Micah has invited you over to his place many times, there’s nothing new about it. Sometimes you play with Skrunkly, other times you just hang out and watch TV. He doesn’t invite you over with any intentions in mind.
Though he did do that once when he wanted you out of your house while he had a package delivered there but that’s a completely different situation!
And you liked the gift in the end!
But back to the point, Micah doesn’t invite you over with an intention in mind.
He’s not that kind of man.
The last thing he wants is for you to feel pressured into doing something you don’t want to do for him. Which is why it took him so long to muster up the courage to ask you over for a date.
It sounded simple.
Dinner, a walk and then a movie on his couch if you’re feeling up to it. He said it was a spur of the moment decision, and that you didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.
Which is true.
He could’ve eaten the four course meal he started prepping the day before all by himself, then he could’ve took a walk around the block within 30 and be home just in time to avoid the mosquitos that wake up a few minutes after dusk.
He could’ve sat down on his couch, sipping the chilled Hibiscus-Earl Grey Iced Tea he made early in the afternoon while chewing on spicy popcorn and watching The Vow all by his lonesome..
Thankfully he didn’t have to do that.
He started cooking dinner an hour before you arrived, which is something he normally does but it felt more nerve wracking for some reason.
Garlic buttered steak that took him several failed or slightly charred attempts to master, or at least make without burning anything.
A side of warm macaroni and cheese baked in his recently installed oven, which he could barely use because the layout is surprisingly hard to navigate without an instruction manual.
Chilled Hibiscus-Earl Grey Iced Tea with lavender ice cubes in his fanciest cup set, Kermit the Frog glass cups with matching spoons, because he can’t risk you getting drunk on this possibly momentous occasion.
And, of course, homemade Pop-tarts for dessert!
Except he forgot about the strawberry filling until after the tarts were baked and iced.
So..
Popless tarts?
He took you on a walk around his block right on time, but it wasn’t as romantic as he’d hoped it would be..
The streetlight came on before the stars were fully visible, someone forgot to take out their trash so the end of the street smelled like a garbage, it got colder way faster than he thought it would and someone’s dog jumped the fence just when he was walking past their fence.
Thankfully the dog was friendly but he doesn’t think he’ll ever live down screaming like a little girl in front of his girlfriend and future wife.
Words couldn’t describe how happy he was to see his apartment building come into view.
If he wasn’t trying to look cool in front of his Angel he would’ve cried from joy and skipped back home just go to sleep and put the whole night behind him.
But he has an Angel to impress.
He spent all day sprucing up his living room. A fluffy throw blanket, four new throw pillows, a new rug, snacks and a list of romantic movies already lined up.
Admittedly he was laying it on a bit thick…
Still, he continued with his plan.
He got you comfortable on his couch sat down next to you as casually as he could. He spread a blanket over the both of you, not-so-subtly scooted closer to you, and mustered the courage to loop an arm behind your head after five minutes of starting blankly at the movie playing.
That’s how he got here, sitting in his living room watching a movie with you.
He glances at you then quickly looks away. He steals another glance after a few minutes. Trying to gauge your emotions, though it’s hard to tell when the only lighting in the room is coming from his tv. He sighs softly and sinks further into his couch.
So close and yet so far..
He stays there, thinking of how he’s supposed to bridge the subject. His cheeks are burning and his lips keep pulling into a nervous smile despite his attempts to keep a straight face. He can’t focus on the movie even though he’s desperate for something else to focus on.
He did all this just to ask one question and now he’s too scared to do it. He sighs and turns to you stiffly.
He cups your cheek gently, turning you to face him. His eyes flicker to your lips but he’s more focused on your eyes.
It feels like there’s a lump in his throat, which google said nothing about.
He’s supposed to ask but the words won’t come out.
Author’s Note:I was super busy today but I managed to write something for my beloved husband anyways🩶
Micah was a married man for a few weeks.
Three weeks to be exact.
Just enough time to tour the world and settle into a forever home. Except there was never a forever home. Just the same apartment he’s been living in since he was 19 and starting college. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to stay there until he could find a good house in a suburban neighborhood with a gated community and a nice private school for any future kids. He never got to find that home. You died before he could. He can’t remember how it happened and he doesn’t want to. He tried to remember it at first, but after the fifth time he broke down in tears in front of his therapist he stopped trying. His therapist said it was normal for grieving widowers.
He’s never hated a word as much as he does now.
The widower, Micah Yujin.
He hasn’t truly grieved yet and he doesn’t want to. What kind of husband would he be if he moved on so fast? So he hasn’t moved on. He sets two plates for each meal of the day, he makes your side of the bed look just how you left it. He hasn’t touched the TV in months because you were watching a movie together and he doesn’t want to ‘skip ahead’ while you’re gone.
You’re not gone, you’re dead.
He still goes to the gym, brushes his teeth, changes his pillowcases and washes the blankets and sheets every other week. He cleans the apartment biweekly and buys trinkets he thinks you’d like whenever he’s browsing online. He still opens the passenger door for you when he drives somewhere, even if it makes him look crazy.
He’s still waiting for you.
He still goes to the same couples therapist he insisted you two try out even though it’s just him now. She looks at him weird when he talks about the fight you two had a few months ago, he’s not surprised. He still buys your favorite snacks during grocery runs. He still puts money on your personal card even though you’ll never use it again. He still tries new things for your date nights, but it’s just him now.
He’s a widower.
He can’t wrap his head around that..
It took him a week to plan your funeral.
Not because it was expensive, though it did cost him half a million, but because he didn’t want to admit that you were really dead. To look at your casket and know that you were gone. It was the second worst moment in his entire life. He held your funeral at the same venue you got married in. All your favorite colors, all your favorite foods, your favorite songs playing, your favorite flowers decorating the hollow space that used to be so crowded with love. It was stupid but a part of him was hoping that maybe you’d see all your favorite things and come back to him.
It didn’t work.
Nothing he tried worked.
He was devastated.
He was alone.
He was losing his mind..
Then he had an epiphany, a gift from the heavens.
He could just.. summon you.
Like in one of those horror movies where people summon ghosts. It has to be based in some kind of reality, right?
Myths don’t come out of nowhere.
His therapist didn’t like that idea. She told him to let you go. She said it’s been three months since the funeral and his grief is warping his perception of time. That he was going to continue spiraling until he hurts himself or worse. She said that he was holding on too hard and it was hurting him. That you were hurting him.
How could you be hurting him?
You’re dead.
Micah isn’t one to dabble in the paranormal world.
His father isn’t the kind of man to believe in ghosts, but he’s also the kind of man to start saying prayers and leave the room when something randomly falls his shelf. Micah took after his father in that sense.
Does he believe in it?
Before his wife died he would’ve said it was debatable.
Now?
He stares at the place and feels a chill run across his upper back.
He’s really hoping it’s real.
He made sure it was decorated when he first bought it, he even brought new flower seeds to plant around your mausoleum.
Beautiful during the day, but at night..
Graveyards tend to become very creepy in the dark. He didn’t think it would be an issue until he had to walk inside one at night. His eyes started watering as soon as he stepped onto the funeral grounds, which was probably his first sign that this was a horrible idea but he thought it was just his emotions getting the better of him!
His plan was simple.
He’s going to enter the mausoleum, show you all the gifts he bought one by one, arrange them in an orderly manner and then start speaking to the air like an idiot while his full spectrum camera records either his slow descent into madness or proof that his deceased lover is still with him even in death.
A solid plan.
His father would kill him if he ever found out about this..
He fumbles with the stainless steel lock, his frozen fingers struggle to bend around the key.
He didn’t bring any gloves with him and he’s not turning around now.
3:00 AM, it’s cold and sprinkling lightly.
It’s creepy as hell, but isn’t this the best way to summon a ghost?
Creepy stuff.. They like that right?
The lock unlocks with a sharp click, and he steps into the mausoleum despite himself. He clumsily sets down the boxed gifts to his right.
Foods, clothes, a bouquet of your favorite flowers.
Not a lot but it feels like it’s crowding the enclosed space.
Suddenly he’s feeling very claustrophobic..
Despite that he pushes onward.
He sets up the full spectrum camera at the entrance of the mausoleum, struggling to click the right buttons to start the recording process.
Then he sits down on the cold stone and stares at your memorial portrait.
His shoulders loosen.
He picks up the first box, slowly unwrapping the silk bow. He lifts up the cover, gently placing the lid on the stone next to him.
He pulls out the first gift from the wrapping tissue and holds it up to face your memorial portrait.
He forces the smile.
“Angel? If you’re here I..”
What is he doing?
Talking to himself in the dark in his Angel’s sacred mausoleum.
Is it a good idea to bring your fiancé to your job?
Generally speaking, no.
Is Micah doing it anyway?
Yeah.
It’s not like he’s causing any problems, it’s a pool in a gym that he has a membership in and that membership clearly states that he can bring a plus one whenever he wants. So he did. His coworkers don’t, but that’s just them. It usually takes him an hour to get the gym on weekdays, it’s a weekend.
So two blissful hours in the car with you, listening to music and talking about wedding plans. Traffic was a nightmare but it meant he got to spend more time with you so it wasn’t a complete disaster. Though it did start raining as soon as cars really started to move and a bathroom break to the nearby 7/11 felt like he was permanently giving up his spot in line to the highway. Despite that he still gave up his spot to pull over so you could stretch your legs. He bought snacks for you at the 7/11 while you were preoccupied.
Which was..
Surprisingly hard..
He is a very indecisive man when it comes to gifting you things.
By the time he got to the gym it was pouring rain, which wasn’t an issue because the pool is an inside pool. What was in issue though, was getting out of the car and into the gym without getting completely soaked.
Which he failed to do..
He tried to park closer to the gym but there’s a surprising amount of people who go to his gym even in the rain on a weekend. He didn’t bring an umbrella because the weather forecast said it would be a hot and dry day.
Serves him right for trusting the weather man..
There’s nothing hot about 42 degree weather at 8:00 AM!
Especially in the pouring rain!
It took two trips to get everything inside. Everything being his duffle bag, your duffel bag, and you. Yes, he did carry you into the gym. And yes It was absolutely imperative that he held you in a shoulder hold! To keep you out of the rain, of course! He did his normal routine while you watched at his humble behest. Lifting weights across from you, running beside you on the treadmill, sitting next to you in the sauna.
Normal couple stuff.
It felt.. peaceful.
For once his life isn’t just about work, or doing a routine he had to complete before he could go home. He’s done this so many times before but with you it feels like more than just a dull moment in his life.
Everything feels so new and exciting with you..
He inches a bit deeper into the water, sitting one step further down. The cold water inches up his chest and, more importantly, his already sensitive back. He twists slightly in his spot at the chill. It smells like chlorine and plastic yoga mats?
For some reason..
He breathes out deeply, forcing himself to stay put despite his internal grumbling.
The training center promised him a warm pool!
He’s definitely not feeling the warmth.
He sinks deeper into the pool, pushing off the steps to float further into the shallow end of the pool. He lays on his back, staring blankly at the skylight above him.
It’s still raining outside..
All he wants to focus on is how cold the water is. He keeps his thoughts on the water. Anything to distract from the pit in his stomach. The dread eating at him from the inside out.
If he wanted an ice bath he could’ve taken one at home..
What genius decided to invest in the weights instead of the pool?
There hasn’t been a lifeguard on duty in weeks!
He strokes his arms, lazily swimming around the pool. At the pool with his Angel, stuck inside because of the rain, snacks waiting, phones charging. It should be perfect but it doesn’t feel that way. Yes it’s cold, and yes it’s obviously wet and most importantly not for work but he can’t help thinking about work. He has so much to do. Planning dates for you, prepping lunch and dinner, training, conditioning, building connections, dealing with Ivy..
When did his hobby turn into such a chore?
He lays on his back, floating aimlessly in the cold water. He’s been working so hard, training nonstop for days. Even now he’s still technically training. Correcting his posture subconsciously, forcing himself to relax instead of actually relaxing. You deserve so much better than this kind of life, with a fiancé who’s always too busy training to do normal things. He doesn’t take you out on dates like he used to, he doesn’t stay up with you to watch movies anymore or play games.. It’s just work with him, it’s always work.
He used to have fun, he used to BE fun.
Now he’s too busy for any of it.
He swims over to the shallow side of the pool, sitting on one of the bottom steps again. He stares at the ceiling for a long moment, trying to muster the courage to speak. He swallows thickly as if that’ll make the lump in his throat disappear. It doesn’t. He has to do it at some point, he just wanted to hold on a little longer. To get two gold medals in both Olympic Games and earn a world record. Maybe even make his father proud enough to try with him. But it’s not worth losing the love of his life. He scoots closer to you, floating aimlessly on his back again. He can’t see your face. It’s for the better. He wouldn’t be able to get the words out and risk seeing your disappointment head on.
Author’s Note:Finally got back into writing! This took me a hot minute but I’m so proud of it. As always it is very open ended so you can decide what happens next!
Olympic Gold Medalist, Micah Yujin.
He never thought he would be able to say that.
Swimming is something he’s good at, something he enjoys greatly. And yes, he takes great pride in it. He’s the fastest on his team, he beat out Olympic swimmers during his first season. He likes swimming and he likes making money from it.
What a shocker.
Ice skating though?
Not really his style.
Can you imagine him as an Olympic Silver Medalist in ice skating of all things. He never thought he’d see the day. He doesn’t take it seriously, if he’s being honest. It was just something to prove, and he meant to quit but he didn’t. What he does take seriously though, is the money he gets from it. Which is why his schedule is so strict. He wakes up at 5:30 every morning. Yeah, everyday even on weekends. His alarm starts blaring, trying to wake up the entire apartment. He snaps awake, fumbling over to his side of the bed to cut it off. He squints his eyes to read the time as if that’ll fix his vision.
It doesn’t.
He flops onto his stomach, then shuffles over in bed to spoon you again. He sighs heavily, his arms wrapped around your waist. He must’ve stayed there for a while longer than usual because his alarm starts ringing.
Again.
He shuffles away to cut it off and puts on his glasses. He blinks blearily a few times, staring blankly at the closet doors in front of him, then he lays back down to cuddle you. He pulls you closer to him. He could stay there forever, but he only gets five minutes with you before his second alarm goes off. He practically crawls out of bed and turns off the alarm. He checks the time.
5:40 AM.
He steps to his dresser and pulls out a black tank top. He fumbles around for a bit, then finds the matching sweatpants and finally walks to the bathroom.
The bedroom rug was so soft beneath his feet..
The bathroom tiles, however, are criminally cold. He tiptoes into the bathtub and takes a nice, hot shower. He brushes his teeth and wipes the steam from his glasses. Then he sits down on the bed and starts taking out the twists in his hair, painstakingly slowly.
His fingers get tangled in his hair, his ring gets tangled in his hair, his hair gets tangled in his hair. He spend over an hour last night washing, moisturizing, and detangling his hair.
Then he had to bend over the bathroom sink to section and twist his hair correctly, then he had to go to the store to pick up some more styling cream just to massage it into his hair.
Then, finally, he went to sleep thinking his hair would be untangled and shiny when he woke up.
What a joke..
Sometimes it feels like doing his hair is more of a workout than what he does at the gym..
He spreads a bit of flaxseed gel onto his hands, carefully threading his fingers through his already tangling curls.
He knew he should’ve worn the silk bonnet last night…
Darn his custom commissioned Skrunkly bonnet for being so cute! And for being made of satin!
He combs the gel through his hair with his fingers, then massages some oil into his scalp. He walks back to the bathroom to wash his hands, takes a moment to admire his curls, then puts in his eye contacts and leaves the bedroom entirely.
He has to go to training today. Which means an hour in traffic and three hours of practicing the same routine over and over again until he can do it with his eyes closed.
A mind numbing experience.
He thinks it’s a waste of time but his coach insists he practices everyday, so he’s going to. Besides, it’s not like he has anything better to do all day. Hacking rich people’s accounts for money is surprisingly boring.
And also highly illegal in his state but that’s another story..
He just wants to stay in bed with you!
Why must the fates be so cruel?
He catches himself posing and straightens up, glancing at the bedroom to check if you saw his embarrassingly dramatic pose.
Nothing. Thankfully.
He breathes a sigh of relief and walks into the kitchen to get Skrunkly’s food ready. One tablespoon of dried liver crushed into manageable pieces, premium wet cat food, a scrambled egg seasoned with fish oil, boiled pumpkin cut into small squares, unseasoned beef bone broth.
Mix it all together and there’s breakfast!
His face scrunches up at the look of it.
A mix of red and pink, wet, relatively chunky, a few bits of crushed liver sticking out, yellow bits of scrambled eggs still sticking together, a few pumpkin squares blocking up of the mix..
He wordlessly places her food bowl down and refills her water dispenser. He washes his hands, feeling his hands stiffen in the cold water. He walks to the bedroom door. His eyes flicker from you to Skrunkly, both curled up in bed.
He smiles softly and walks back into the kitchen to start prepping food for you. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. He’ll be gone all day, and he doesn’t trust that you won’t just eat a few bowls of cereal and call it a meal.
Regardless of whether or not you already eat three meals a day he’s still going to make you food. It brings him a little peace to know that at the very least it won’t be his fault if you starve yourself.
He opens his cookbook, flipping through the pages to choose something for breakfast. He checks the time on the oven.
6:40 AM
He has to get to work at 8:00 AM and it takes an hour to drive there..
Macaroni and cheese with a side of roasted potatoes and broccoli for lunch, he can figure out dinner when he gets home.
But breakfast?
He stops at the breakfast section and reads through the listed foods again.
Oatmeal, Toast and Scrambled Eggs, Pancakes, Waffles, Breakfast Burritos, French Toast..
He bites on his right thumb while the fingers of his left hand tap at the marble countertop. He goes through the recipes. No coffee this early in the morning, not too much sugar, not too much salt, something hard enough to chew, something that doesn’t take much chewing to eat.
First of all, PAUSE. Secondly, it’s not what you think this is very fluffy-ish. I thought it was fluffy bc nothing truly bad happens(I will get to writing that later, he he), but it’s once again open ended bc I hate it when people write dialogue for the reader and it’s just the worst, meanest options possible. !There are mentions of being choked!(not the reader😐, AND YOU’RE NOT CHOKING MICAH), as well as being beaten up but it’s not written in detail. I have not taken any writing classes so pls don’t expect too much from me but I did enjoy writing this so that should hopefully count for smth🙏🏽
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Micah’s hand squeezes into a fist, wrapping tightly around the web in his hand.
He pulls tightly and a brief flicker of electrostatic trickles down the web despite his attempts to keep the shocks to a minimum.
The thug groans weakly beneath him, shuffling onto his stomach with difficulty.
The fight lasted a bit longer than he’d like,
..cough cough three-hours of being smacked around later-cough..
But that’s to be expected with a new supervillain providing the public with glorified steroids for the cheap price of putting CyberSilks head on a stick. He rolls his shoulder and immediately winces at the feeling of his bruises being stretched in multiple spots.
It’s just his luck..
He resists the urge to just haul the criminals into the nearest taxi and pray that it gets where he wants it to go because what kind of Spider-Man would he be if he put the innocent taxi drivers of his city in peril danger?
He strings the criminal onto the nearest streetlamp with the other criminals, almost dusting off his hands immediately after.
He looks at his fingers closely, noticing small red crystals trying to dig into the crevices of his gloves.
He quirks an eyebrow, then simply dusts off his hands a bit more carefully.
He’s not a biochemist, or whatever scientist deals with what got on his hands during the fight.
It crumbles like salt, but feels hard like gravel.
There’s no way this is the stuff people are trying to kill him over..
He sighs heavily, ignoring the cacophony of groans and insults being yelled at him from the streetlamp.
It feels like he’s public enemy number one for some reason.. But that won’t get him down because there’s people who do appreciate him!
Like Caspian and {{user}}..
His mom most of the time..
Maybe his dad on a great day?
His phone chimes with a notification, which reminds him that he’s been standing in place doing nothing for possibly fifteen minutes.
He looks around, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees no-one. He pulls out his phone, checking the text on his Home Screen.
It’s..
A reminder to get cat food for Skrunkly..
He sighs again, this time a bit sadder, and pouts to himself.
Of course, how could he forget?
Look at him, fantasizing about someone texting him instead of paying more attention to his beloved cat.
And speaking of his beloveds he should probably visit his other one!
Not that it’s official or anything..
He probably shouldn’t assume..
Would it be weird if he visited at..
He checks the time on his watch, 4:51 AM.
Great.
Is anyone even be up at this time?
He shrugs, pocketing his phone. He swings himself onto a nearby roof, feeling the chill start to get to underneath his suit.
He probably should’ve worn more than just a jacket but he doesn’t have many options..
The sky is still dark and the concert is wet from the recent drizzling a few hours ago. He inhales deeply to smell the familiar scent of rain and car exhaust, accompanied by the faint hints of leftover trash juice in the nearby dumpster to his right and his own cologne that he practically doused himself in before realizing that he was wearing his SpiderSuit.
Which, for those wondering, he had to take off and rewash throughly in case some particularly determined soul recognized him by the smell of his cologne of all things.
Which he didn’t even know was an issue until Miguel got on his case about it.
He swings himself across the city a bit slower than he normally does, enjoying the rare moment of slow in the city.
Distant car honking, the soft roar of cars driving in unison across the city, the voices of passersby opening their shops early and setting up stalls while the best spots are empty..
It’s all so familiar to him, maybe not soothing but it sounds the same as it always has and that makes him happy.
Because he must be doing something right if everything still sounds the same.
He lands next to your balcony, quickly sneaking a peak into your room.
Curtains, how practical.
He climbs onto your railing, carefully laying on his side.
He places his head in his palm, putting on his sexiest face for you.
He stays there for a brief moment, then remembers that he forgot to knock on your window.
He sighs, gets up to knock on your window, then lays back down and tries to recreate the face he was making before.
He sees movement behind the curtains, your shadow moving through your bedroom.
He listens for the sound of your window lock clicking open and quickly thinks of what to say to you.
Maybe play it safe and just say hi?
What would being risky even sound like?
Should he have brought something?
It’s not like you’ve come to expect flowers every time CyberSilk comes over, though maybe he should change that soon?
He clears his throat, hoping that the recent beat down didn’t mess with his vocal cords too much.
(Before I start this I want to say that this has been rotting in my notes app for years now and I’m only posting this to give context[however little] to the next post I’m gonna make. Also HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY MICAH OMG ILY ILY ILYYYY💚💚)
—————————————————————
CyberSilk shoots another web from his wrist, pulling himself forward with mild effort. The wind blows against his suit, seeping into his already chilled skin. He pauses on a rooftop, flexing his fingers subconsciously. He pauses after hearing them crack, wincing despite the lack of pain. His fingers feel like they’re locking up, again. The cold is getting worse for whatever reason, which means he needs to redesign his winter suit again.. He slings himself across the city, mentally debating if he can order himself a taxi. He could’ve just taken his car, something he remembers as soon as he slings himself onto your apartment balcony, resting precariously on the bottom of your upstairs neighbor’s balcony. Heated seats, maybe a blanket, music in his ears.. He contemplates cursing under his breath, he decides against it. What would his Angel think of him? Finding out that he does, in fact, have a filthy mouth. That’s your job. He’s been thinking about you all day, gazing at you in classes and stalking your socials every few hours. Is he a bit of a creep? Yes. But it’s only for you, his Angel. And speaking of which.. He watches your back for a long moment, trying to muster up his courage before he speaks.
"Hey Angel~"
He purrs, tilting his head slightly to try and level out his vision. Hanging upside down over twenty times a day is probably going to bite him later, but at least it looks cool. His head starts to ache as if on cue, the edges of his vision blurring almost imperceptibly. He flips himself upright, holding his left arm behind his back. He smiles cheekily, clutching a small jewelry box in his left hand. He sits on your railing, trying to keep his voice even mildly steady. His voice waivers despite himself and his cheeks flush a deep shade of red underneath his mask. He prays you can’t see his face, even though he knows you can’t. He spent an embarrassing amount of time on your gift, both as cyber and as Micah. Taking classes between his college courses, staying up all night to add the extra details. Hours of his free time spend testing out different materials, late night trips to whichever craft store was open nearby. All of it was for you, and he’s do it all over again in a heartbeat.
“Your one and only knight in shining armour has arrived! And with a gift no less!”
He boasts proudly, puffing out his chest to really sell the act. His chest aches, literally, from the movement. He zones out for a brief moment to remember the incident, the much more embarrassing than painful beat down he suffered last week.. Hopefully you weren’t one of the three million people who saw the video before he got it taken down. He’s still got bruises across his back from it, turns out being slammed into concert four times in quick succession causes the craziest bruises known to mankind. Not that they’ll ever be recorded, since he’s yet to visit his doctor. He pulls the box from behind him, holding it out for you to see. It’s a small green box, held together by a velvety bow. He spent a week trying to choose a box, not that you need to know that. If he’s lucky you’ll focus more on what’s inside than the box itself, which he ordered off Amazon a day earlier after running out of time.
“Uh.. Don’t focus on the details too much, because the real prize is inside!”
He hesitates for a moment, pulling the box back to run his eyes over it again. Should he have worked on the box as well? Maybe you’ll think what’s inside is cheap.. Or store bought? His stomach feels like it’s twisting into knots, pushing against his lungs just to mess with him. He holds out the box for you to take, again, smiling nervously even though you can’t see his face. Another habit he probably needs to fix, but at least you can’t judge him for that one! Not that you judge him normally.. He thinks for a moment, watching you step closer to grab the box from his trembling hand. You’d tease him for it though, probably. Maybe.. He swallows thickly, praying internally to nobody in particular. Whether it’s for you to like the gift he made you, or if it’s for you to like him. He doesn’t want to specify.. Hopefully you’ll like the necklace he made you, he doesn’t have a backup gift..
that isn't to say that this reality is worth less than any other, for the record. what i mean is that i don't believe that shifting is set at a higher difficulty here as opposed to anywhere else, which seems to be a subconcious belief within this community that we have yet to shake.
this belief can be traced all the way back to the dawn of shifttok in 2020, when it was ingrained in our heads by people who claimed to have shifted that while shifting from this reality is conditional on a bunch of things, shifting back to this reality is seamless. it happens in seconds, with no chance of you not succeeding, effort be damned. and while that is great and true, at the same time... if you don't need to meditate or script or count to a hundred to shift back from your dr —
— then why is it necessary to do any of that shit to shift from this reality? (newsflash. it's not)
the only difference between the "difficulty" of shifting from here vs shifting back is mindset. that's geniuenely it. you don't shift back from your dr instantly because you're "better" at shifting there, or because it's "easier" to do it from there. in case it wasn't clear : your ability to shift is the same in every reality. depending on where you're shifting to, it may even be the only thing that you have in common with the version of you that exists here.
and the sooner you internalise that, the sooner you can stop feeling dependant on the idea that shifting has to be a long drawn out process that takes hours, months, or even years. it doesn't have to be.
let this be your reminder that you can shift instantly from any reality, including this one. this is not the one place where it's harder by deafult and belief is not enough.
You wake up, realise you're still "here", and you go on with your day overanalyzing everything. Then you go to bed, spend 2 hours on TikTok, and read hundreds of Tumblr posts, like this one. You lie down, try it, and the next day you do exactly the same.
I've been through this hundreds of times, and the worst part is that it doesn't matter what I say, whether to you or to myself, nothing will change.
The only thing you can change is yourself, and I cannot do that unless you do. Everyone can give you tricks, motivation, storytimes, etc, but none of them will really work if you just keep putting up excuses.
You can live like that, with the eternal hope that one day you can wake up in your dr. I'm not saying that doesn't work, because hundreds of people ended up shifting like that.
But do you want to wake up every morning with that feeling? Like doesn't matter what you do, you will never get it. You can change that, not by doing more, because you don't need to do anything, but by trusting yourself more.
But, again, you're the one who has to do it.
When you go to bed tonight, and you say, "I'm shifting," bitch, you better believe it.
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
izzy806
