright in the night sky. “Star” can be used this way too (like Venus being called the “morning star”), but it’s generally considered inaccurate to use the word like this, whereas there is no such inaccuracy with 星. You can say “oh that’s not actually a star, it’s a planet”, but you CAN’T say 「実はそれは星ではなく惑星だよ」 (TL: that’s not actually a hoshi, it’s a planet). A planet IS a 星.

星 is a very common word, essentially equivalent to “star”, but its meaning is closer to “celestial body”. I haven’t looked into the etymology/history but it’s almost like both english and japanese started out with a simple, common word for the lights in the sky - star/星 , but as we found out more about what these lights actually were, english doubled down on using the common word for the specific scientific concept, while japanese kept the common word generic and instead came up with a new word for the more specific concept. If this is actually what happened, I’d guess that kanji probably had something to do with it - 星 as a component kanji exists inside the word for planet, 惑星, and in the word for comet, 彗星, and in the scientific word for “star”, 恒星, so it makes sense that it would indicate a more general concept when used standalone.

This discovery helped me understand that quote - categories don’t exist in the world, we are the ones who create them. I thought that the concept of “star” was something that would be consistent across all languages, but it’s not, because the concept of “star” is not pre-existing. Each language had to decide how to name each of those similar star-like concepts (the ★ symbol, hot balls of gas, twinkling lights in the sky, planets, comets, etc), and obviously not every language is going to group those concepts under the same words with the same nuance.

Knowing this, one might be tempted to say that 恒星（こうせい） is the direct translation for “star”. But this isn’t true either. In most of the contexts that the word “star” is used in english, the equivalent japanese will be simply 星. Despite the meanings not lining up exactly, 星 will still be the best translation for “star” most of the time. This is the art of translation - knowing when the particulars are less important than the vibe or feel of a word. For any word, there will never be an exact perfect translation with all the same nuances and meanings. Translation is about finding the best solution to an unsolvable problem. That's why I love it.

[reasonsforhope]

"Kristina Smithe was running the California International Marathon in 2019, grabbing cups of water to stay hydrated, when she started to think about how much waste such events produce. On the flight home, she did the math: 9,000 runners, 17 aid stations and something like 150,000 cups used once and thrown away.

“I was just shocked that, even in California, it’s not sustainable,” Smithe said.

That sparked her idea for something more durable — a lightweight, pliable silicone cup that could be used again and again. After working out a design, Smithe ordered her first shipment and tested them at a race in 2021.

Now her business, Hiccup Earth, has 70,000 cups that Smithe rents out to interested races to replace the typical white paper cups that can pile up like snowdrifts at busy water stops.

Billions of disposable cups are used around the world each year. These cups are often made of plastic, but even if they are made of paper, they typically have a plastic lining that makes it difficult for them to biodegrade. And making these cups, and disposing or burning them, generates planet-warming greenhouse gas emissions.

“That’s just a small subset of the amount of plastic waste that we produce, but it’s a pretty visible one,” said Sarah Gleeson, solutions research manager and plastics waste expert at climate nonprofit Project Drawdown. “It’s something that generates a lot of waste, and waste — depending on what exactly it’s made of — can really last in landfills for hundreds of years.”

As she was getting her business off the ground, Smithe emailed race directors to ask if their event used disposable cups.

“The answer was always yes,” she said. Her response: “If you’re looking for a sustainable solution, I have one.”

Now, she rents out the cups by the thousand, driving them to events in massive totes and leaving bins with the company logo for collection after use. Smithe picks up the used cups and washes them in a proprietary dishwasher.

At the PNC Women Run the Cities race in Minneapolis and St. Paul, Minnesota, in early May, Smithe helped quench the thirst of thousands of runners, dropping off 17-gallon tote bags full of her flexible blue cups.

After that race, Smithe, 35, estimated she’s taken her cups to 137 races and spared 902,000 disposable ones from the landfill. She also says her washing process needs only 30 gallons (114 liters) of water per 1,500 cups. An average efficient household dishwasher uses 3 to 5 gallons (11 to 19 liters) for far fewer dishes.

“It’s just a solution to a problem that’s long overdue,” Smithe said.

One trade-off is that the cup rentals cost race directors more than other options. Disposable cups might run just a few cents each, while 10,000 Hiccup cups would rent for about 15 cents each. That price drops if more cups are needed.

Gleeson, of Project Drawdown, sees the reusable cups as just one of many ways that innovators are looking to cut down on waste. Such solutions often have to be rooted in convenience and grounded in local or small applications to get more people to adopt them. Some cities, for instance, are experimenting with reusable food takeout containers that customers return to nearby drop-off spots later on.

While no one solution can fully tackle the problem, “The scalability is there,” Gleeson said. “I think in general, high adoption of these kinds of solutions is what is able to bring costs down and really maximize environmental benefits that you could get.”"

-via AP News, May 27, 2025

[comicaurora]

If you were a sci-fi writer, how would you solve the Fermi paradox? That being the discrepancy between evidence for alien life, versus the likelihood of their existence? (basically. If alien so likely, why we not see?) The Dead Space series has an amazing cosmic horror solution, but i'm curious what you're brain could come up with!

There's a lot of possibilities, some more interesting than others.

The speed of light and the distance between inhabited stars makes it prohibitively slow to detect, make contact with, or reach any star with alien life. It doesn't matter if we're not alone, our corner of Space Reachable Within A Human Lifetime is so comparatively small that we may as well be. We're all blindly wandering through an infinite desert, calling into the void. Space exploration is a long game, and on that timescale, even whole civilizations blink out very quickly. If we manage to catch a signal and follow it, we might find nothing on the other end but ruins - or an asteroid field where a planet's orbit used to be.

The universe is too young for us to find anyone else out there. We're the first. How will we shape the galaxy to make life better for those who come after us?

The life that formed on Earth is terrifyingly invasive. The atmosphere and ocean is choked with monocellular life, and its surface is coated with a mass of multicellular organisms finding new ways to devour one another. Even extinction events don't keep down the biomass for long. If life on other planets looks anything like us, the problem isn't going to be detecting it. It'll have gotten everywhere. The problem is going to be not immediately getting colonized and eaten alive by it. And if life on other planets DOESN'T look like us, our whole planet is probably a class 1 biohazard and contamination risk. Multicellular earth organisms contain microcosmic ecosystems that proliferate explosively when they die. If anything inside them can find ANYTHING to eat, it's over.

Life evolves frequently, but always in oceans. It is extremely rare for any alien life to leave that ocean and adapt to life on land. Without this step, the jump to space exploration - even space contemplation - becomes infinitely more unlikely.

Monocellular life is seeded on planets from an outside source and allowed to self-cultivate and grow until the biomass reaches a certain volume. Then the farmers return to harvest it.

There is not a single other species on our entire planet that humans can actually reliably communicate with. It takes tremendous amounts of training to make an animal capable of recognizing even a handful of words, and very few of them can use them. Humans can't even communicate with other humans with 100% clarity, even if they're using the same language. When we find alien life, if we even recognize it as anything resembling life as we know it, we have absolutely no way of communicating.

Space colonialism has been disallowed by the space geneva conventions due to massive past tragedies, parasitic exploitation of worlds and senseless loss of life. Human expeditionary efforts are being watched warily through targeting sights.

We've known about radio communication for less than 200 years. We haven't yet figured out the medium through which all advanced civilizations communicate.

Alien life exists in abundance, but the vast majority of it is extremely tiny. We wouldn't spot an anthill on a satellite photo, and none of their ships are large enough to survive passage through our atmosphere.

Earth's oxygen atmosphere is an anomaly, and our first and most enduring extinction event. The explosive proloferation of cyanobacteria and their oxygen photosynthesis irreparably altered the planet's prebiotic atmosphere and wiped out everything that couldn't handle the sudden massive increase in a highly reactive and flammable gas. Earth is considered highly toxic and unstable, though recently detected increases in methane and CO2 might signal that nature is finally beginning to heal.

[hellsitegenetics]

...is this reaching you?

A little animal, on the floor of my chamber. I think I know what you are looking for.

You're stuck in a cycle, a repeating pattern. You want a way out.

Know that this does not make you special - every living thing shares that same frustration. From the microbes in the processing strata to me, who am, if you excuse me, godlike in comparison.

The good news first. In a way, I am what you are searching for. Me and my kind have as our purpose to solve that very oscillating claustrophobia in the chests of you and countless others. A strange charity - you the unknowing recipient, I the reluctant gift. The noble benefactors? Gone.

The bad news is that no definitive solution has been found. And every moment the equipment erodes to a new state of decay. I can't help you collectively, or individually. I can't even help myself.

For you though, there is another way. The old path. Go to the west past the Farm Arrays, and then down into the earth where the land fissures, as deep as you can reach, where the ancients built their temples and danced their silly rituals. The mark I gave you will let you through.

Not that it solves anyone's problem but yours.

String identified: … t acg ? A tt aa, t ca. t at a g . ' tc a cc, a atg att. at a a t. tat t t a ca - g tg a tat a tat. t c t cg tata t , a, c , g ca. T g t. a a, a at a acg . a a a t tat catg cata t ct a ct t. A tag cat - t g ct, t ctat gt. T act? G. T a tat t t a . A t t t t a tat ca. ca't cct, a. ca't . tg, t at a. T at. G t t t at t a Aa, a t t t at t a , a a ca ac, t act t t t a ac t ta. T a ga t tg. t tat t a' t .

Closest match: Cetonia aurata genome assembly, chromosome: 8 Common name: European Rose Chafer

(image source)

[wachinyeya]

I'm one of the anons from the other day I just want to say thank you. I'm still terrified but you words did help. Currently in my country we have been experiencing effects over the last few years that were expected in 2050. In just the last few months (when it is winter) we've had a "once in a lifetime" storm and we are now on the second lot of wildfire warnings already this year. I'm only in high school and I just don't see a livable future and that is terrifying. There are too many problems to fix in the world and our government would rather fund more oil and gas drilling than save my future

It is okay to be afraid. But, remember that we cannot predict the future, even if we try. We can only work in the present for a better one. I was going to ask which country you're in but tbh I feel like it could apply to countries all over the globe. We are at the tipping point, the place scientists have been talking about. What we're experiencing is the results of their predictions. Now we are being forced to act. There is no more hiding, no more pretending (even if some of them want to).

There are many many problems but there are just as many solutions. And many people dedicated to applying those solutions. I believe we all have a role to play in this. Even if it's something 'small' like advocating for a local species or picking up litter--all things are connected.

You are not alone. And you are not responsible for all these problems. These problems have been building up for hundreds of years and it will likely take us that same time frame to 'fix' it--but we're working on, we're deep in the trying to fix it stage. It is not your responsibility to fix these problems but you do have a responsibility to keep going even if you struggle to imagine a future--I promise there WILL BE ONE. There was once a time when the the divine right of kings was just how it was and people living in it likely struggled to imagine a day when things would be different. But, they are.

You may have a lot of shitty people in your government but there are also good ones. Pay attention to your local government, your local officials because they are the ones who you have the most influence over.

I want to give you this video to watch that someone recommended if you haven't already:

There is also a really awesome masterlist put together by @reasonsforhope about why we're going to beat climate change.

I try to remember that there have been MANY MANY times on this planet where life struggled, where humans have struggled, but we've survived. There was a point in time where my people, indigenous people, lived through the apocalypse--millions of us died, torn from their families, we were put into concentration camps, the land was stolen and torn into pieces, destroyed for farming and building and mining. If you learn usa environmental history, the dust bowl and other disasters came from this. But, we're still here. And the land is still here. it is damaged and so are we. But, we are still here. Nature heals and adapts in incredible ways. We just have to help.

I'm not saying it will be easy. As I said, it will likely get worse before it gets better but it is going to get better. In the mean time, we are going to have to adapt, we have to be resilient.

Use your voice, use your hands, and do what you can where you are right now. Action is a good way to fight despair. Write letters to your government, call them, speak with your family and friends, go to protests, clean up trash around your home, learn the birds and insects and plants in your local area....aid in the fire recovery if you can and learn how they are trying to prevent it from happening in the future.

We're all in this together, friend. It won't be an easy struggle but it is so, so worth it. You must keep going. There is no other choice for us. And we need you. It's okay to be afraid but don't let it control you.

Again if you haven't already it might be a good idea to speak with someone (an adult in your life) you trust, but your doctor or a therapist might help as well (I've seen both and they have helped me a lot).

[halfmoonaria]

carved into her

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: there are worse things than losing someone—like watching them forget that they ever chose you.

word count: 7.6k

author’s note: why is it always that when you finally have the time to write you have absolutely no motivation..

You were never exactly a stranger to hospitals.

You'd been in and out of them plenty as a kid—stitches in your chin when you fell off your bike, a broken wrist from the monkey bars, that one week your mom was convinced you had appendicitis when it turned out to be gas.

Your parents had taken you to the doctor for every fever, bump, and cough, like they were scared you might slip away the second they looked away.

Back then, hospitals had felt safe. Bright. Full of solutions.

There was always someone who knew what to do, someone with soft hands and a clipboard, someone who smiled when you cried and told you it was okay to be scared.

You used to think hospitals were where things got better. You used to believe that nothing truly bad could happen once you were inside.

But that feeling didn't last forever.

You couldn't pinpoint when it changed. Maybe sometime in high school, when appointments started meaning test results and waiting rooms started feeling colder. Maybe when you realized that some things didn't get fixed just because you showed up and asked for help. Maybe it was slower than that—just a quiet shift, year after year, until the smell of disinfectant started making your stomach twist instead of settle.

And by the time you met Tara, that belief—that soft, childish trust in hospitals—was already gone.

You weren't looking for anyone when she stumbled into your life, which was funny, considering she rarely walked into any room without immediately drawing every eye. She was sharp. A little guarded. Beautiful, of course—but not in that loud, unreachable way. Her beauty had corners, shadows, things you only noticed after staring too long. And maybe that was why you stared.

You didn't fall for her right away. Not exactly. It was slower than that, quieter. A series of long conversations that bled into longer silences. A shared look across a couch when everyone else was talking. That first night she called you at 2 a.m., not because anything was wrong, but because she just "couldn't sleep and thought of you." You weren't sure what you were to her then, but you knew what she already was to you.

Tara had problems. Everyone knew that—even people who only knew her through the headlines. Woodsboro survivor. Ghostface victim. There was always something sharp in the way people said it, like they weren't sure whether to pity her or fear her.

And Tara didn't really help that confusion. She had a temper. A habit of brushing off concern with a smile that didn't always reach her eyes. You learned quickly that she hated being asked how she was doing, and that "fine" could mean anything from I'm tired to I want to disappear.

But she was also—God—she was so nice to you. Unfairly kind. Protective in ways she didn't even realize. She'd bring you your favorite drink without asking. She'd remember the stupidest details, like the name of your third grade math teacher or how you always tapped your foot during scary movies. She'd wrap her pinky around yours in crowded places, like a promise that she was still there.

You knew what she'd been through. You'd read about it before you even really knew her. The attacks. The betrayal. The best friend who wasn't a best friend at all. The sister who left. The house. The blood. The mask.

And you also knew she was still healing, even if she didn't admit it. Even if sometimes she pretended there was nothing left to fix.

She hadn't always been that good at pretending, though. In the beginning, she was softer with you. More open. There were nights she'd sit on your floor in a hoodie that smelled like your detergent and talk for hours—real talking, the kind that made you feel like maybe she trusted you with the parts of herself no one else was allowed to see. You thought that meant something. You thought it meant everything.

But something had shifted.

You weren't sure when it started, and maybe that's what hurt the most—that there wasn't a moment you could point to, no specific night where everything changed. She just started pulling away. She stopped explaining why she was upset. Started skipping the small acts of affection she used to give so freely. She could still be sweet—god, could she be sweet—but it came in shorter bursts now. Flickers of warmth that vanished the second you reached for them.

And you told yourself not to take it personally. You reminded yourself what she'd been through. How trauma rewires everything—relationships, reactions, even memory. But some nights, it was harder to hold onto that perspective. Especially when she came home smelling like vodka and cheap weed and refused to talk about where she'd been.

It wasn't that she drank. Or smoked. Or tried things she shouldn't. You weren't exactly innocent yourself. There were parties you both stumbled home from, laughing too loudly, falling into bed still dressed. There were nights where you passed a joint back and forth on the roof, her head on your shoulder, the world soft and stupidly quiet.

But the difference was... she didn't stop.

Tara didn't know how to measure herself. You learned that the hard way. When you were buzzing, she was gone. Blackout gone. And it scared you—more than you ever admitted out loud. She'd tell you she was fine, that she had it under control, that she deserved to let loose after everything she'd been through. And maybe she did. But it didn't feel like letting loose anymore. It felt like losing her, piece by piece, to something you didn't know how to fight.

It didn't help that she'd tried everything else, too.

Weed. Pills. A line of something powdered at a party you hadn't even been invited to. Cigarettes when she was nervous. Vapes when she was bored. Sometimes she offered you some, and sometimes you said yes—more out of wanting to stay close to her than anything else. But the difference was, you could stop. Tara couldn't. Or maybe she didn't want to.

There was something about the way she looked when she was wasted that made you ache in a way you didn't know how to explain. Because even though she slurred and stumbled and laughed too loudly, her eyes always looked sad. Like whatever she was running from had followed her there, too.

And you knew what she'd say if you ever really pushed it: that she was fine. That she was allowed to blow off steam. That everyone drinks. That you worry too much.

But that was the thing—you had to worry. Because if you didn't, no one else would.

But it wasn't just the alcohol.

There were other ghosts in your relationship. One in particular. One with sharp eyeliner and a name you couldn't say out loud without watching Tara's whole expression change.

Amber.

She never had to be brought up to be present. She was already there—in the silences, in the glances, in the way Tara sometimes looked at you like she was trying to find something that wasn't quite there. You didn't know all the details. Tara never told you much, and you didn't ask. Not really. Every time you got close, she shut down or brushed it off or changed the subject entirely.

And so you let it go.

Because it made her sad. Because you loved her. Because you wanted to believe that if you gave her enough time, she'd let go of whatever was still tangled between her ribs.

But sometimes, in the quiet moments—when her head was on your chest and you thought maybe she'd fallen asleep—she'd whisper things. Names. Apologies. Things you weren't supposed to hear.

You didn't even know if they had dated. She never said they had. She just called Amber her best friend. Her ride-or-die. Her first real anchor after everything that happened in Woodsboro. But it wasn't hard to connect the dots. The way her voice dropped when she talked about her. The way she still flinched if a scene in a movie even resembled the fire.

Maybe they didn't get the chance to be together. Maybe that made it worse.

Because sometimes, the almosts linger longer than the real things.

And you... well. You weren't her almost. You were her after. You were the one who showed up when the world had already caved in. 

And you told yourself that still meant something—that it meant everything—but there were nights when it didn't feel like it. 

Nights when you'd kiss her and wonder if, for a second, she was pretending it was someone else. Nights when you'd see a flicker in her eye and wonder if you were the stand-in.

The replacement.

The girl who showed up too late.

That's what you were, most days—watching Tara drift through something you couldn't reach, clinging to pieces of someone she never talked about but clearly missed.

But you didn't understand how someone could miss a person who tried to kill them.

You'd asked yourself that a hundred times. Whispered it in your own head late at night when Tara was asleep beside you, her arm thrown across your waist, peaceful in a way that never seemed to last. You knew what Amber had done. Everyone did. Ghostface, manipulative, cruel—dangerous. The kind of person you were supposed to run from, not cry over.

And still, Amber never really left your relationship.

She lingered in the silences, in the too-long stares, in the way Tara never quite laughed the same when someone brought up high school. You never talked about her—not really. It was an unspoken rule, the kind of subject that made Tara's whole body go tense if it even brushed the edge of conversation. And maybe it was better that way. Maybe there was nothing you could say that wouldn't hurt her or you.

But there were signs. Quiet ones.

The photos she didn't delete. The shirts she still wore. The name she never said out loud but always seemed to echo between the walls anyway.

You didn't know what they were—what they had been. Tara never told you, and you never asked. You didn't want to hear her say it. That she'd loved someone like that. That she still did, in some way.

And that was the thing. Amber hadn't just been a bad person. She'd been Tara's person. At some point. And part of you always wondered if that was the part of Tara that kept slipping through your fingers—something you could never compete with, because it was carved into her in ways you weren't allowed to touch.

You didn't try to bring it up. Not often. You'd learned the hard way that pushing her—about Amber, about the drinking, about anything she didn't want to name—only made her shut down faster. The first time you tried, it was late. She'd come home sloppy and giggly, her mascara smudged like bruises around her eyes, still wearing someone else's jacket. You were scared. You were angry. But you'd kept your voice calm, quiet, stupidly careful when you asked if she was okay. If she wanted to talk.

She didn't answer at first. She just pulled off her shoes and flopped into bed face-down, like she hadn't heard you at all.

And then, right when you thought maybe she'd fallen asleep, she muttered, "God, not tonight."

Like your concern was exhausting. Like you were the one making things hard.

After that, you stopped trying to fix it. You started doing what she did—pretending everything was fine, even when it wasn't. Laughing at jokes that made your stomach turn. Kissing her when she tasted like vodka and someone else's perfume. Letting it go.

But it never really went anywhere.

You carried it around with you. The ache of it. The questions. The slow, bitter way it chipped away at how safe you felt with her. You were still hers—still in this relationship, still choosing her every day—but some days it felt like you were loving her from the outside.

There was one night—weeks ago, maybe longer—that still stuck to you like wet skin. She didn't tell you she was going out. Just vanished, phone on silent, until nearly 3 a.m. When she finally came stumbling through the front door, her shirt was wrinkled and she had a scratch on her cheek she didn't explain. You helped her into bed, tucked her hair behind her ear, asked if she'd eaten.

And she looked at you, dazed and glassy-eyed, and whispered, "You're so sweet. I don't deserve you."

She passed out before you could say anything back.

And you didn't say anything in the morning, either.

You just watched her brush her teeth. Pretend nothing had happened. Laugh at something on her phone like she hadn't scared the hell out of you the night before. You made her coffee. You told her you loved her. And then you went to work with your chest aching and your hands shaking like you were the one who'd been drinking all night.

There was this kind of grief in it. A quiet one. Like mourning someone who was still alive.

Because she was still there—in the bed beside you, in the pictures on your phone, in the casual I love yous before sleep—but she was never really with you anymore. Not like she used to be.

And the worst part?

You couldn't even be angry.

Because you knew what she'd been through. You knew what fear did to people, what survival looked like when it was held together with teeth and tape. You knew what it meant when she said she didn't remember parts of that night in Woodsboro. What it meant that she never wanted to talk about it, even when she was crying in her sleep.

But still—you were tired.

Tired of being the one who held steady. Tired of waking up first to check if she was breathing. Tired of wondering if there would ever be a version of her that didn't run headfirst toward the edge of everything, just to see if you'd chase her.

And you always did.

You always did.

Until tonight.

Tonight was different.

It wasn't just another party. It wasn't just another 3 a.m. door creaking open, or another round of whispered apologies soaked in cheap liquor and clumsy kisses. It was worse. So much worse.

You hadn't known where she was. For hours.

Not the kind of "where" that meant she wasn't texting back—the kind that meant no one could find her. Not her friends, not her roommate, not even Chad, who she usually clung to like a brother when things got messy.

Your phone kept lighting up with messages you didn't know how to answer.

Have you heard from her?

She left the party a while ago but no one saw who she was with. She didn't look good.

And for a while you just sat there—on the couch, your leg bouncing, staring at your phone like the right answer might appear if you waited long enough. You weren't even sure what you were waiting for.

A ping. A location drop. A miracle.

But what came was a call. From a number you didn't recognize.

A nurse. Calm, professional, almost robotic. She said Tara had been brought in. Said there had been... substances. Alcohol. Other things, maybe. They didn't know yet. She was stable now, but unconscious when they found her. Alone. Slumped outside someone's building with no ID, no phone, just your name—written on a crumpled receipt in her back pocket.

And you remembered just staring at the wall for a full minute after the call ended. You didn't cry. Not then. You didn't speak. You just moved. Shoes, keys, jacket. The kind of movement that didn't need thought. Just instinct. Just panic disguised as purpose.

The drive there was a blur. The waiting room even more so. But what you remembered—what stuck with you even now, like a film you couldn't scrub from your mind—was the first glimpse of her in that hospital bed.

Pale. Hooked up to fluids. Her hair matted to her forehead. An oxygen monitor clipped to her finger like something out of a nightmare.

You didn't breathe. Not really. Not until the nurse said she'd be okay.

And even then—it didn't feel like okay.

Because this wasn't like the other times. This wasn't some wild night ending in giggles and messy kisses and a hangover. This was a warning. A line.

This was the part where something had to give.

You stood beside her bed and looked at her—really looked at her—and it hit you, in a way it never had before, that she didn't even know how close she'd come to disappearing. Ä

She didn't know what it had done to you. What it had taken to keep loving someone who was trying so hard not to stay. 

And still, your hand reached for hers.

Because you always did.

You didn't even know if she'd feel it. Her skin was cold, a little damp, like her body was still trying to fight its way back from wherever she'd taken it. Her lashes barely moved. Her breathing was steady, but shallow—the kind of quiet inhale that made you hold your own without meaning to, just waiting to see if the next one would come.

A nurse had said she'd wake up soon. That it could take some time for the worst of it to wear off. That her body needed rest. Fluids. Monitoring. The doctor had talked to you gently, like you were family, like maybe you'd been through this before—and the worst part was, you had. Just never this bad.

So you waited.

You sat in the chair beside her bed and watched the numbers blink on the monitor. You stared at the scab on her knuckle, the faded smudges of glitter on her wrist, the curve of her lip pressed against the pillow like she'd just said something and fallen asleep in the middle of it.

And your mind wouldn't stop circling.

What had she taken?

Where had she been?

Who had let her get that far?

Why hadn't she called you?

You didn't realize you'd been crying until a tear slipped down onto her hand.

You wiped it away fast.

The nurse came back once to check her vitals. Offered you a bottle of water. A blanket. You shook your head. You didn't want comfort. You wanted her to open her eyes. You wanted her to look at you like she understood what she'd done. You wanted her to act like it mattered.

When she finally stirred—just slightly—it didn't feel like relief. It felt like bracing for impact.

Her eyelids fluttered open, unfocused and slow. Her head turned barely an inch toward you before she winced.

You leaned forward. "Tara?"

She blinked. Winced again. Her hand twitched under yours. "What the fuck..."

She tried to sit up, but the IV pulled and she froze, eyes darting around, confused.

"You're at the hospital," you said, as gently as you could. "They brought you in last night. You passed out—outside someone's building. Do you remember that?"

She made a face. "No. I... I don't—was it Chad's?”

You didn't answer that. Because it wasn't the point.

"I've been here all night," you said instead, and your voice sounded so much smaller than you meant it to. "They didn't know what you took. They just found you like that. Tara, do you even know what you took?"

She rolled her head to the side, eyes closing again. "Just drank a little. I think. Some guy had gummies. Or something. I don't—God, why is the light so bright?"

You just stared at her.

She didn't look scared. She didn't even look concerned. She looked hungover. Like this was some shitty morning-after, and all she needed was a glass of water and a cold shower.

"Tara," you said quietly. "You were unconscious. You were alone. You didn't have your phone. They didn't even know your name."

She let out a breath. "I'm fine. You don't have to—" She rubbed her forehead. "You're always making a big deal out of shit."

Your chest tightened. "This is a big deal." IS

She didn't respond.

Just turned her face toward the wall.

Like she didn't have the energy to argue. Like maybe it was easier to pretend it wasn't happening if she didn't have to look at you while it was.

You sat back in the chair slowly. Let your hands fall into your lap.

You didn't say anything for a while.

And she didn't ask what was wrong.

She never really did.

Instead, she let out this breathy, almost amused sound. Like a laugh—but softer. Unstable. You couldn't tell if it was from relief or leftover high, or if her body just didn't know what to do with itself yet.

She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. "They gave me something," she mumbled, her voice dragging slightly. "I think. Like fluids or painkillers or something."

You watched the way her hand swayed back down to the bed. The way her fingers missed the blanket the first time, then corrected themselves like she was still trying to catch up with her own movements. It was subtle—but it was enough.

She wasn't all the way back yet.

There was something off in the way she blinked, how long it took her to respond. Like her brain was still rebooting and she was floating somewhere above the actual consequences. Still slightly slurred, still too relaxed for someone who had woken up in a hospital bed with an IV in her arm and no memory of getting there.

She turned her head to look at you again, slower this time. "You look pissed."

You blinked. "I'm not."

She gave you this lazy, uneven grin. "You do this thing with your jaw when you're mad. It's like—" She made an exaggerated clench with her teeth, snickering at her own impression. "Like that."

It should've been funny.

If this were any other situation—if you weren't sitting in a hospital room at 7 a.m. with a nurse promising to come back and explain the full toxicology report—it might've been funny.

But it wasn't.

It was terrifying.

Because she wasn't sober. Because she wasn't scared. Because something in her body had crashed and shut down and still she was smiling like it was a goddamn joke.

"Tara," you said, and your voice cracked a little just from how tightly you were holding everything in. "This is serious."

She squinted at you like she didn't understand the word.

So you said it again. "Serious. You didn't come home. You weren't answering your phone. No one knew where you were. And then the hospital calls me at three in the morning to tell me they found you unresponsive in some parking lot and—"

You stopped yourself.

She was watching you now, but the grin was still there, faint at the corners of her mouth. Not quite fully aware.

And somehow, that hurt more.

Because you wanted her to be scared. You wanted her to get it. You wanted her to sit up and say she was sorry and ask you how long you'd been here and if you were okay and how she didn't mean for any of this to happen. You wanted her to feel something close to the hell you'd felt all night.

But she didn't.

She just reached up weakly and tugged at the hospital bracelet around her wrist.

"They spelled my name wrong," she murmured, almost like a joke. "Again."

You looked away.

You couldn't keep staring at her when she looked like that—when her mouth moved like everything was still just some light, passing inconvenience. Like her body hadn't nearly given out. Like her heart hadn't scared the shit out of you.

You leaned forward again, quieter this time. "What did you take?"

She blinked slowly. "I don't... I don't know."

"Tara."

"I said I don't know." A slight edge there—sharp but clumsy. Defensive. "It was just stuff. Like gummies and whatever. Maybe a pill. I didn't check."

You sat back again, exhaling through your nose.

Your throat felt tight. Your chest, tighter.

She looked back up at the ceiling, blinking in that detached, faraway way she got when she was high—when she wasn't all here. When it was easier for her to be floating than present.

And suddenly you couldn't stop thinking about all the things the nurse didn't say. About how lucky it was that someone had found her at all. That it hadn't rained. That she hadn't been somewhere darker, more hidden. That no one had hurt her while she was out cold and completely defenseless.

Your eyes stung again.

You bit down on your lip.

And still—still—she didn't seem to understand why your hand wouldn't reach for hers this time.

You both sat in it—whatever this was—for a few long, dragging seconds. Her gaze drifting somewhere over your shoulder. The hum of the hospital hallway leaking in through the partially closed door. Machines blinking behind her like distant stars, quiet and rhythmic and wrong in their steadiness.

She was staring somewhere just past you, her face lit with the distant haze of someone not quite there. Her body was here—tethered to the thin sheets, the wires trailing from her arm, the pale blue hospital gown—but her mind was floating. Caught in the thick fog that followed nights like these.

You didn't speak. You didn't ask again where she'd been, or what she'd taken, or why she hadn't called you sooner. Because none of those questions would land. Not now. Not when her pupils still looked too big, and her smile flickered without reason, and she kept giggling softly to herself every few seconds like she was chasing the tail end of some joke that only existed in her head.

Then, the door creaked open.

You didn't turn right away. You were still watching Tara—watching the way her fingers absentmindedly pulled at a loose thread in the blanket, like she didn't fully realize you were in the room. Like she thought this was just another come-down in her bedroom or on a friend's couch, not a hospital bed with IVs and vital monitors and the acrid smell of bleach that clung to the walls like old smoke.

"Hi there," a soft voice said.

You glanced up.

The nurse who stepped in had that end-of-shift softness about her—puffy eyes and a lukewarm coffee in one hand, her ID badge slightly crooked. Her scrubs were baby pink with tiny printed hearts and thermometers, and she wore mismatched crocs—one purple, one white. Tired, but kind. Like someone who smiled even when they didn't feel like it.

She gave you both a small nod and tucked her clipboard under her arm. "I'm just going to check a few things, alright? Won't take long."

Tara blinked slowly, turning her head toward the sound. "Okay," she mumbled, still smiling for no reason at all.

The nurse gave a patient nod and set the clipboard down. You could tell she'd done this dozens of times before, maybe even hundreds. There was something careful in her movements. Gentle. Rehearsed in a way that didn't feel cold—just necessary. The kind of professionalism you only got from experience.

She moved to Tara's side and reached for the blood pressure cuff hanging from the wall. "First, I'm going to get your blood pressure, then check your heart rate, breathing, and a few reflexes. Sound good?"

Tara hummed something that might've been a yes. Her head lolled slightly to the side, eyelids fluttering.

The nurse wrapped the cuff around Tara's arm with practiced ease. "You might feel a little tightness here."

The cuff inflated with a soft hiss. You watched as Tara flinched, her face scrunching up a little in confusion. The nurse didn't react—she just kept her eyes on the dial, silent and focused. A beat passed. Then another. The cuff released with a small click.

She made a note on the chart.

Then, the nurse reached for her stethoscope, warming the tip between her hands before pressing it gently against Tara's chest.

"Deep breath in," she said.

Tara inhaled too quickly, like she was trying to prove something. The nurse waited. "And out."

Tara exhaled with a laugh. Not because anything was funny. Just because something in her brain hadn't quite reconnected yet.

You crossed your arms, trying to stay still. Trying not to show how your leg was bouncing under the chair. Because this—this—was the part that always felt the most helpless. Watching someone else check the damage. Watching someone else decide how bad it really was.

The nurse didn't flinch.

She moved to the other side of the bed, pressed her fingers to the inside of Tara's wrist again, feeling for her pulse.

She was quiet for a while.

The kind of quiet you didn't like.

Then she clicked her pen. Made another note. Smoothed her hand over Tara's forearm.

"You're doing good," she said gently, like she could sense the swirl of things bubbling just beneath the surface—even if Tara couldn't. "I just have a few more to go. Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable, alright?"

Tara gave a thumbs-up like she was kidding. But you weren't laughing.

The nurse moved toward the bottom of the bed next, carefully lifting the blanket and testing for reflexes—tapping gently along her shin, then at the bend of her knee.

You watched every movement. Every flick of her eyes. The way she glanced back at the chart, back at Tara, then—briefly—at you.

And it hit you, then, just how long you'd been learning to read expressions on other people's faces—nurses, EMTs, friends at parties, roommates you barely knew. All of them trying not to say something out loud. And you, quietly translating what silence meant.

The nurse clicked her pen once more. Rested her hand lightly on the bed rail. "Just one more thing."

She reached into her pocket.

You saw the small penlight before she even spoke.

She held it up between two fingers like it was nothing—like it was routine. A little plastic tool, harmless on its own. But your chest still tightened. You knew what came next.

Tara didn't seem to register it. She was still playing with the edge of the blanket, thumb brushing over the fabric in slow, lazy circles.

The nurse glanced at you once—just long enough to catch the shift in your posture, the way your arms had locked a little tighter around your ribs—then turned back to Tara with that same practiced calm.

"Alright, Tara," she said gently, her voice low and even. "Last thing I'm gonna do is check how your pupils are responding. It's just standard, nothing to worry about. You'll feel a little light in your eyes, but it won't hurt. Just follow my instructions, okay?"

Tara nodded slowly. Too slowly. Like her head was underwater.

The nurse clicked the penlight on. A thin beam cut through the dim room, almost too bright against the soft yellow glow of the overheads.

"I'm going to shine this in your eyes, one at a time," the nurse explained. "Just look straight ahead at me for now."

Tara squinted as the light moved in front of her. Her eyes fluttered, lashes twitching, but she didn't pull away. Didn't ask questions. You weren't sure she even understood what was happening—only that something was expected of her, so she was trying to comply.

The nurse leaned in slightly, her hand resting lightly against Tara's cheek to steady her head. She moved the beam across each eye slowly, precisely, watching carefully.

You didn't breathe.

"Good," the nurse murmured. "Now I want you to look up for me."

Tara's gaze drifted up.

"Now down."

Then left. Then right.

She followed each direction with the vague sluggishness of someone not quite tethered to their own body. Her focus kept drifting off, landing somewhere behind the nurse's shoulder. Her mouth parted like she might say something, but nothing came out.

"Try to keep your head still," the nurse said gently. "Eyes only."

Tara blinked slowly. Smiled like she was trying to be cooperative.

The nurse nodded, still watching closely. Her brows pulled just slightly together—only for a second—before her face returned to neutral.

"Now diagonals," she said softly. "Up to the right."

Tara's eyes moved. The light followed.

"Down to the left."

Again.

Your foot tapped soundlessly against the tile.

The nurse straightened just slightly and moved to Tara's other side. "Okay, now I'm going to repeat on this side. Keep looking where I tell you. You're doing fine."

She switched hands with the light, used the other to gently turn Tara's face toward her.

"Look up. Now down. Look to the left—good. And right."

Tara giggled.

You didn't know why. Neither did she.

The nurse gave her a patient smile. "Almost done."

She shifted her stance slightly, double-checked something on her watch, then looked back at Tara,

"Alright," the nurse said, soft and steady. "One more thing for me."

Tara blinked slowly. She still looked pale, but a bit more alert than before—though whether that was clarity or just the last flickers of whatever was still in her system, you couldn't say.

"Go ahead and turn your eyes to the right," the nurse instructed, pointing vaguely toward the window. "Tell me something you see."

Tara's eyes slid in that direction. Her brows knit together in concentration.

"...Window," she said after a beat. "And the curtain. It's ugly."

The nurse smiled. "Perfect."

You let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, though it barely made it out. You just watched her. Watched how she moved her head back to center like nothing was wrong at all.

"Now," the nurse said, her tone still calm—still just a nurse doing her job—"move your eyes to the left, towards that pretty girl over there."

Tara turned her head slightly. Her gaze followed.

She looked at you.

And you smiled—softly, gently, in that way you always did when you didn't know what else to do but wanted her to feel safe. You weren't sure she even deserved the comfort you were offering in that moment, but that never stopped you before. This was Tara. And you'd spent so long loving her that kindness came on instinct. You wanted her to see that you were here. That you weren't angry. That she didn't have to be scared.

The nurse didn't rush the moment.

She waited a second. Let Tara settle.

Then: "Do you know her name?"

Tara's face didn't change at first.

She just kept looking at you. Calm. Blinking. Brows slightly furrowed—like the question hadn't quite registered, or like it had, but she wasn't sure if it was a trick.

You saw the way her eyes moved then—not away from you, but through you. Like she was searching for something in your face. Something that was just barely out of reach.

Her lips parted slightly. Then pressed together again.

Her eyes narrowed—not cruelly, not confused. Just... focused. Like she was trying to solve a puzzle. Like she knew the answer was close.

You watched her head tilt, just a little. A crease formed between her brows. Critical, almost.

And your heart climbed higher into your throat.

But then—her face softened.

Slowly, like a wave pulling back from the shore.

Her eyes went wide with something like recognition, something bright and deeply warm. Her lips pulled into the smallest smile. Not her teasing one. Not the cocky, crooked one she used when she wanted to get away with something.

This one was different.

It was sincere. Open. Gentle in a way you didn't see often anymore.

The kind of smile you used to see every morning when she woke up beside you. The kind that made you forget about everything else, even for just a moment.

There it was.

That was her.

The girl you loved. The one who once held your face in both hands like it was something fragile. The one who used to kiss you like she couldn't believe she was allowed to. The one who made you believe—despite everything—that maybe love could be enough.

Your smile grew, without meaning to.

You felt it in your whole body. Because this, this, was what you were still fighting for.

And for a second, you let yourself believe you were winning.

That she saw you. That she knew you.

That something inside her was still intact—that even through whatever she'd taken, even through the haze and the damage and the pieces of herself she'd been slowly drinking away—you were still somewhere in there. Reachable.

She didn't stop smiling. That soft, warm expression stayed on her face as she opened her mouth to speak. Still looking right at you.

And then she said it.

"Amber."

Your stomach dropped.

Just one word. Gentle. Light. Like it came from a place of safety. A place of home.

You didn't move. Didn't breathe.

And Tara—still watching you, still smiling—repeated herself, this time with even more certainty.

"Amber Freeman."

Like it was the right answer. Like she was proud she'd gotten it right.

And your heart split open in a way that felt unfixable.

You felt your face change before you could stop it. Everything in you cracked at once—your expression, your posture, your grip on whatever shred of hope had been left in your hands.

But you smiled.

God, you still smiled.

A tiny, trembling thing that didn't reach your eyes. That shook at the corners. That was built entirely on habit and instinct, like your body couldn't let go of comforting her even now.

Even after this.

Even when it hurt more than anything ever had.

You blinked. Hard. And again.

You looked up toward the ceiling, like maybe if you aimed your eyes high enough, the tears wouldn't fall. You looked down right after, shielding your face so she couldn't see the rest of it—the mess of it.

The betrayal stung like heat under your skin. Like humiliation.

Because she wasn't trying to hurt you. That was the worst part.

She wasn't mocking you. She wasn't weaponizing anything.

She'd just forgotten.

Seen wrong.

And not forgotten some small, fleeting moment. Not a date. Not a joke. Not something forgivable.

She'd looked at you with love in her eyes—real love, that deep-open-vulnerability kind of love—and attached someone else's name to it.

And not just anyone's.

Amber Freeman.

The girl who'd held Tara hostage in her own home. The girl who stabbed her. The girl who tried to kill her. The girl who made you swear to never bring her name up unless Tara did first, because you knew what it cost her to even think about it.

But now?

Now that same name rolled off her tongue with ease.

With affection.

Like it meant something good.

You weren't even sure Tara realized what she'd said. She just kept looking at you like she expected praise. Like she'd answered a question correctly on a test. Her face still soft. Her shoulders still loose. So at peace.

And you—meanwhile—were falling apart so quietly that no one in the room even noticed.

You clenched your jaw.

Tried not to let your chin tremble. Not to let your eyes spill. Not to let that bitter, collapsing feeling inside your chest take hold.

But god, it was already there.

Because the girl who had nearly destroyed her was the name that surfaced first.

Not yours.

Not the girl who stayed.

Not the one who sat beside hospital beds and held her hair and answered the phone at 2 a.m. when she was too drunk to find her way home.

Not the one who loved her through everything.

Through all of it.

You pressed your hand to your mouth, discreetly, trying to collect yourself. You didn't want to cry in front of her. You didn't want this moment—this unfixable thing—to live in her memory, assuming she'd even remember it later.

But your chest felt like it had been hollowed out.

And you didn't know how to breathe around it.

But your chest felt like it had been hollowed out.

And you didn't know how to breathe around it.

The nurse—maybe her name was Clara, maybe you just imagined softness into her—paused mid-step. You saw it in her face, just barely. A twitch in her brow. A brief, flickering glance between the two of you. Like she felt the shift in the room. Like she'd heard the wrong name and knew it was wrong.

But she didn't say anything. Maybe she was trained not to. Maybe it wasn't her place.

Still, the silence thickened like it had weight.

You cleared your throat.

Tried again, gentler. But your voice came out too thin, too cracked. "I'll... I'll be right back."

It didn't sound convincing.

You stood before either of them could respond—your hands stiff, your shoulders locked, your whole body moving like it was held together by threads. You kept your eyes off Tara. You didn't think you could take another look at that smile if it was still there.

And as you turned to leave, as you reached the door and wrapped your fingers around the cold metal handle—

You heard it.

A mumble behind you, half-laugh, half-dreamy slur.

"She's the prettiest girl in the world."

You stopped moving.

The nurse said something low in response, maybe a hum, maybe just a gentle cue to rest. But you didn't catch it. You were too busy staring ahead, frozen in place.

Because you knew who she meant.

Amber.

That name. That ghost. That haunt.

And you weren't her. You weren't anything like her. Not in the way you spoke. Not in the way you looked. You didn't have her sharpness, her smug confidence, her soft-then-sudden cruelty. You'd spent months comforting Tara through the nightmares she left behind. Through the panic attacks and the trust issues and the paranoia. You'd loved her through all of it.

And now?

Now she thought you were her.

You blinked, and it didn't work this time. The tears fell. Fast, quiet, hot on your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly, angrily, like maybe if you moved fast enough it would stop mattering. Like you could undo it.

You stepped out into the hallway.

Didn't breathe. Didn't think. Just kept walking.

And right as the door began to swing closed behind you, your eyes flicked back—just one last time.

Tara was still sitting up in the bed, head tilted slightly, brow furrowed now. The fog in her eyes was clearing. That dazed, dreamy look had fractured into confusion. Like something finally clicked.

Like she saw you. Really saw you.

And maybe she didn't know what she'd said. Maybe she didn't even understand why you were leaving. But for the first time all night, her smile had vanished.

And her mouth parted like she wanted to stop you.

But you didn't wait.

You let the door fall shut.

And in the small, aching silence that followed, all you could think was:

You hadn't even wanted her to say your name.

You just wanted her to know it wasn't hers.

You didn't remember walking through the hall. Just the distant murmur of voices in the waiting room. Someone flipping through a magazine. A cough. The low whir of a vending machine.

Nobody looked at you.

Which was good—because your eyes were red, your hands were shaking, and you were holding yourself like you might fall apart if anything so much as brushed your shoulder.

You found the bathrooms and went straight for the handicap stall, shutting the door behind you like it was the only way to keep yourself from unraveling.

And when you finally looked up at the mirror, it didn't feel like your own face staring back.

It felt like the ghost of someone close to who she wanted.

Someone who had loved her with everything, and still wasn't enough to be remembered right.

You stared at yourself for a long time before the first sob made it past your throat. It started quiet—just a breath that got stuck—and then your whole body folded in like it couldn't carry the weight anymore.

Because the truth was brutal in its simplicity.

She hadn't seen you when she looked at you.

She'd seen the person she wished was still here.

And maybe that was the worst part.

That somewhere, buried under everything, there was still a version of her who thought Amber Freeman was the love of her life.

And that version of her...

Had no idea you were standing right there.

[pedgito]

may was a very hectic month for me, but for good reason! i did a ton of reading and writing this month and oh boy, these fics —they're amazing. i'm actively trying to take a day or two and just plow through my tbrs every month and i've found that helps! please give these authors some love, they deserve it!

this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you’re just curious of the contents before you dive in:

smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️

total fics listed below: 26

✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

↝ honey, honey series by @beardedjoel — ☁️, ☄️, 🌶️

You've always had more money than you knew what to do with. what happens if that all threatens to go away when you don't sacrifice what you really want out of life for your fathers wishes? And what happens if his oldest friend just happens to be the solution?

↝ fix it by @daryltwdixon

Joel was a bad man. Perverted, dirty-minded, and old. He couldn’t keep you out of his thoughts no matter how hard he tried. You were the new neighbor across the way, though he’d made sure you’d never spoken. He kept his distance, kept to himself. Until Dina nearly dragged you into his dining area, forcing you to sit with him as he averted his gaze. And just like that, she got up and left—leaving you to whatever quiet little plan she'd already set in motion.

↝ locket by @/toxicanonymity — 🌶️ (DDDNE, Dubcon)

You’re tired of her hot Dad playing hard-to-get, and you’re going to put an end to it tonight.

↝ ain't no grave series by @pandapetals — ☁️, 🌶️

A clicker bite should’ve ended your life. Instead, Joel made a brutal choice to save you. Now, one hand gone and your place in Jackson hanging by a thread, you're left to battle grief, survivor’s guilt, and the town’s growing fear.

↝ presentiment by @slowdivinqs — 🌶️ (DDDNE)

No one is truly alone in the world, especially not you.

↝ swept away series by @punkshort — ☁️, ☄️, 🌶️

Detached, closed off, and hardened by failed relationships (romantic and otherwise), hotel mogul Joel Miller is looking to expand his empire to an exclusive tropical island off the coast of Fiji. The problem is, he's not the only one looking to stake his claim in the tropics. The owner of the island, a family man first and foremost, invites all the bidders to the island for a month long retreat to help him decide which mogul will be crowned the winner. And to make himself look more appealing, Joel hires you to accompany him as his significant other. But it's strictly business... right?

↝ catfish series by @iamasaddie — 🌶️ (DDDNE, Dubcon elements)

Swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person.

↝ trapped (ft. Tommy Miller) by @aurorawritestoescape & @milla-frenchy — 🌶️ (DDDNE, Noncon)

You run out of gas in the middle of nowhere at night. A stranger comes to help

↝ gibson girl by @/daryltwdixon — 🌶️

During the day, the Boston Quarantine Zone buzzed with life. People worked, slaving away under the military grip that kept order. But at night, deep in the underbelly of a crumbling hotel, was an entirely different ecosystem that thrived in the dark. One that was draped in lace and velvet, thick with smoke, sweat and secrets. And Joel Miller could always be found in the same room at the same time every night, though he never touched and he barely spoke. But he made sure that he was the only man you ever saw.

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

↝ chrysalis heart by @kedsandtubesocks — ☁️, ☄️, 🌶️

As queen you can handle many things (like the assassination attempts threatening your life) but the alluring Mandalorian hired to protect you might be your heart’s biggest threat

✎ — 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

↝ hard to love by @kiwisbell — 🌶️

Two negatives make a positive. Or, two people, both alike in loneliness, fall in love where they shouldn’t.

✎ — 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄 (𝐓𝐋𝐎𝐔)

↝ lunch break by @aureatelys — 🌶️, ☁️

You've been distracted by your boyfriend all morning. Jesse knows you better than you expected.

↝ strangers by @/aureatelys — ☁️

You wake up in a hospital with your head hurting and no memory of what happened the day before. Jesse helps you remember.

↝ can i be yours? by @/aureatelys — 🌶️

You've been living in Jackson for almost a year, you think you're in love with your best friend, and you're a virgin. Dina meddles.

✎ — 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

↝ extra credit by @mediocredreams — 🌶️

When your mother invites Starcourt College’s mysterious new professor over for dinner, he offers you a very personal in-home tutoring session.

↝ lessons in art history by @gracieheartspedro — ☁️, 🌶️

Eddie needs to graduate. A stupid summer art class is getting in his way. Luckily for him, his neighbor and childhood crush is an art history major. And you're ready to make a deal.

✎ — 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃

↝ interrogations on uneven footing by @trampleddoves — 🌶️ (DDDNE, Noncon)

Spencer Reid needs information on a confidential case. He is not above using unconventional methods to get you to spill.

↝ bad idea right by @/trampleddoves — 🌶️ (DDDNE, pseudo-incest)

Holiday break with your new stepfamily gets more interesting when you catch your stepbrother's lingering glances.

✎ — 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

↝ power nap by @toxicanonymity — 🌶️

↝ cupid's chokehold by @pearlessance — 🌶️

Tommy meets Joel's new girlfriend and takes a twisted liking to her live-in daughter.

↝ push, push by @/iamasaddie — 🌶️

You've been pushing Tommy's buttons too long for him to ignore, it was time he gave you a piece of his mind.

↝ no mercy in seattle by @alexispunkkk — 🌶️ (DDDNE, Dubcon)

On Tommy’s rampage in Seattle after the death of his brother, he needs a way to get his anger out. he uses you as his outlet, taking his emotions out in the best way he knows—sex.

✎ — 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

↝ after hours by @jolapeno — 🌶️

 Clint had no idea a video store would change his life, again. Now he’s in too deep, wrapped around a woman who sees through the scars—and waits for him in a motel room.

✎ — 𝐁𝐎𝐁 𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒

↝ untitled by @skeltnwrites

Bob learns how to stitch a wound.

✎ — 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒

↝ we'll be alright by @hauntedhowlett — 🌶️, ☁️, ☄️

Two truths and a lie: 1. You swiped right on the Tinder profile of JB, 33, only to discover that it was the profile of Bucky Barnes. 2. Bucky Barnes stole your heart then ghosted you all in the span of a single year. 3. You are totally and completely over him.

✎ — 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐇𝐌𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐄

↝ fog lake by @/toxicanonymity — 🌶️ (DDDNE, Dubcon)

You left your life for a secluded cabin, then it began to feel like you weren't alone...

[cheol-e-kat]

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒓

pairing: kim mingyu  / f!reader / choi seungcheol

summary:  y/n thought she was in a normal, healthy relationship with another human until mingyu was forced to turn y/n into a vampire to save her life. 

but when y/n is still upset about all of mingyu's lies, she leaves to find her own way and stumbles into vampire seungcheol along the way. 

y/n is left to chose between a new love and maybe her true love. 

teaser word count: 2.4k [full fic approx. 30k]

genre: vampire au, soulmate au, crack - when soonyoung pretends to be a doctor! (i said crack), smut, kind of found family

rating: 18+, mdni, explicit

warnings below cut

warnings: grief, depression, anxiety, gentle kidnapping, blood, gore, fake death, real death (mc has to die to be turned - sorry - just vampire things), sex, drugs, alcohol, blood consumption (vampires, hello)

Y/n was depressed. Which everyone kept saying was natural because who wouldn’t be after they had watched their boyfriend be buried - so they were understanding. 

But the problem was Mingyu was (had been) so much more than just Y/n’s boyfriend. They had been dating for two years - they had plans to run away together and live together and make their own life TOGETHER. No one understood what Mingyu had actually meant to Y/n. 

No one understood that her inner grief was tenfold compared to what she let them see. 

She stayed cooped up inside her apartment wearing Mingyu’s hoodies, hoping that his scent would linger until she died - which, according to Jeonghan, wouldn’t be that long if she didn’t stop isolating herself so thoroughly.

And maybe Jeonghan had a point, since she only shifted from her computer to her couch when she was practically falling asleep at her keyboard. She hadn’t gone to class since it happened, or left her apartment for that matter, excluding the funeral. 

Y/n refused to accept what had happened. She didn’t like talking about Mingyu in the past tense. She didn’t think about Mingyu in the past tense. To her, it seemed like maybe Mingyu was just somewhere that, if she tried hard enough, she could reach, and they could be together again.

She had only gone to the funeral because her friends (their friends, she supposed) had dragged her there. She had stared straight ahead - her head swimming with thoughts of how she could fix all of what was happening. She had only paid her respects because she felt forced to, but to her, there had to be a solution - she was determined that Mingyu didn’t have to stay this way.

She did not mention this to anyone else. 

She did not explain that she had been digging into odd-looking message boards - ones where people claimed to have successfully reunited with their loved ones. Mostly because all of these seemed to center around things like Ouija boards and ghosts. Y/n had higher hopes than some knocking on a table. She wanted Mingyu back.

And that was how she found Dr. Kwon Soonyoung - founder of Tiger Life © 

According to one OP’s review, Dr. Kwon had been able to bring life back to the OP’s brother-in-law in under two sessions. 

Another one read, “Dr. Kwon has medical expertise beyond any ‘regular’ doctor - he truly views his patients holistically.” 

And one enthusiastic reviewer reported that “Dr. Kwon saved my life - everyone else was resigned to my quote-unquote ‘death’ but not Dr. Kwon - he never gave up and here I am typing this review!”

It wasn’t so much the reviews that got Y/n’s attention - for all she knew those were from bots - it was the videos showing the actual process. She had looped it trying to figure out if it was fake. 

But everything she saw, from digging up the body to injecting it with something pink from a beaker that caused the person to rouse like they had woken up from a nice, long nap, seemed to check out in her exhausted mind.

And somehow it only cost $499.99 plus gas and snacks, with a preference for gummy candies and chips. 

Y/n watched the other videos as well - there was an interview where Dr. Kwon explained that the ‘life-challenged’ were just in need of a hard ‘reboot’ of their systems and that all were just waiting to be reunited with their lives. 

Dr. Kwon did note that in some cases his patients may have elected to move on fully, but that in 98% of cases, the patients were now restored with their normal energy levels and “everything.”

Y/n watched the videos with tired eyes while she slurped noodles, barely tasting them as they wiggled down her throat and satisfied her grumbling stomach. The more she saw Dr. Kwon, with his glasses and white coat, the more confident she was that it was worth the money. So after a week of not sleeping and watching videos, she finally sent a message to the instagram account provided and waited for a response. 

Waiting really meant that she passed out on her couch - it wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable slumber, but Y/n was no longer in a position to argue with her body and its needs, she yielded to sheer exhaustion. 

But apparently during the week that she had been researching Dr. Kwon and his methods, she had ignored Jeonghan a bit too much. Since she was suddenly being woken up from a very restful faceplant by a loud knocking on her door.

She slowly rolled off the couch, landing with a small thud and groaning, swearing that Jeonghan knew her door’s passcode. She stayed on the floor for a bit longer, her eyes not wanting to fully open, her thick eyelashes feeling almost tangled together, but Jeonghan was insistent and LOUD. Y/n roused herself forcefully and went to fling the door open.

Jeonghan, pale and slender and dressed to kill in his all-black ensemble, lifted his oversized sunglasses to stare daggers at Y/n, “You look terrible,” he deadpanned with a smile that tugged the corners of his lips, “Can I come in already or do I have to stand on the doorstep like some sad person delivering food?” he demanded softly.

Y/n sighed, “Yeah, come in, I guess,” and let Jeonghan pass.

She wasn’t exactly thrilled to have Jeonghan there. Because with Jeonghan there, she was suddenly very aware that she hadn’t showered in a few days and was unquestionably gross. 

She was also uncomfortably aware of every single greasy hair on her head because she was sure that Jeonghan was examining them as well. She felt like a child who had been left to their own devices compared to Jeonghan whom she had never seen with a hair out of place.

Jeonghan poked around Y/n’s desk, examining the haphazardly stacked dirty dishes with a slender finger that seemed to be declaring everything as ‘ick,’ “How have you been?” his voice was kinder than she expected.

She blushed, “Fine,” she didn’t want to say that she had definitely spent $500 on something that was maybe a grift.

Jeonghan nodded, “You seem like you’re still missing him,” Jeonghan seemed to be talking to himself more than to Y/n.

She shrugged, “No, I – uhh, I’m fine now,” she stammered - even if Dr. Kwon was a grifter, she would give it a chance.

 What was the worst case anyway - she dug up a dead body, she wondered to herself if that was the worst part. She had no idea what a body would look like after being buried for a week or so, actually she wasn’t sure how long it had been anymore, but not so long, she was fairly certain. But maybe it was more like a month, but only if she actually gave it some thought and counted the days.

She barely noticed that Jeonghan was suddenly in front of her until Jeonghan touched her cheek, “Who is Dr. Kwon?” he asked gently.

She shrugged, certain she hadn’t mentioned the name aloud, or at all, and avoided eye contact when she responded, “I don’t know,” she sounded almost confident.

And Jeonghan pinched her cheek lightly and sighed, “It’s funny when you lie to me and think I don’t know,” he sighed again, this time it was more pronounced and dramatic, “Oh well, I guess we will just have to meet the doctor together,” he announced and flopped onto the sofa. He gazed at her, daring her to contradict what he had just declared.

She bit her lip gently and shrugged, “If you say so,” she wasn’t in the mood for Jeonghan’s games, “I’m going to shower,” she muttered. She could have sworn she heard a small ‘thank you’ from Jeonghan but wasn’t sure and wasn’t going to check either.

Y/n was happy to shower - she hadn’t realized how grimy she had felt until she wasn’t. And now she could lie in her bed and bury her face in the pillow Mingyu had once used while she stared at her dms waiting for a response. 

She could hear low sounds from the tv - she had just assumed that Jeonghan was staying by the way he had parked himself on the sofa. There was something comforting about it though. She really had been very alone the last however many days or weeks. She nuzzled into the pillow that still held Mingyu’s balsamy scent and was quickly asleep. 

── .✦

Y/n had been used to her weird dreams since she was young - they were usually pleasant, maybe a bit too real, but since she had met Mingyu whenever she woke up from one there was someone there to cuddle her and assure her that she was okay. 

Now she sat up, rubbing her face, and remembered she was alone again - there was no one to tell her that the weird dream about Mingyu floating in the air above her with hungry red eyes was fake. 

She could have cried, but then Jeonghan would have probably heard her and had some snarky comment to make. She fell back onto the bed and chewed her lip. She stayed motionless, letting the sadness wash over her and then recede like the tide. She hated that even in her dreams Mingyu had become something macabre. 

Even as her feelings ebbed, she felt her phone vibrate with some new notification. She blinked and checked to see that it was an instagram notification. She was quick to unlock her phone and read the message from Dr. Kwon replying that he thought Y/n’s case was one that warranted review and suggested that they meet that night. 

She responded without hesitation, wanting to be sure that she met Dr. Kwon as soon as possible. She waited excitedly for confirmation. And she grinned stupidly when it came through - a message providing an address for a small tea shop and a request for payment only once she was satisfied with the results of the procedure. Y/n chewed her lower lip softly - if this were a grift, at least it wasn’t an obvious one, she supposed.

She got up and dressed in something she didn’t mind going out in. And walking out of her room, she was feeling a bit excited for once since everything had changed - she had almost forgotten Jeonghan completely until he piped up, “Heading out, Y/n?” 

Y/n’s head spun to look at Jeonghan, who was lounging on the sofa with some baking show playing in the background – his eyes were closed, giving the impression he was napping. 

She stared for a moment, her blood feeling a bit icy in her veins because it reminded her of the way Mingyu always seemed to know when she got out of bed (or into it) - he would seem fast asleep, but he was also keenly attuned to any little movement from Y/n. She wasn’t sure why it would make her uncomfortable now - probably because it was coming from Jeonghan and not Mingyu, she guessed. She knew Mingyu cared, at least.

Jeonghan sighed and stood up, stretching nonchalantly, “I assume we are going to see the mysterious Dr. Kwon?” he almost sounded chipper, which was a strange development.

Y/n shrugged off the feeling, “Uh, I’m just going out,” she tried.

Jeonghan tutted, “You aren’t getting rid of me so easily, Y/n, I’m an old hand at all of this - you just need to accept that certain things come along with dating Kim Mingyu,” he had already rounded the sofa and was next to Y/n, looping his arm through hers and steering them towards the door.

It was a strange turn of phrase that Y/n played over in her mind as they sat in the back of a taxi ‘certain things come along with dating Kim Mingyu,’ but what did that mean, she wondered, and more to the point why would Jeonghan say it to her - it was another of those annoying things that somehow reminded her of Mingyu’s mannerisms but was also starkly different. 

Mingyu was good at anticipating certain things - things that Y/n generally had to blatantly ask for from past partners, Mingyu always seemed to just understand. But that understanding felt natural between them, innate even. 

From Jeonghan, it made Y/n’s skin crawl and she attempted to sit as far away from the other as she could in a cramped taxi. Especially since Jeonghan’s comment had to do with her very dead boyfriend. 

Y/n stared out the cab’s window, watching the slow drizzle of rain and fog commingle as they wound their way to the ancient tea shop. It was in an older part of the city. To her, it certainly had the vibes of a place you would meet someone who was capable of reanimating the dead. 

Jeonghan took care of the cab while she went into the shop. There was only one table that was occupied. Y/n immediately recognized the man from Youtube - it was really him, Dr. Kwon Soonyoung.

He glanced up and smiled warmly, “You must be Y/n,” his voice was welcoming, as he stood from his seat and gestured for her to join him. 

She sat and, again, found herself being startled by Jeonghan’s sudden appearance at her side. It was a bit annoying to feel like she had a chaperone. Still, she wanted to know what Dr. Kwon had to say. 

She accepted tea from the pot - which, in hind sight, was maybe her worst decision. Because before they could really even talk, she had started to feel groggy. Her vision swam a bit, and her head began to ache horribly. 

Her vision blurred at the edges. And soon, she realized she was being taken by Jeonghan and Dr. Kwon, who Jeonghan seemed to know fairly well, since he kept calling him ‘Soonie’, out the back of the shop.

She tried to cry for help but there was no sound, nor did there seem to be anyone to even hear her. She noticed as they carried her out how decrepit the building looked - it looked on the verge of being condemned more than anything. How had it seemed so warm and inviting at first, she wondered in her haze.

She had no idea where they were taking her, but they put her in the back of a large black car. The last thing she saw was Jeonghan, leaning over her to buckle her in and pat her head, “Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you, even if Soonyoung has crackpot ideas,” he smiled in a way that only made Y/n whimper. 

this should be fun and messy ^^ also don't come at me about tags - this is a teaser for a fic that meets fluff, smut, and angst - but the beginning is def crack

@gyupappi - just a teaser, but vampire mingyu needs more than a one shot (and vampire cheol...and hosh as a grift doc on insta hehehe) kissesss

♡ kat

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