#also neither of my parents have anxiety lol

[zafiro-anyejo]

a few months ago i was visiting my aunt who is wealthier than my family was, and I noticed she made her daughter a resume. her daughter is 12. with a resume. and whatever sport she wants to learn or thing she wants to do, my aunt makes sure it is done.

i think about how when I was 12, my dad took me for a car ride--just me and him--and confessed 'i feel like we do a lot for your brother, with all the sports he plays, and sometimes forget about you. what do you like to do? what could we do for you?' and in my mind I thought 'I want to write', but i lived in a small town and didn't think such a thing as 'writing classes/camps for 12 year olds' even existed. I also liked art, but i hated the structure of it. (this is how you draw a face: with a circle bisected by a cross, and a rectangle underneath. all grown men are the height of seven and a half to eight faces, etc). and i guess i didn't want to disappoint him, so I said "nothing. I'm fine. I don't like sports anyway." and that was that. He never brought it up again and I never asked.

And i think, like, that's the thing. As a parent you need to have a balance of NOT making your kid scramble for scraps of attention, and also NOT doing absolutely EVERYTHING for them. You can be their friend but you also have to be their teacher, find a balance between the helicopter parent and one who watches from a distance. You need to make sure they have enough activities to socialize but not too much that they forget how to be a kid.

an old coworker of mine had her daughters stay at home over the summer, and I could see how her parental anxiety drip-fed into them: there are surveillance cameras inside the house and I can see you at all times, keep the door locked and don't go outside. and if someone knocks on the door, hide in the closet and don't come out. One day her seven year old called and asked for help microwaving a tv dinner, because her older sister was busy.

so my coworker said "it's right on the package. you need to learn to do things yourself. i'm at work, i can't always be around to help you." and that's, like, fair I guess?

But also one time in college my car blew a gasket (because I didn't understand the sacred importance of oil changes/I had anxiety about money and taking my car to auto shops). I don't remember if I called the tow company first or my mom. When I told my mom about it, partly to vent and partly because I didn't know what to do--I had never been in this situation before--she said "just call the insurance company. idk why you called me, I'm hundreds of miles away; What do you want me to do? It's not like I can drive over there. I can't deal with this right now."

Sometimes you learn these lessons too young, sometimes too late.

one of my friends was staying the night at my apartment a few weeks ago and in the morning she saw that traffic was bad. So she called her parents to ask if she should brave the traffic or just wait a little while; she needed their opinion, since they drove around the city more than her. They were patient. They offered suggestions. Part of me flared in envy; part of me thought "can't you make a decision without their input? You're almost 30."

I stayed silent while my coworker complained to her daughter. I stay silent whenever I want to ask for my mom's help, unless it's related to bookkeeping. I already know her answer: "have you tried looking it up on youtube?"

Lately my aunt was telling my mom she warns her daughter about making friends with "certain" kids. Namely, the ones who don't have a mother. "they're just... always a little troublesome." my aunt said. "Yeah," replied my mom. "definitely." Then my mom said "I think moms influence kids more than dads."

One of my high school friends lived without a mother. Once I confessed envy about our friend B, because she was able to like fandom stuff and get things she wanted; she didn't have to hide parts of herself from her parents in fear of being judged. Boys at school loved her because she was this "pure and giggly and sweet and innocent" girl, whereas I was the "surly and quiet and sweet and not giggly but still spontaneously funny" one. Anyway, my friend said, quietly, "sometimes I'm jealous of you." Because of my mom. Because sometimes the occasionally strained relationship is better than none at all.

I feel like having different type of friends gave my life such texture. I am the person I am for better or worse, because of this.

I have a theory that my aunt is controlling my 12 year old cousin's life to the point where she eventually won't have any other friends but wealthy ones. I don't have any evidence of this, of course. But I feel like that is what she curates for her daughter: houses that feel like museums and parents who drive Teslas and are "happily" married and have their kids with good grades on a track to get full ride scholarships.

"You are all so independent," says my mom proudly. My sister and I look at each other, a shared thought: Because we have to be. What other choice do we have?

I wish I had an armful of moments like being in the car with my dad. I wish I had the courage back then to say what I felt. I wish I would have pushed harder to get things I want rather than take the long way around. and I wish my mom had taken more moments to breathe through her irritation and ask "what do you need from me right now?" instead of "mother knows best, but ask google."

Lately I have been self-deprecating more. I recently told her "I'm emotionally high maintenance" and she said "well, everyone is." And at a different point I said "I don't think I ask for too much." and she didn't reply. She either disagreed or didn't hear me.

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 4

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 32.3k+ (dear lord)

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction & calorie counting), strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, a parent in the hospital, mentions of sexually explicit scene being shot on film, anxiety/stress/depression, jealousy

SMUT-18+ ONLY: fingering & oral (f receiving), nipple stimulation, heavy petting (m receiving), possessiveness, a lot of hickeys(lol), a little praise (please let me know if i’ve missed anything)

a/n: thank you all for being so patient with me. this story is personal to me for so many reasons, & parts of it have been a little hard to write. but, they’ve begged to be written. i hope you all love it. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

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Christmas Eve: Cherry Tree, OK

The ground was buried under mounds of snow. A fluffy, warm blanket of the softest white, yet it froze your little fingers when you buried your hands into its inviting, bright allure. 

You were bundled so tightly in your winter ensemble that you could hardly move. Your arms were stiff as boards, impossible to lay at your sides. You begged your mom to not make you wear it outside, but she and your dad wouldn’t budge. 

“You’ll get sick.” They warned you. But you didn’t heed them. 

As soon as you were outside and safely out of their sight, you shed your pink puffer and matching mittens, throwing them in a deep bank covering the once vibrant flower beds on the side of your house and freeing yourself of their restrictions.

You’d spent what felt like hours outside in the below freezing temperatures. Intricately rounding out perfect snowballs, building the tallest snowman your six year old body could manage, creating the most heavenly snow angels. 

You hadn’t even noticed the sudden pain and tightness that had developed in your small chest, or the dry cough that accompanied it. You were too busy warding off evil snow monsters from your fort made of icey wonder.

Until you heard your first, middle and last name erupting from the opened back door. 

Your mom and dad were there, their faces as white as the snow your body plummeted towards when your small lungs became too tired to allow for another breath of air. 

You spent Christmas in the hospital that year. The whole week, actually. A collapsed lung due to pneumonia, you were told. It was the most painful thing you had yet to experience in your young life. 

But to this very day, you consider it the best Christmas you’ve ever celebrated.

Nurses and doctors showered you with all the toys your heart could ever long for. You opened gifts from your bed and enjoyed the most wonderfully terrible Christmas dinner the hospital cafeteria could offer. 

You ate more ice cream than what was truly necessary. But no one denied your incessant requests for the frozen treat.

You watched Oliver and Company countless times that week, a favorite of yours and your dads. He hated Disney movies, but he loved this one, only because of Billy Joel’s character and the classic song he featured in the film.

He loved Billy Joel. Loved him enough to sit through hours upon hours of the animated film with you. 

Neither him or your mom left your side that whole week. They didn’t even go home to sleep. They just stayed with you. 

There were no fights between your mom and dad that week. Not even one. It was the closest your little family had ever been, and would ever be again. The love you felt from your parents that week has yet to find a comparison.

Crazy as it sounds, you miss that week. You began missing it as soon as you were cleared to go home. 

Their bickering resumed almost as soon as they put you in your special, tiny wheelchair to take you to the car. Whatever magic that hospital held that forced your family to love each other in a way that was brand new to you, was lost altogether once you were wheeled out of the automatic glass doors. 

You knew, once they situated you in the back of your dads double cab, that you’d never see them love each other that way ever again. 

As the Winter thawed to a bright Spring that year, when the snow melted and ran away to the Deer in Water creek that your home stood proudly beside, so did your hopes of ever seeing your parents love you and each other the same as they had that Christmas. 

That was a time in your life when you viewed your mom and dad in the same light. A time when you didn’t hate your dad, a time when he made you believe a man could love you.

When it wasn’t just your dad that caused problems, and it wasn’t just your mom that showed you love. They both did those things.

It’s strange to think back on it all now, to think about how he’s the one that left, and she’s the one dying. (Or already dead.)

You can’t bring yourself to understand why, but that Christmas you spent in the hospital all those years ago is all that's playing in your mind as Jake is speeding to the hospital. 

He’s asked you a few times how you’re holding up, but you can’t begin to try and answer him. 

You’re unable to communicate more than a quiet nod of your head as you're staring through the tinted passengers window. 

There aren’t any tears. No lump in your throat. 

You want to cry, but you can’t. 

Your mind pleads with you to acknowledge the emotions swirling about, desperate to manifest outwardly. But despite the inner turmoil, your body refuses to show it.

You just can’t.

Everything feels numb. 

You’re not even sure if you’re breathing properly.

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You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been clutching the necklace your dad gifted you  all those years  ago. It’s somehow serving as a comfort for you as you’re being driven to the hospital, even after everything he’s put you through. You find yourself running your thumb over the engraved initial, just  as you always had before he left.

As much as you’ve grown to hate him over the last year, you can’t help but wish he were here. Not being able to rely on anyone right now is…it’s fucking terrible.

Well, aside from Jake. 

He’s the last person you’d expect to be leaning on.

But it was purely an accident. Him driving you to the hospital is just a happenstance. He wouldn’t have if your stupid car hadn’t broken down (thanks, dad) and if it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t have had to get a ride from Jake in the first place.

But, you’re grateful to him right now. Grateful that he stuck around at your apartment long enough to know he needed to take you to her. 

If it weren’t for him, you’d still be stuck there desperately searching for someone to take you.

Finally, the brakes come to a screeching halt at the emergency room entrance. You absently thank him as you practically jump out of the car. 

You don’t look back, but you hear the thrumming motor of his range rover become more distant as he drives away.

You can’t bring yourself to care at this point as you’re sprinting to the front desk in search of where they’ve taken your mom. 

The young, redheaded man behind the counter with bright green eyes shielded by thick eyeglass frames looks rather shocked at your frenzied state. He’s watching you with his mouth agape, hands frozen on the keyboard of his desktop as he prepares for your inevitable arrival.

“I–I need to f– find my mom. She was just broug–” You take a second to catch your breath, still clutching your necklace for some sort of grounding. “...she was brought here by ambulance and I—” He stops you with a hand held high, asking you to slow down because he can’t comprehend your rushed words.

You can hardly even understand yourself, your voice breathy and stuttering as you’re gasping for air. But there’s no time to wait to catch it in your heaving lungs. 

“I need my mom and you need to tell me where the hell they’ve taken her. Her name is–”

“Miss,” he interupts, standing up as if to intimidate you with his much taller stature in comparison to yours. “If you can’t calm down I’ll have to ask you to leave.” His voice (that he’s clearly manipulated to sound much more threatening) echoes throughout the entire lobby as he’s looking at you as if you’re the crazy one.

This man has started copping an attitude with you that you’re in no place to put up with. You’ve backed down to people you’re entire fucking life, but right now isn’t the goddamn time.

You’ve decided to challenge him. If he wants to be loud, you can be loud right back.

Your fist pounds the counter with a force that causes everyone in the lobby of the emergency room to gasp and silence their voices. The metal container holding pens is jolted over the edge, the clipboard holding the blank paperwork for patients to fill out tumbles to the floor from the sheer amount of power behind your hand. 

There’s a stinging pain running rapidly up your arm, all the way to your shoulder, ringing through your teeth and  vibrating in your skull. 

You don’t even so much as wince from the pain.

A potential broken hand is the very least of your troubles right now.  

“She may be dying,” you scream, your first still held firm atop the white marble. “And if you don’t tell me where the fuck she is, you may have ruined the last time I’ll ever see her.”

The tears you’ve held in thus far begin flooding your face, falling like a heavy rain shower on the granite where your sore hand lies. 

Before the receptionist can start the process of having you escorted out, a tall woman dressed in a light blue set of scrubs stops him before he can make a single move. 

“Tell me her name, sweetie.” Her voice is quiet and her demeanor is calm, her wavy brown locks tied in a sleek ponytail at the bottom of her neck reminds you so much of the way your mom used to wear her hair before she got sick. 

You tell her your moms name through a shaky voice, attempting to make yourself sound more composed so you don’t get yourself kicked out of here. 

She gently moves the receptionist aside (Eric, according to the name badge clipped to the pocket of his shirt) and begins clicking the mouse around, scrunching her eyebrows in focus. 

“Here she is,” she confirms, the printer behind her humming with the physical version of what she can see on the screen. “She doesn’t have a room just yet, hun.” 

You feel defeated and useless. You’re her primary caregiver, and you can’t do your job from behind this stiff counter— not knowing where she is, how she is, what happened. So many unknowns, so much that’s completely out of your control.

You suddenly feel the intense pain radiating from your fist and you instinctively pull it close to you, clutching it tightly against your chest in hopes that pressure will alleviate just how bad it hurts.

“I’ll let you know when she gets a room. Until then, you’re welcome to wait in the lobby.” The tall nurse tells you. 

You nod your head in agreement, knowing there’s nothing you can say or do to make them move quicker. Still clutching your fist, you slowly walk away towards the stained lobby chairs and plant yourself in the one that’s closest to the counter.

You pull your phone out of your jacket pocket in search of something to distract you, but you're mortified to be met with the dead battery symbol upon trying to unlock it.

Great. Nothing to divert you from your thoughts (or the searing pain) for god knows how long. You feel the tears start to well in your sleepy eyes again, and you just decide to let them fucking fall. There’s no sense in trying to keep them in, you need to feel right now so you don’t explode again with your pent up aggression. 

Crying feels like the safest thing to do right now, and the best way to relieve some of the mental (and physical) pain. 

You let your chin fall down towards your chest, watching as the tears land on your sheer tights. You can’t help but giggle a little at how much thought you put into this outfit, only for the night to end like this. You had no way of knowing. No signs that she was doing so poorly on the night you decided to fucking leave her.

But before you have the chance to become too deep in your pity party, you hear the unmistakable sound of shuffling feet walking in your direction. You don’t bother looking up; you figure if you ignore whoever it is, they’ll also ignore you, which is exactly what you want right now. 

But ignoring them isn’t quite doing the trick. You see a pair of black sweats out of your peripheral standing near you, and as you lift your eyes a little more, you see a hand offering you a tissue. 

When you shift your watering eyes up a bit more, you realize it’s Jake.

“Wha-what are you still doing here?” You ask, the crying making your voice meak and raspy. You clear your throat as you thank him and accept his small (but rather meaningful) token. A sweet gesture that you can’t ignore. 

“I just wanted to make sure you found her okay,” he says while settling down in the seat on your left. “And I couldn’t leave knowing you don’t have a way home tonight. This hospital won’t let people stay overnight anymore since the pandemic. Didn’t want to leave you stranded.”

You hadn’t even thought of any of that. Aside from getting to your mom, you had no plan of action. Anything to come after that just hadn’t crossed your mind yet. You're glad someone thought of all those things, because your mind clearly isn’t capable of considering much at the moment. 

“Well, thank you. But I can just call Nat so you don’t have to stay with me.” Your voice sounds a little colder than you’d like it to. But with the way your emotions are surfacing, it can’t be helped right now. 

“Your phone’s dead,” he challenges, pointing to the quiet device sitting in your lap . “So, I’m staying.” 

You snap your head towards him, wide eyes and scrunched brows in question. “How do you know that?” 

“Been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes,” he explains, taking his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his call log to prove it to you. “It was going straight to voicemail. I knew there was a chance you could’ve been ignoring me, but I had a feeling your battery had just died.”

You can’t deny the grin that’s threatening to consume your tired features. You’re flattered, to say the least. While you didn’t fully expect him to stay to be sure you were okay, you’re not entirely surprised. (It crossed your mind briefly that he could just let you use his phone to call Nat, be he hasn’t offered. And you’re not going to ask. You kind of like that he’s here.)

“She doesn’t have a room yet. They told me they’d let me know when she does.” You adjust yourself in the stiff, plastic chair to face him while he nods his head.

His eyes are heavier than usual. His drooping lids tell you he’s just as tired. Though he’s probably had a much happier evening than you have had. 

Before you let your mind wander too deeply into the fact that he most likely slept with Stacy tonight, you search for anything to talk about with him.

“So, that spookhouse tonight was–” you begin, but he interrupts your thought before you can continue. 

“Shitty.” He states, putting his phone back in the pocket of his hoodie and letting both hands rest inside the fabric.  “Shitty and not scary in the least.” 

“Yeah.” You huff through a chuckle, grateful for the tiny smile it forced out of you. “Stacy was pretty scared, though.”

The look Jake gives you is one you can’t quite place. He looks…uncomfortable? 

You half expected him to giggle along with you, but he didn’t. Not even close. His eyes shift away from you, gazing across the waiting room. 

Fuck. Why did you have to bring her up?

You pull your eyes away from him as you awkwardly set your sights back on your lap. You’re not sure how, but it’s clear you’ve struck some kind of nerve with him.

It’s probably for the best that you keep your mouth shut. And that’s exactly what you do for the next several minutes. 

Without as much as a single word uttered between the two of you, you’re suddenly longing for the moments prior to his arrival in the lobby. The ones you spent pathetically crying in defeat and helplessness. Alone.

But just as it seems that all hope of having a normal conversation with him is lost, he breaks the silence. 

“Is that what they’re called, where you’re from?” 

As you lift your head, you’re met with his drowsy eyes once again set on you, his right eyebrow cocked slightly as he awaits your response. 

“Is what called…?” you absently ask. Your mind became so filled with the painful lull in conversation that you’d all but forgotten what you were talking about before you mentioned her name. 

“The haunted house,” he says. “You called it a spook house. I was just wondering if that’s because you’re not from here.”

It’s funny, because you hadn’t even noticed that you called it that. Didn’t even think twice about it. 

The memory of Sam pointing out the very same thing pops in your mind. You’re then reminded of how you left him tonight. The guilt is weighing horribly on you, but, sadly, it’s a welcome distraction against the worry (and far greater guilt) you’re feeling  for your mom. 

“Oh, yeah.” You fix your posture a bit, facing him once again as he clearly wants to keep some sort of conversation going. “That’s what we call them back home. It’s so funny how we have different names for things just based on what part of the country we’re from.” 

“It’s pretty interesting,” he mutters, a tiny grin peaking through his sleepy exterior.

You just hum in response, not really sure what to say next. The silence was awkward, but this sad attempt at a casual exchange is almost worse. 

You look over to the counter to see if the nurse who helped calm you down is standing there, but all you’re met with is Eric’s creeping eyes on you from behind the marble that may have broken your hand. 

Your hand suddenly begins to ache once more at the thought, and you instinctively bring it up to your chest again to dull the pain. 

“Is your hand okay?” Jake asks, taking note of your wincing expression after moving your sore extremity. 

You’re not sure you want to tell him about your little meltdown from earlier, so you come up with a quick excuse that sounds slightly better than the full truth.

“I knocked it against the counter when I got here, just by accident.” It’s not a complete lie. The accident addition is a bit of a stretch, but it kind of was an accident that your fist met the granite in a fit of rage. (However justified it may be, it’s still a tad embarrassing.) 

He leans closer to you, attempting to look at your hand that you’re still holding against your chest. With a tender touch, he attempts to pry it away from you. You’re so stunned by this that out of instinct, you hold it even tighter.

“Let me see,” he softly demands. 

After some hesitation on your part, (why does he care so much?) you pull it away from your chest, holding it out in front of you and Jake to get a clearer look.

The outer blade of your palm is swollen and already beginning to bruise. It hurts like hell. (And you’re wondering where on earth that physical strength came from.) 

Jake runs his index finger so gently over the inflammation. Amidst everything happening, your body can’t deny the fire that’s blooming under your skin from his feather light touch. 

Your tired eyes flit up to his face, his features wearing stark concern. When his eyes meet yours, you can’t look away. And he doesn’t, either, his finger still tracing a light pattern around the impact point on your fist. 

…and then he stops. He looks away and jumps up out of his seat without as much as a single word. 

He rounds the corner of the hallway and is out of your sight within seconds. Gone. Leaving you sitting here alone and feeling like you’ve suddenly done something wrong. 

Before you have the chance to worry about that for much longer, you notice the tall nurse out of your peripheral walking in your direction.

Your mom.

You stand up to meet the nurse halfway, ready to finally be taken back to see your mom. 

“Hold on,” she says, stopping you before you take a step. “You can’t go back right now, hun.”

Why won’t they let you go back? What don’t they want you to see?

Is it because she’s dead?

The nurse grabs your arm to keep you stable, your legs almost giving out as your body feels a thousand pounds heavier. The blood from your head rushes down through your chest. The dizzying feeling present throughout your weakened limbs.  

Your legs threaten to give out as your body feels a thousand pounds heavier. The blood from your head rushes  down  through your chest. The dizzy feeling present throughout your weakened limbs.

Your body begins swaying back and forth, threatening to collapse from shock, exhaustion…

She grabs your arm to help stabilize you.

“Hey, hey.” She puts her other hand on your shoulder to hold you still. “Everything’s okay. Just sit down for me, sweetheart.” 

She leads you back down to the chair, helping you lower yourself to sit back down. 

“I need you to know that she’s fine, sweetie. She’s asleep, but she’s stable.” 

The tension leaves your body instantly, like a two ton weight has been lifted off your tight chest. 

She’s alive. 

“Can I go back? Can I see her?” You’re nearly begging. 

“Not right now, honey. I tried to bend the visiting hour rules for you, but the big wigs won’t budge. I just wanted you to know that she’s okay, but she’ll need to stay overnight for some extra testing.”

“Everything okay?” Jake sits back down next to you, taking your hand and gently placing ice wrapped in a paper towel on your swollen fist. The cold nearly shocks your system, but it feels so good against the pain.

That’s where he went. He cared enough to get you ice for your ridiculously obtained injury. 

You turn your head to face him, his sweet eyes locked with yours while he holds the ice steady on your hand. 

This isn’t the Jake you’ve grown accustomed to over the months of knowing him. But this is the Jake you’ve wanted.

“She’s okay,” you say, looking down the makeshift pack of ice he brought you. “She’ll just have to stay overnight.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he responds, dabbing the frozen compress delicately across the bruise.  

“We’re still not certain what happened to her. She fainted; that’s all we know for sure. We’ll run some tests to get to the root of it.” The nurse draws your attention from Jake back to your mom. You distractedly nod, your mind still consumed with Jake holding your hand the way he is. “You’re welcome to come back first thing in the morning, okay? We’ll take good care of her tonight.” 

A small breath of relief washes over you. At least she’s alive. And she’s stable. But fuck…you just wish you could be back there with her. The immense guilt of not being there when it happened is eating away at you. You want to apologize to her, tell her you’ll never fucking leave her again. But, that’ll have to wait until tomorrow. You’ll just be stuck sitting in your guilt until then. 

The nurse begins wishing you a good night, but before she leaves, she glances at your hand that Jake is still holding in his grip. 

“Is your hand okay, sweetie? Do you need someone to take a look at it?” She asks you, concerned. 

“I think I’m okay,” you tell her, looking to Jake who probably has a better idea about your condition than you do. It’s the least of your worries at the moment, you just don’t really care about it in comparison to everything else. This feels insignificant, you feel insignificant. It just doesn’t matter. 

Jake nods, looking at you and then averting his gaze to the nurse. “A little swollen and beginning to bruise, but it’s not broken.” He lifts the ice to inspect it a little further, running his finger over the swelling. “It’s already gone down some. I suppose just keeping ice on it will do the trick.”

You give him a look that says a silent ‘thank you’ for taking care of this for you. If he wasn’t here, you wouldn’t think twice about it.

The nurse smiles in response, then looks to you again. “I’d say you’re in good hands, then. Better not let that one get away.” 

She once again bids you a good night, reminding you that you can come back first thing in the morning. 

Neither one of you seems to react to what she just said. Not aloud, at least. You both just ignore it as you walk through the automatic doors. 

“I’ll go get the car,” Jake tells you, fishing his keys out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Had to park kind of far away. Be right back.” 

As you watch him walk away, you can’t stop replaying what the nurse said over and over in your mind.

“Better not let that one get away.”

If only she knew.

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The ice is melting all over you and Jake’s floorboard. You’re desperately trying to catch every drop in your lap, but it’s proving difficult. You were freezing when you first got into the car, so Jake cranked the heat all the way up for you, but it’s causing you to make a huge mess. 

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you utter, fighting back a few tears brimming your eyes. It’s not the dripping water that’s threatening to make you cry, it’s the fact that you feel like such a burden. And here you are, being even more of one by dripping water all over his nice car. 

“What are you sorry for?” He asks, peering over to you. You sniff the tears away, not wanting him to see you crying over something so fucking ridiculous. 

“The ice,” you answer through a cracking voice. “It’s melting all over.”

His brows crinkle, looking over at you to assess the situation. His eyes lock on your soaking wet lap for a spell, taking a deep breath before his eyes are back on the road.

“It’s just water, y/n. I’m not worried about it.” He takes the final left turn onto your street that’s now much more quiet than it was the last time he turned here. He pulls into the parking lot, parking in what would normally be your spot if your car wasn’t sitting worthlessly at his place. 

He keeps the car on drive, just letting his foot rest on the brake as he unlocks the door for you. 

“Just keep ice on it intermittently throughout the night,” he reminds you. “The swelling should be mostly gone by the morning.” 

Staring at the darkened apartment building, you slowly nod your head as you’re suddenly hesitant to leave his car for some reason. Your seatbelt is still buckled, your body feeling almost too numb to even manage that.

The thought of going into the empty apartment isn’t by any means a pleasant one. You hadn’t even thought of the fact that you’ll be all alone tonight. No one to take care of besides yourself. (And that’s not something you're well versed in.)

You’ve gotten so used taking care of her since it’s just been the two of you. Being in the apartment without her just feels…wrong. On every level. And being alone in your guilt feels even worse. 

At this moment, you’re not sure you can do it. But you haven’t a choice. 

“Y/n?” Jake’s calm voice pulls you back to reality, to the fact that you’re still sitting in his car, quietly contemplating. He’s probably ready to get you out of here so he can go home. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you lie, not wanting to delve into the turning wheels of your brain. 

Then, he puts the car in park, leaning back in his seat as he looks at you with inquisitive eyes. “Are you sure?” He questions. “Because you’ve hardly said a word since we left the hospital, and you’re not exactly in any hurry to get inside.”

Embarrassed, you force yourself to remove your seatbelt. “I’m fine, just a little tired is all. Thank you for taking me tonight, I really appreciate it.” You begin opening the door to let him leave, gathering the mental strength to prepare yourself to walk into an eerie, empty apartment.

“You know, it’s pretty late,” he says as you're one foot out of the door. “And it’s a long drive back to my place. I could stay here, sleep on the couch. That way you’d have someone to take you tomorrow morning.” 

It’s almost like he could hear the thoughts in your head. He knows, somehow, that you can’t handle being alone tonight. Like there’s something within him that understands. 

“Jake I–I can’t ask you to—” 

But before you can finish, he shuts off the ignition.

“You’re not asking if I’m offering,” he protests. And he’s right. You didn’t ask, but you still feel bad. Because you would love to have him stay. “It’s actually easier for me if I do. Saves on gas.” 

Instantly, the thought of having his company makes you feel worlds better. Even if he’ll just be on the couch. Just knowing he’s there will make things a little more bearable for you.

“Are you sure?” You ask, timidly. 

“If you don’t feel comfortable with it, I can just—” he starts.

“No, no. I’d love it if you did. Thank you, seriously.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been lying wide awake in your bed for what’s felt like hours. Flipping and tossing about in search of a comfortable spot that you just can‘t seem to find. 

It’s not really the bed that’s the problem. It’s your unabating mind that won’t turn off its wandering thoughts. You’ve tried scrolling on your phone, using every app you can think of to distract you. But the thoughts are domineering your every attempt to silence them. 

Did they give her the right medications? Are they keeping her oxygen on her? Is someone staying with her all night to make sure she doesn’t stop breathing? Who called 911? 

Or, the worst one…the loudest one.

Is she dead and they just haven’t called me yet?

You’re so accustomed to her being here, hearing the humming of her oxygen machine, being able to check on her to be sure she’s okay. At least when she’s here, you know. With her gone, it leaves the floor open for your mind to wander to every terrible scenario that you can’t do anything about. You just don’t know what’s going on. And the unknowing is the worst part.

Your grumbling tummy is just about as loud as your mind, reminding you that you’ve not eaten anything in almost twenty four hours. 

There’s nothing else to do, so you pull yourself out of your unwelcoming bed t o go find a midnight (actually, closer to two in the morning) snack. 

Eating is a little terrifying to you right now, but you figure some popcorn won’t do much harm. 

You slowly open the creaking door of your room, holding your breath as it seems to be louder than normal in the dead quiet apartment. The last thing you want to do is wake Jake up, so it’s vital that you’re as silent as possible as you make the journey to the kitchen.

You tiptoe as gracefully as your tired body will allow across the living room, avoiding coming too close to the couch where Jake sleeps as you walk as far away from him as you can, not even looking in his direction.

A sigh of relief passes your lips as you reach the kitchen successfully.

You know that there’s one more bag of Pop Secret sitting on the second shelf of the cabinet right next to the microwave. Relying only on the soft light above the stove, you shuffle through the various items in search of it until you at last feel the familiar plastic cover. 

Instantly upon finding it, you start looking for the nutrition facts to know just how much you’re putting in your body. An old trait of yours that you’ve not done in years, yet suddenly, as if it’s purely muscle memory you flip the bag over to the side to note the amount of calories you’ll be taking. 

I’m not reverting back. I’m just curious about what popcorn is made of, that’s all, you try telling yourself. (Although, you know yourself in situations like these. When you’re stressed, you seek comfort in old habits. One old habit of choice just happens to be food restriction and calorie counting.)

It won‘t last long. I won’t let it. I just need something familiar.

130 calories, 6 g fat, 14 g carbs, 2 g protein per 4 cups is printed on the back in dark blue ink.

Could be worse. And there’s nothing saying you have to eat the whole thing. Maybe you can split the bag in half, that way you’re only getting half the fat and carbs. That’ll still be enough to quiet your empty tummy. 

You toss the bag in the microwave and set the timer to three minutes, pressing start and cringing at the loud humming from the appliance. You’ve also forgotten just how noisy preparing this little snack can be. 

Each pop of the buttered kernels echoes throughout the open kitchen and you’re praying to every star that this won’t wake him up. 

With two seconds left on the timer, you quickly open the door to avoid the unpleasant ding that’s sure to wake him up if you didn’t catch it in time.

You pour the contents of  the bag into your favorite blue bowl, designated long ago as the official “popcorn bowl.” You can’t go without a little extra salt, so you dump a good amount over top and sift it around so it’s all coated. 

You’ve realized that you instinctively poured the entire bag, even though you decided to only eat half. You’re not happy about the extra temptation, but you’re mentally telling yourself that there’s no need to eat this whole bowl. 

Shutting the door to the microwave as quietly as you can, you begin to tip toe back to your room to safety.

Only now, you’re met with a slightly horrifying discovery.

He’s laying on his back, sans hoodie that's draped over the arm of the couch and the blanket you gave him sitting just below chest. (God he looks good.) The light from his phone illuminates his face as he’s holding it sideways, seemingly watching a video of some kind. But his drowsy eyes flick to you as you begin the walk back to your room.

As you awkwardly stand in the middle of the room, blue popcorn bowl in hand, he pulls out an earbud and sets his phone down. “Trouble sleeping?” His groggy voice asks. 

“Yeah,” you answer, a little embarrassed that he’s caught you in such a state. “I just can’t seem to relax…but what are you still doing awake? I hope I wasn’t being too loud.”

“I’m a bit of an insomniac, I suppose,” he answers. “Popcorn, huh?” 

He swings his legs over the side and sits himself up on the end of the couch, a silent request to have you come sit next to him. You take the hint. The company would do you a little good right now, anyway. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?” You still can’t help yourself from asking if it’s okay, given your less than welcomed history with him. 

“Under one condition,” he remarks, full smirk across his lips. 

You stop before you take a seat, slightly terrified of what his ‘condition’ could possibly be.

“And what is that?” you timidly ask. 

He flashes you a warm grin that looks all the more inviting under the very dimly lit living room, chuckling lazily under his breath. 

“You have to share your snack.” 

You nervously laugh as you situate yourself on the opposite side of the couch, taking a few pieces of your snack of choice and passing the bowl over towards his direction. 

You catch a glimpse of his phone that’s still unlocked and sitting upright, paused on what looks like some professional chef working away on some fancy meal.

Perfect opportunity for an ice breaker. 

“You like cooking?” you ask while tossing a piece of popcorn in your mouth. (You’re really hoping you just got a bad piece, because it tastes burnt to hell and way too salty.)

“I dabble here and there,” he answers through loud crunches.

“I’m the one who needs to watch those videos,” you say, wincing at the second piece you’ve now eaten that tastes just as bad as the last one. “I’m probably the worst cook I know.” 

“I’d say so,” he acknowledges through a soft giggle, wincing as he tries more of your snack. “You’ve burnt the shit out of this popcorn and you didn’t need to add so much salt.” 

Of course, he noticed. 

You’re thankful for the mostly dark room as you can feel the blood rushing to your face over ruining something as simple as popcorn. 

But, it’s making him laugh. And you’ve come to really appreciate the moments that you do get to hear him laugh, because it isn’t often. Even though it’s at your own expense, you’ll take it. 

It’s surely been a great way to combat any awkward silence between the two of you. 

You chuckle to yourself as you set the popcorn bowl on the couch, centering it so you and Jake can both grab some as you please. 

“So,” he begins as he brings his feet up to rest on the coffee table in front of you. “I know you’re from somewhere where haunted houses are called spook houses. Where might that be? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oklahoma,” you answer, a little embarrassed. You’ve learned that your home state isn’t much of a popular one amongst people. Although you do understand why, you can’t help but find yourself missing it every now and again. It has its charm, however hard it may be to find. You know it’s there. Parts of it still remain lovingly in your heart. “A very, very small town in Oklahoma called Cherry Tree.”k,

With a soft nod of his head, his hair falls around his face and even in the dark, you can see how shiny it is. You can even see the soft smile over his lips. “I hear it in your voice,” he softly says. You look to him with question, silently asking him to elaborate. With a snicker, he continues. “Your little southern drawl. It’s not very strong, but it definitely stands out around here. A far cry from a Michigan accent.” 

Your whole life, you’d tried to mask your naturally derived, southern accent. You hated it. And you hated when people told you that you had one. It just made you want to unlearn it even more. 

Especially when you knew you would move to Michigan. The last thing you wanted was to stand out as if you’re not from here. 

Clearly, your efforts were useless. And as much as you’ve cringed when people have brought up the way you talk in the past, there’s something about hearing Jake point it out that actually makes you a little fond of it. 

Maybe it truly isn’t something to feel any shame over. It makes you unique, sets you apart, and perhaps that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Time feels mute, like it doesn’t exist in this realm you and Jake are together in. 

The early dawn is creeping through the window blinds, and when you glance at your phone, you come to realize that you’ve been talking with him for nearly three hours, and that’s shocking  to you—it’s shocking because it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. 

The conversations have been flowing so naturally, so authentically. He’s easy to talk to. So easy. You would've never guessed how seamless keeping a conversation going with him could be. 

And, to your astonishment, he’s done most of the talking. You’re witnessing a brand new side of him, one that you could’ve sworn wasn’t there. It seems as though he’s finally comfortable with you. Which is a really good thing, considering he’s spending the night in your place. 

He’s been the best distraction for you amidst everything. If he weren’t here, you’d be lying in your bed, probably crying your eyes out and dealing with the anxiety all alone. 

He’s the very last person you’d suspect would be here for you in a time like this. But, fuck, if you aren’t so happy that it is him.

And as time has gone on, you’ve both moved closer and closer to each other. His legs are spread out on the expanse of his cushion and yours, while your legs are slowly coming to rest on top of his, your body facing him. 

Every so often, his hand will find your calf as if he’s done it a thousand times before. An innate gesture that he hardly seems to notice he’s doing.

But you certainly notice, every single time it happens. Each brush of his hand against your skin causes your heart to flutter. It’s innocent, of course. But it’s the fact that he’s finally revealing himself to you, that he’s trusting you. 

It feels good. It feels really good. 

You’re listening intently as he’s telling you more about the music that has shaped his life up until now. You’ve never noticed all of his little mannerisms, like the way he brushes the tip of his nose after he laughs, or how his hands struggle to stay still when he talks. 

And his eyes, the way they beautifully catch the early light. Their color like a glass of honeyed whiskey over ice, glowing against the rays of the young sun. 

“...and that’s when I discovered the versatility of the SG. My dad searched the entire midwest until he finally found one for me.” The palm of his hand comes to rest on your leg again, only this time, it’s a little higher. His fingertips dare to brush the inside of your upper thigh, his thumb tracing delicate circles across your now trembling skin. The fire within you is growing, felt from the pit of your stomach to your swimming head. “That guitar taught me how to challenge myself. My dad encouraged me every day to keep playing and I’ll never be able to thank–” 

Something changes in his eyes, his expression faltering as he falls silent. There’s a sudden difference in him, one you can’t quite grasp.

And then he looks down at his hand still placed upon you, and with a thousand silent words, he removes it. Quickly. Like he didn’t realize it was there in the first place. Or, worse; like he was suddenly repulsed by the fact that he was touching you. 

The room changes abruptly, the air feels heavier, denser. You notice he avoids meeting your gaze, his thought left unfinished.

What have I done wrong?

“Jake?” 

He moves so he’s now sitting upright, as close to the other end of the couch as he can be. Furthest away from you.

“I should…I should probably get some sleep,” he says, the words sounding ever unsure. “And you should, too. We’ve only got…” He takes his phone to look at the time, breathing deeply from his lungs when he sees that it’s nearly six in the morning. “Jesus.” He runs a hand over his face in…frustration? Exhaustion? You can’t be sure. “We’ve only got about two hours until they allow visitors, and I’ve got to go to work right after.” 

You take the hint that he wants you away from him. 

But for what reason? Well, you’ll be left to wonder that for the next few hours, alone. 

You don’t say anything as you stand up, only nodding your head and shielding your face the best you can.

You don’t want him to see the new tears that have begun to surface. 

“Sorry,” is all you can muster as you open the door to your room. He doesn't respond, only pure silence comes from the living room. 

Whatever you did, it was enough to force him to realize he doesn't want to be close to you, emotionally or physically.

It was going so well. But, you ruined it. Just like you ruin everything else in your life. 

You’ve no doubt that you won’t be getting any sleep for the next few hours. Your thoughts are too loud, screaming everything you’ve ever done wrong in your ear. 

And you can’t get the look in his eyes out of your head, how they appeared uncomfortable being in your presence. How he suddenly decided he didn’t want to be around you. 

But, then again, you can’t blame him. Because who in their right mind would want to be around you?

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The alarm on your phone is blaring. You’ve been  counting down the minutes until it was set to go off, laying in complete silence and watching nothing but the clock. Every second felt like twenty minutes in your brain.

When you walk out into the living room, you’re met with an empty space. No Jake. 

Did he leave…? 

The couch is back to normal, the blankets you gave him folded and sitting on the cushion under the pillow you let him use. (Your favorite pillow, but you’ll never tell him that you sacrificed it for him.)

Great. He’s gone. 

And you have no way of getting to the hospital without him. 

Natalia.

You’ll call her, see if she can take you. 

Which you shouldn’t have to do. He said he would take you, and he just fucking left. 

It’s safe to assume that whatever relationship you were building with him last night, has all but left the apartment with him. 

Deciding it’s not worth your time at this point, you grab your phone, unlocking it and tapping on Nat’s contact to call her. 

It’s ringing. And ringing. And ringing. 

Fuck. If she doesn’t answer, you don’t know what you’ll–

“What are you calling me so early on a Saturday for?” She finally answers, her raspy voice a clear indication that she’s just woken up.

“I need your help, Nat. Can you come get me and take me to the hospital?” 

You hear her gasp on the other end of the phone. 

“What? Are you okay? What’s going on?” she asks, her questions coming in quick succession. 

“To make a long story short, my car broke down at the Kiszka’s last night, so Jake had to bring me home. There was an ambulance when we got here, and it were here for my mom. They took her to the hospital, but I had to come separately. So, since I didn’t have my car, Jake took me. I couldn’t stay the night with her and when he brought me back home, he stayed the night to be here in the morning to take me back to her, but he left a while ago and I was hoping you could come get me.”

Even you can’t believe the words out of your mouth. A convoluted mess that you hope she’s comprehending at such an early hour. 

“Holy shit, y/n. Yeah, of course. Is your mom okay?” she questions after a brief moment of silence, probably in an attempt to understand the shit show you’re currently dealing with. “And where the hell did Jake go?”

“Wish I knew,” you say with a cynical tone. “And I don’t really know. They told me she was stable last night but they still needed to keep her. Since I was gone, I have next to no idea of what happened.”

Just as she begins to respond to you, you feel your phone vibrate against your cheek. 

“One sec, Nat. I think I just got a text.”

Jake: I’m outside in the car. Ready whenever you are.

“What the fuck, Jake,” you mutter softly, but loud enough that Nat heard you on the other end of the phone call you’re still on. He couldn’t have communicated this to you? 

No. Instead, he just made you believe he left. 

Either way, you’re glad he’s still here. He’s not that cold towards you. (Although you’re not exactly shocked at the fact that you didn’t question it when you thought he left.)

“What did he do?” You hear her say at a low volume. 

Bringing the phone back up to your ear, you say, “He’s still here, apparently. Just in the car waiting for me. I’ve got to go, I’ll keep you updated.”

With that, you hang up the phone and quickly begin to get ready. 

You take the first pair of leggings you see sitting in your dresser, then decide to throw on your vintage, oversized Billy Joel sweatshirt that you'd completely forgoton you owned. 

The state of your hair is one that you can’t do much with at the moment, you figure a messy claw-clip bun will have to suffice. You put a little moisturizer on your face, grab your belt bag and keys, and run out the door. As much as Jake has upset you in the last few hours, you still don’t want to keep him waiting any longer than he already has. 

He’s sitting in his car, just like he said. Wearing the infamous John Lennon frames that remind you of when you first encountered him. You had no idea at that moment, when he brushed up against you in the hall, when he tried to make you look like an idiot in class, that you’d be here with him. And if you’re honest, given the way he reacted to your closeness last night, you’re not sure this is much better. 

It’s like he wants to be closer to you, but when the time actually comes, he realizes it’s you he’s getting closer to, and backs off. And that effectively makes you feel about a hundred times worse than you did a few months ago. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were out here already,” you tell him as you open the passenger door and take a seat. 

“No problem.” He waits until you’re buckled and settled before he starts backing out of the spot, his right hand grabbing the head rest of your seat while he turns his body to have a better view of the back window. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The drive has been quiet, (shocker) save for his music. Something you can’t deny him is his impeccable taste, his taste that is so similar to yours. 

He must’ve taken notice of your Billy Joel sweatshirt, because, ironically, Vienna begins playing over the speakers. One of your favorites. And one that, without fail, makes you cry every single time. He probably queued it up because of your shirt, but little does he know of the deep, deep history you have with this song. 

He doesn’t know that your dad used to play this song while you were getting ready for school in the mornings, how he told you one time that he wanted to name you the title of this track, but your mom wouldn’t agree to it. But, that didn’t stop him from associating the tune with you. 

He called you his little Vienna for a good chunk of your childhood, up until you got to high school and asked him to stop out of embarrassment. You didn’t want everyone privy to your dads nickname for you. Just a normal, teenage thing. 

Then you remember…This was your dad’s sweatshirt that he gave to you a long, long time ago when he left for a work trip. You were devastated that he was going to be gone. He gave it to you for comfort, to keep a piece of him with you while he was away. 

And you chose to wear it today, of all days. When you need the extra comfort. When you know, deep down, that you need him. Your subconscious knew it. That’s why you gravitated towards this shirt without even realizing that you were. 

You’ve not heard this song since he left. Not even so much as thought about Billy Joel’s music, let alone this sweatshirt that somehow made the move to Michigan when you thought you got rid of everything from your dad. 

A single tear falls from your eye, landing on the top of your lip. You taste its salty presence before you wipe it away with the cuff of your (his) shirt. 

The lyrics feel heavier than they ever have. 

Why don’t you realize…Vienna waits for you?

When will you realize…

As the song comes to an end, as Billy plays the final note on his piano, you arrive at the hospital. (Something about it feels poetic.)

He stops at the main entrance of the hospital this time, instead of the emergency room one.

“I have to go into work,” he says while you’re unbuckling your belt. “So just text me and let me know when you’re ready to leave and I’ll come get you.”

“If it’s too much trouble for you, I can just ask Natalia.” You say as you get out of his car. “ I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. She doesn’t work today, so it’d be easier for her.” 

Your tone is awfully cold. Distant. 

You feel like you’ve bothered him enough. So, you want to give him an out. He probably regrets ever helping you in the first place. 

His eyebrows become wrinkled underneath his sunglasses as he’s looking at you. Before you go to close the door, you hear him speak up.

“Well, that–that’s up to you, I suppose. But I don’t mind, y/n.” 

“I’ll let you know,” you say, staring down at your feet as you’re finding it difficult to make eye contact with him right now. “Thank you again.” 

And after that, you shut the door and walk towards the front door, hearing him drive away behind you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“She’s in room 430. Just take the elevator to the fourth floor and follow the signs. You’ll come up to locked doors, so you’ll have to buzz in with the phone on the wall. Just tell them your name and who you’re here to see, and they’ll let you in.” This receptionist is worlds kinder than the one you encountered last night. She’s got kindness inscribed in her dark eyes, and a smile that tells you she truly cares about her job. Her long curly locks are beautiful and charming, the color a lovely shade of auburn. Perhaps not natural, as her roots are nearly black. But this shade suits her skin tone perfectly. 

“Are there stairs I could take instead?” You ask the curly headed receptionist. Elevators are not your thing. You’ve had a lifelong fear of becoming trapped in one, and with your anxiety levels higher than usual today, it’s probably best if you avoid them altogether. 

She shows you a warm smile as she guides your sight in the direction of the staircase. Thanking her, you quickly head that way.

The climb up the stairs is grueling and as you finally reach the last step, you’re struggling to catch your breath. It seems you didn’t realize just how many steps there are in four flights. It’s a lot of steps. But, still much better than the chance of becoming trapped in a tiny ass elevator. 

After catching your breath, you take heed of the receptionist's directions and follow the signs that lead you in the direction of her room. And just like she said, there’s a set of locked doors with a phone hanging on the wall. 

As soon as you lift it from the receiver, someone answers instantly. You tell them your name and your moms. They verify her birthday with you and once you tell them the correct date, you hear the doors unlock. You thank them before hanging up the phone and heading down the long, somewhat eerie hallway. 

You’ve always wondered why hospitals look like this. The cold, stark white walls and matching laminate flooring, the harsh fluorescents that are painful to look at. Nothing about it is inviting or comforting in the least, and you’ve always thought they should be. Especially for long term patients that are stuck here for god knows how long. 

It just doesn’t make sense to you. In your mind, hospitals should strive to have a warmer environment, for nothing else other than to make people feel more at ease when they’re in hard situations. 

As you’re nearing the end of the hallway, you see room 428 on your left, 429 a little ways further on your right, meaning 430 is the very last one on the end to your left.

The door is open, and just as you’re approaching it, a nurse is leaving the room with her rolling cart that’s carrying a slew of things to check, what you’re assuming, are vitals. 

She smiles as she walks past you, her squealing cart still audible as she rounds the corner to the unit secretary desk. 

You’re still for a moment, standing just a mere feet from her. Out of her sight, of course. And she out of yours as you’re not standing in the view of the doorway. 

There’s a rush of hesitancy forcing you to stay where you are. You’re not sure where it’s derived from, perhaps it’s from the fear of seeing her in such a state. 

Perhaps it’s something else. But you don’t know what.

Finally deciding that just standing here isn’t doing you or her any bit of good, you put one shaky foot in front of the other and walk towards the open door. 

And then, you see her.

Looking the smallest she’s ever looked in your eyes. She looks too small for all of the devices she’s hooked up to. 

Tangled wires. A mess of tangled wires and tubes and IV bags…

As you walk in a little further, she hears you. Her eyes, ever slow in their movement, blink open and shift to you. 

They’re heavy, almost drooping down her pale cheeks. They look tired. So, so tired.

“Hi, honey.” Her words come through in a sad attempt of vocalization. You hardly understood her, more so relying on reading the movement of her lips than anything. Her hand, complete with an IV needle, raises to motion a weak wave at you. 

I wasn’t there. I wasn’t fucking there when she needed me. I can’t leave her…I can’t leave ever again. It’s all my fault.

“Mom I’m–I’m so sorr–”

“You must be y/n!” You hear a booming voice from behind you, interrupting entirely. When you turn around, you see an incredibly tall man wearing a set of blue scrubs with a white lab coat on top. “Your mom has told us a lot about you. I feel like I know you already.” 

As he reaches out his hand for you to shake, he smiles widely when you take it in yours. “I’m Doctor Roth. It’s nice to meet you.” 

He seems positive. The smile he’s wearing makes you believe that everything just might be okay. “It’s really nice to meet you, too,” you say, a little timid. 

You look back to your mom, who seems to have fallen back to sleep. Rest is probably the best thing for her right now, so you don’t want to wake her. Even though all you want is to talk to her, tell her how terrible you feel that you  weren’t there. But it can wait. As long as she’s resting. 

“Hey, y/n.” Doctor Roth pulls your attention away from her with his James Earl Jones-esque voice. “Would you mind coming to speak with me for a moment?” 

While his bearings have changed a bit, he’s still smiling. But, something is a little off in his tone with the question he asked you. 

“Um, yeah. Of course.” You tell him, although you’re not sure you want to have this conversation. 

Will he tell you that she’s progressed much further than you initially thought? That she’ll never leave this hospital again? She’s dying and will be dead soon? 

As he leads you down the hall, stopping at a little room near the restroom, your heart is thumping rampantly in your tightening chest. 

“Before we begin,” he says while pulling a wooden chair out for you to have a seat. “Is there anything I can get you? Water? Coffee? I believe we have herbal tea, if you’d prefer.” 

Herbal tea always sounds wonderful to you, but you’re not sure you could even stomach a simple cup of water right now, so you politely decline his kind offer. 

“I would just like to ask you a few questions about your mom, if that’s okay.” He takes a seat directly across from you at the round table centered in the middle of the conference room. 

You nod your head, letting him know you’re okay with it. 

“I understand she is prescribed a series of medications for her pulmonary fibrosis. If my memory serves me correctly, she’s on Ofev, Pirfenidone and an anti-inflammatory. Is that everything?” He asks you, taking his rectangle frames off and placing them on top of his head.

“Yes, that’s correct.” You give her those pills every single night. You know their strange names by heart at this point.  “She also uses a few different inhalers to help airflow from her lungs. And she wears her oxygen about eighty percent of the time, of course.” 

“Right,” he says, blowing out a long sigh as he sits back in his chair. “Well, let me ask you this. When was the last time she took those medications? That you know of, of course.” 

“She took them last night before I left.” You answer, confidently. 

“Are you sure she did, y/n?” 

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” you say with a little offense. “I watched her take them before I left—” 

Then, you suddenly remember that you didn’t actually see her take them. You left them out for her and reminded her to take them before bed, but you didn’t see her take them. 

“I guess…I guess she didn’t take them before I left. But, I’m sure she took them before bed. She always does.” There’s a terrible feeling present within you, making your already turning tummy feel a lot worse. “Doctor Roth, why are you asking me this?” 

“There wasn’t any indication of them in her system when she came in. Usually, those drugs can be detected for a few days after they’ve been taken, but there was no sign of them in her bloodstream. Meaning, she hasn’t taken them in at least two to three days.” 

No. He’s wrong.

“That’s not possible. I give them to her every night. With the exception of last night, I always watch her take them. I make sure she takes them. I’m sorry, but you’ve got to be mistaken.” Your offense has now shifted to full on defense. 

He’s questioning your ability to take care of her, and that is not something you will take lying down. There’s a whole list of things you’re terrible at, but taking care of your mom is not part of that list. You know that for a damn fact. 

You’re not going to sit here and take this, so you decide enough is enough and stand up from your chair to leave. 

“Y/n, please. I need you to listen to me. The progression of her disease, it’s…” That word. Progression. It stops you dead in your tracks. You hate that word. “...it’s the quickest I’ve ever seen in my fifteen years of practicing. If she were taking her medication as she’s supposed to, her lungs wouldn’t look as bad as they do. They would still look bad, but those medications help to slow the stiffening of her lungs. But with the state they’re in, it’s clear that she’s taken very little to no medications.”  

You’re not sure what to make of this…what is he saying? 

Well, clearly he’s saying that she’s not taking her medications…but how? 

You give them to her, you see her take them…right?

“Is—is there a chance her disease is just progressing more rapidly than what’s normally expected?” You hate saying those words. They feel like poison coming out of your mouth. But they sound better than “she’s not taking her medication.”  

He stands up from his chair to stand closer to you, taking his glasses off his head and placing an end piece on his bottom lip. “That is a possibility, although that doesn’t explain why we saw no signs of her medications in her bloodstream.” 

“Is she on them now? Is that why she’s so groggy?” You ask him, remembering how she was hardly able to speak or move when you saw her just moments ago. 

“Yes, she is. And that is another sign that she’s not been taking them as prescribed. Her body should be adjusted to the severe lethargy that these are known to cause, and it’s clear she’s not.” 

While you know Doctor Roth has no reason to lie to you, you still can’t bring yourself to believe him entirely. It’s not like your mom to do this, to not take care of herself. 

But there’s no sense in arguing with him anymore. It’s not worth it. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s here. 

And as that terrible thought resurfaces, you’re reminded of a question you need to ask him. 

“How much longer will she need to stay here?”

“I can’t be certain,” he answers. “But we’ll need to monitor her a bit longer, run a few more tests. At least another three days or so, but we’ll let you know when we believe she’s ready.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

She’s still fast asleep, having been for a few hours while you sit quietly on the stiff couch in the corner of her room. The room is small, stuffy. Her only source of entertainment is a tiny television mounted high on the wall. 

You know she hates it here. You hate it for her. 

But the one redeeming thing about this room is her giant window that offers a beautiful view of the city skyline. Detroit is always busy, always bustling. 

But it’s lovely, especially from this fourth story view. 

And it's a nice distraction from the beeping monitors and noisy machines. 

Nurses have been in and out every hour to check her vitals, making small talk with you while they record every result. They’ve all been so friendly, each one of them asking if they can bring you anything to eat. You’ve turned them down each time. 

Food hasn’t been your concern today. Wasn’t your concern yesterday, either. 

You’re hungry, that much you can tell. But you can think of a million things you’d rather do right now than eat. Eating would only increase your anxious thoughts, and that wouldn’t do you a bit of good at the moment.

You can just eat when you get home. You’ll last until then. (You’ve lasted a hell of a lot longer than this before.)

You suddenly feel the vibration of your phone still tucked away in the waistband of your leggings. 

To your astonishment, it's a text from Jake. 

You didn’t expect to hear from him, but seeing his name on the screen of your phone does feel nice. It feels really nice, actually. 

Jake: I meant to ask but it slipped my mind. How's your hand?

You’d completely forgotten about your hand. But Jake didn’t.

And it warms your heart that he thought to ask about something so meaningless to you. 

You look down to examine your fist to give him a proper answer. Aside from a slight purple tint on the skin, you wouldn’t be able to guess it was injured at all.

You: It’s much better. Some bruising but no more swelling and I can hardly feel it. The ice really helped!

He responds almost instantly, meaning he probably still had your messages still pulled up on his end. 

Jake: Good. : )

Jake, although he has his moments, is great at forcing a smile out of you when it feels impossible to do so. 

His message is reassuring, especially with how last night (early this morning, actually) ended. 

Before you can type out a response, you notice she’s beginning to stir just a bit. She’s done this periodically throughout the day, but this is the first time you’ve seen her open her eyes since this morning when you first arrived.

She turns her head a bit towards you, so you get up and move closer to her. 

“Hi, mom.” You say softly.

She smiles at you, the best she can despite every obstruction on her face. 

Just then, a nurse walks in for her hourly check. “She’s awake!” He excitedly exclaims. 

He’s young, probably a fresh graduate. You’ve seen him in here once before a few hours ago. He’s very sweet, the kindness you’d expect every nurse to have. 

He runs through her vitals quickly, telling you he wants to give you two plenty of alone time. 

You thank him as he leaves, and he flashes a sincere smile while he turns the corner of the hallway. 

Her eyes are suddenly glued to you, but not just you. Your sweatshirt. 

“Where’d you find that, honey?” She questions. 

“Oh, I don’t know I just— I’m not worried about it. I am worried about you. What happened last night, mom?”

You’re sure she recognizes that it’s your dads…and you feel terrible for wearing it around her right now for that very reason. You just didn’t consider it. So, it’s probably best to change the subject. 

She sits up a bit and you reach out to help her. You place her pillows in a way that keeps her upright without her needing to use much strength to do so. Once she’s comfortable, you sit down in the recliner next to her bed. 

“They’re telling me all kinds of crazy things,” she says. “I’m just fine, I know I am.” 

They’ve more than likely asked her about her medications, how they didn’t find any in her system. You want so badly to ask her about that. But, it’s not the time. Not yet. 

“I feel so bad, mom. I shouldn't have been out that late. I should’ve been there, I could’ve done something, I…” Your throat becomes tight with a lump, your eyes brimming with a hundred unshed tears. It’s just all too much. And you feel like you’re to blame. You just can’t shake that feeling. 

“Don’t be sorry, sweet girl.” Her weak hand reaches out for yours. As you take it, you notice just how clammy she feels. “It would’ve happened whether or not you were there. I think it was bound to happen sooner or later.” 

She’s probably right. But, had you been there, maybe the ambulance would’ve been called sooner.

The ambulance. How did they…? “Mom, I have to know who to thank for saving your life.” The tears are streaming down your hot cheeks at this point. “Do you know who called?”

“Mrs. Sweeney,” she answers right away, as if it didn’t require any thought. “Bless her soul. She’s the sweetest lady. She heard me cry out just as I fainted, and called 911 for me.”

Mrs. Sweeney is your next door neighbor in your complex. She’s been the most wonderful neighbor to your and your mom since you moved in. It makes perfect sense that she’d be the one to call. 

“I’ll have to thank her,” you say, wiping away the tears. “She did what I should’ve been there to do.”

Her eyes suddenly widen, a stark contrast in how they’ve looked all day. “There’s…there’s no need, honey. I already thanked her. Called her last night, she’s been thanked plenty.” 

She could call Mrs. Sweeney…but not me?

“Oh. Well, okay," you say, confused. “I guess it would be beating a dead horse at this point to thank her again.” And with that, her eyes go back to their groggy state, closing slowly as she falls back to sleep.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“How is she?” Jake asks as you climb in the passenger's seat. He insisted on coming to get you as soon as visitings hours ended. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He told you he was already on that side of town anyways, so he didn’t see the point in you asking Natalia to make the trip. 

“She’s…I don’t really know, to be honest.” It’s true. You don’t know how she is. You’re leaving the hospital with more questions than you had coming in.

His question…there’s just no easy way to answer it. “She’s okay, for now. But she…she may not be much longer. It’s…complicated.” 

“You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to. I’m glad she’s okay at the moment.” He tells you.

You smile at him, then relish in the silence the rest of the way home. 

You’re grateful that he’s not prying. It’s too much to talk about right now, and it seems he’s picked up on that. 

You breathe a deep sigh of relief when you arrive at your apartment, ready to climb in bed and try to get some much needed sleep. 

You thank Jake before he leaves, fishing for your keys out of your belt bag as you head up the stairs to the third floor. 

Once you make it to your door, you see Mrs. Sweeney leaving as you’re about to walk into your place. Your mom told you not to thank her again, but you can’t help it. You still haven’t thanked her, and it’s just not in your character to ignore a good deed from someone.

“Mrs. Sweeney?” You say as she’s locking her door. 

“Hi, dear! How's your mom today? I’m sure you two have had quite the night.”  

“She’s okay,” you say, the words feeling like a lie. “All thanks to you. I can’t thank you enough for calling the ambulance last night. Seriously, you saved her life when I wasn’t here–”

You stop talking once you see her expression change. She looks befuddled, almost disoriented. “Oh honey, I’m not the one who called last night. I thought you did, dear.” 

…she didn’t call? 

“But my mom said— you didn’t hear her call out for help?”

With a contemplative look, she puts her keys in her purse and faces you. “I didn’t hear anything. And I was home all night. This is the first I’ve left since yesterday morning. I’m sorry I didn’t hear her, dear. Were you not home?” 

As if it were even possible, there are more questions filling your head. 

“I wasn’t, but I’m sure one of the other neighbors called. Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Sweeney. I hope you have a good day!”

“Not a bother at all, love.” 

You walk into your empty apartment, in a near state of shock. 

Why did your mom lie to you? And so blatantly, at that? It’s not something you want to let yourself believe. Maybe it was because of her state, she was just confused after everything. But…she didn’t look confused. 

And she told you she talked to Mrs. Sweeney herself, which clearly didn’t happen. 

As much as you want to figure all of this out, you’re far too exhausted to give it much more thought. You need sleep. Sleep first, then you can get to the bottom of it. But for now, the only thing you’re craving is your bed. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A pounding on the door  wakes you from the depths of your slumber, nearly startling you off the bed in the process. The post nap disorientation is in full effect. The sun was still up when you laid down, and now your room is in almost complete darkness. 

The pounding on the door persists, forcing you to wake up all the way. Who in the world…?

Hesitant to answer with it being so late and being all by yourself, you reach for your phone in case you need to call someone.

And right as you go to grab, you realize you have four text messages from Nat. 

Nat: Are you home yet??

Nat: If you are, be ready to come outside in about 20.

Nat: Hello?

Nat: COME OUTSIDE! We have a surprise for you. 

Based on the messages, you’re realizing that Nat is the persistent knocker. You love this girl so much, and you’re hoping that whatever her surprise is was worth waking you up for. 

Also, you’re not sure what she meant  by “we,” though you’ve got a hunch it could be her new suitor. 

You: Sorry, just woke up. On my way

Summoning what little strength you have left, you force yourself to get out of bed and head towards the front door. Your feet are literally dragging as you walk across the dark apartment. Turning on the outside light, you swing open the door to Nat’s beaming, beautiful face adorned with a full toothed smile. 

“Hey there, sleepy head!” 

Bringing your hand up, you rub what’s left of your (very little) sleep from your eyes. 

“What’s your surprise?” You ask with a tired voice. 

“Hold out your hand,” she says, an enormous grin still across her face. “And close your eyes.”

With as heavy as your eyes still are, closing them isn’t an issue. (You just wish you were still in bed while doing it.)

You do as she says, and as soon as your eyelids are shut and your hands are outreached, she places something peculiar in your flattened palms. 

“What is thi–'' you begin to ask, interrupted by her as she practically yells for you to open your eyes. 

And when you do, you see a single key. 

But, not just any key. It’s the key to your shitty ass Firebird.

“What the hell? Natalia Delores, what did you do?” You ask her, having a good idea of what this is all about.

And then you hear a honking coming from the parking lot. As you look over the edge of the stairs, you see Danny’s curly brown locks hanging out of the driver's side window of your car. 

“Surprise!” She exclaims. “Dan the handyman fixed your car!” 

Cringing at the ridiculous nickname, you give her a huge hug before sprinting down the stairs to do the same to handyman Dan. 

“Did you realize you were missing your key?” He asks as he wraps you in a long embrace. 

“I had no idea,” you say, still held tightly in Danny’s muscular arms. “How did you guys manage to get it without me noticing?” 

“Jake,” Nat tells you. “He took it off your keyring this morning.” 

You’ve a good feeling that happened before you got up this morning, probably before he went out to wait in his car. 

Danny is the first to break the hug, leaving you on your own against the chilly night air. 

“Can I pay you for this?” You ask him, crossing your arms over your chest to act as a barrier from the cold. 

“Absolutely not. I won’t accept a single dime from you.” He insists, brushing a curl out of his face. 

“Danny, I know this was probably really expens–”

“Nope.” He interrupts. “Not a dime.”

With a fake grunt of irritation, you give in. (Partly so you can get inside and out of the cold.)

“Thank you. Thank you both, seriously. This is such a huge burden lifted.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Despite how things transpired with you and Sam, he’s still treated you the very same. You were terrified that there would be some awkward air with you two after the way you left him the other night, but it’s as if he’s all but forgotten about it. He still fawned over you when you arrived for filming tonight, him and Josh referring to you as “the queen” when you walked in, as usual. 

You haven’t told him about your mom. In fact, the only people who know are Jake and Natalia. You asked them both to not say anything. It’s not because you don’t trust everyone—they’ve all become some of the best friends you’ve ever had in your life, better than any friend you had back in Oklahoma. You just don’t want the attention that would inevitably bring. You don’t need them feeling sorry for you, and you don’t need them asking questions that you don’t want to answer, to questions you can’t answer. And you know it would lead to the fact that your dad doesn’t have shit to do with you. 

It’s just not something that needs to be advertised, not yet. You don’t want it to be the only thing everyone associates you with. You want them to still like you for you. Everything else can be addressed later. 

Of course, that did raise some other questions. Mostly about why Jake didn’t come home that night when your car broke down. His response to his brothers was simple; he just didn’t feel like driving back home that late, so he crashed on your couch. That wasn’t too far from the truth.

They didn’t even bat an eye at it. Just accepted it as fact and moved right on, not giving it a second thought. Jake is a bit distant from his brothers at times, so it’s probably not entirely out of the norm for him to not come home some nights. 

You’re glad that things have been pretty much normal for you and your filming crew.

While you’re not acting tonight, you decided to come over to the Kiszka place anyway, just to get away from your own mess for a little while. The apartment feels much bigger when it’s just you living in it. You love to have your alone time, but it’s been so much lately that your mind is going to some dark places, places that you’re forced to revisit when there’s no one else around to distract you.

So, suffice to say, you jumped at the opportunity when Josh asked you to come over tonight. He often invites you over on filming nights when your scenes aren’t being shot, says he enjoys your company and input on accuracies pertaining to the lore. You normally turn him down on those instances, feeling far too guilty for leaving your mom when you are filming. But with her still being in the hospital, you didn’t see the harm in taking him up on it this time.

Tonight's scene is between Arthur and Camille. Between Jake and Stacy. The first time you’ll see Jake as Arthur, and you’ll finally get to see for yourself what their on-camera chemistry is like. You’ve been told more than once that they’re great together, but now you have the chance to see it instead of just being told about it.

Although, you’re not exactly excited  to see them interact this way. And a huge part of you is hoping that they’ll royally suck together. You’ve been so busy that you haven’t had time to come watch their scenes, not that you’ve really tried that hard to do so. You could’ve if you actually wanted to.

But, you figured you’d rather see it in person than wait until the film is finished. And your imagination has run rampant with what they’re like together and the ‘not knowing’ has been painful. At least after tonight, you’ll know. You won’t have to wonder anymore, and it won’t be a surprise when you get to see the film in its entirety. 

Something you’re a little (more than a little, honestly) happy about is the fact that Stacy doesn’t have her “own” dressing room like you do. Granted, it’s Jake's room that has been designated as your changing space. But, still. She’s stuck using the guest bathroom to change in, and you can’t help the curling of your lips when you see her struggle to carry her costumes in there. 

Nat nudges your shoulder with hers when she catches your grin, letting you know that she saw that. You can tell by her features that she’s thinking the exact same thing.

“You know I need more details.” She says, hushed. 

You know exactly what she’s talking about, but you’ll play dumb anyway.

“Details?” You question with a look of false confusion. “Details about what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, y/n. Tell me more about Jake spending the night with you.”

You shush her as you lead her over to the dining table for a little more seclusion, both sitting in the chairs furthest away from the commotion in the living room where Josh and Malachi are busy adding the final touches to tonight's set.

“Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re wondering. Neither one of us could sleep very well, so we sat on the couch and talked for a bit, but that’s all.” You stare down at your thumbs as you twiddle them. You don’t really feel like mentioning him physically brushing you off when you both got a little too close for his comfort. You don’t even like thinking about it, let alone talking about it. 

Attempting to come up with something to change the subject, you feel terrible when you realize you’ve not even asked Nat anything about her and Danny. You perk up when at the opportunity to talk about something that isn’t the awkwardness between you and Jake.

“Speaking of details,” you say, sitting both your elbows on the table and resting your face in your hands, giving her your full attention. “I need you to tell me everything about you and Daniel this very minute. And don’t you dare leave out a single thing.”

A beautifully shy smile stretches her plump lips as she tucks a loose curl behind her ear. 

“Well, what would you like to talk about first?” She asks, her eyes lighting up. “The fact that we’ve seen each other everyday since our first date, or the fact that he’s the best I’ve ever had in bed?”

Your hands drop to the table, a stupidly massive smile plastered to your face. 

“Natalia!” You exclaim, scooting closer to her. “I can’t believe it, dude! So, are you, like, official? Or just fucking?” 

“Official,” she says, your mouth dropping from pure excitement for them. You can’t get over it. They make such a stunning couple. And she’s clearly so damn happy. That’s the most important thing. “And fucking,” she continues as you throw a hand over your mouth to muffle the laughter. “ A lot of it, too.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

She looks breathtaking. Gorgeous. The pale shade of purple they have her in accentuates the emerald tones in her round eyes, the matching flowers in her braided hair look like a halo casted over her shiny, sunshine-yellow locks. 

Stacy’s appearance serves as a stark contrast to Guinevere’s. Her look embodies sweetness, innocence. While your character exudes sensuality as an adulteress with her black and red color palette, Stacy’s is meant to radiate charm and a sense of purity. Purity in the sense that, while she’s cheating with Arthur, she isn’t cheating on Arthur. 

Josh did this on purpose, to make Camille look innocent and unassuming, but in reality, she will be a catalyst in King Arthur's inevitable downfall. The fact that she’s an evil enchantress is hidden beneath her flowery looks. With everyone believing Guinevere to be the horrid seductress, no one would suspect that the true horror lies in the guise of Camille, who’s ever cunning under her false veil. 

Though you’re not surprised, she looks the epitome of sheer beauty. Walking perfection. And it’s a bit painful to see. She’s everything you wish you could be. 

You’re suddenly not sure you’re ready to see her interact with Jake in this scene. But, better now than later. Get it over with so you won’t have to wonder. You can sulk about it later when you have time to really feel your insecurities.

And now, here comes Jake. As if it weren’t hard enough to witness the utter beauty that Stacy carries, it’s an entirely different feeling with Jake’s. 

He looks…just so damn good. 

Tonight, instead of just the usual chainmail top and black trousers, he’s added a touch of regality with black velvet cloak over top, the very same one Josh promised him months ago. He looks like true royalty, exuding an aura of majesty, complete with a sword sheathed at his side. 

They both get settled in their respective places on set, and as soon as Josh yells “action,” a surge of unease radiates within you as you feel your whole body tense up.

As soon as they slip effortlessly into their characters, their obvious chemistry is instantly ignited before the camera. Every touch, every glance they share is loaded with an undeniable intensity. 

The way Jake's hand lingers on Stacy's waist, the way they lock eyes with such intensity…you can’t deny the fact that they’re wonderful together. Aesthetically, they just fit. Much better than you and Jake would, you’ve no doubt. 

When Jake speaks his first line, you’re shocked to hear him use a British accent. A horrible one, at that. 

You have to cover your face to hide the fact that you’re trying not to burst at the seams. But you’re not the only one. Nat has turned her head entirely in the direction opposite of you, which is probably a good thing. One glance at each other and you’d both break with boisterous laughter. 

Sam, however, makes no attempt to hide his true feelings. Standing right behind you, he loudly chuckles his classic, Sam laugh that makes it even harder for you to maintain composure.

Then, you hear a very audible groan from Josh, followed by yelling “CUT!” at the top of his lungs.

“Why did you stop us?” Jake blurts out, his arms flailing in obvious frustration. 

“I told you to use whatever creative liberty you deemed necessary for the character,” Josh confirms, both hands resting on his hips. “But I’ve asked, more than once, mind you, to not use that ridiculous fucking accent.”

Here we go. It just wouldn’t be a normal night of filming without at least several fights from the twins.

“It’s essential to the character, Josh. He is the legendary King of Britain, is he not?” His question is more like a statement, adding extra emphasis on the word “Britain” to secure his point.

“I told you, Sir Jacob.” 

Sir Jacob…?

“It doesn’t make sense if no one else is following suit with your shitty accent.” Josh continues. Jake flips a rather dramatic middle finger towards his twin, with Josh generously showing him the very same affection. 

“Alright. Take two of scene number 67,” Josh pauses a moment, waiting until they’re ready. “And…action.”

Thanks to Jake's “creative liberty,” you have to sit through the scene again, watching them and their perfect chemistry—again. 

And then…

…they kiss. The very moment you were not waiting for.

With the way his lips so passionately intertwine with hers, it’s clear they’ve done this more than a couple of times. And not only for the sake of the film. This kind of intimacy transcends the limits of film.

You and Sam had natural chemistry, but their chemistry goes miles beyond what you instinctively had with Sam. Theirs feels experienced. Experienced with each other. 

If there was any doubt lingering that they slept together that night after the haunted house, it’s all but confirmed for you now. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“When will your mom be ready to come home?” Nat asks you as the two of you are packing up the set.  

You quickly look around to be sure no one’s close enough to hear, the hesitancy to let everyone know is still hanging onto you tightly.

“Actually, she’ll get to come home tomorrow," you share with her. “She was good as new when I visited her today, and the doctor said she’s making huge strides.”

Your words carry a little unsureness. It’s not that you’re not happy to have her home, the apartment has been terribly lonely and you’re ready to get things somewhat back to normal. But, you can’t get rid of this feeling that something’s just not right with the whole situation. 

From the Doctor telling you there were no medications in her system to her telling you that she personally spoke with Mrs. Sweeney, thanking her for calling the ambulance, despite Mrs. Sweeney having no recollection of it and having not made the call to 911…There’s a web of uncertainty weaving in your brain. You know Nat can sense your apprehension based on the look she’s giving you as she places all the silk flowers neatly in their box. 

“You don’t sound too excited,” she observes. “Are you still thinking about what the doctor told you?” 

“I just can’t force myself to believe it. I know the evidence is there,” you remark, brows furrowed in confusion as you help her shove the ivy vines in the box with the flowers. “But it just…it doesn’t feel right, you know? Why would she do something like that?” 

Her eyes mirror the same questions plaguing your mind, the empathy ever present in them. You know she understands your confusion, her support has been a comfort during these last few maddening  days. (Though you still haven’t told her about your conversation with Mrs. Sweeney. You suppose that can wait until you’ve had enough time to process it.)

“But, I am happy that she’ll be home. It’s been so weird not having her there.” Once you get the last of the silk plants packed up, Nat takes the packing tape and adds a few pieces along the center to secure it for safekeeping. 

“I’m just worried about getting her up the three flights of stairs to our place,” you continue. “The elevator went out again and she can’t really climb them on her own. And I’m not strong enough to get her up myself.” You look to her with pleading eyes, hoping she’ll pick up on your silent request for help. 

“You know I would help if I could, y/n. But I’ll be out of town all day tomorrow with Danny visiting his family.” She tells you. You can tell by her tone that she feels bad, but it’s not her fault. 

“Well,” she says, contemplating her options. “Maybe I could just drive myself, so that way I could leave and come help you with your mom and then go back when she’s all settled.” Her offer is undeniably kind, but you can’t bring yourself to allow her to do that. You don’t want to be the reason her whole day is disrupted. 

“No, no. It’s totally okay, babe,” you acknowledge, grateful that she’d even consider such a thing. “We’ll manage. Thank you, though. I appreciate you a lot.” 

Just as you’re finishing up, you hear someone shuffling around in the kitchen. Looking in that direction, you see Jake gathering a few things to prepare dinner. 

“I can help you tomorrow, y/n.” He says, back turned to you and Nat. “Just let me know when.” 

You and Nat share a knowing glance that says what you’re both collectively thinking. 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s offering, given how much he helped you that night and the next day. But, you still can’t help feeling shocked at his proposition.  

“S-sure, Jake.” You say. “I’ll text you the time.” 

But as you accept his offer, gratitude mixed with trepidation floods your thoughts. You’re suddenly mortified at what he may have heard you and Nat talking about, surrounding your unease with your mom’s situation. 

How long had he been standing there?

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“So this is the famous Jake,” she remarks as you wheel her through the automatic doors to Jake, who’s standing outside his Range Rover ready to help her into the passenger’s seat. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as she makes it obvious that you’ve talked about him to her before. 

Meanwhile, Jake’s lips curl in a playful grin at her statement. “Nice to finally meet you,” he says, extending a helping hand as you begin helping her out of the wheelchair and onto her feet. You try to avoid making eye contact with him as you and he position yourselves on either side of her, helping to stabilize her as she walks towards the car. But he isn’t trying to avoid it. Each accidental glance his way is met with his mischievous eyes fixed on you, his grin remaining ever present. Together, combined with what little strength she has, the three of you successfully settle her into the car without any issues. 

Taking the middle seat in the second row, you buckle up as Jake starts the engine and begins the drive to your place.

You didn’t consider the fact that she would probably bombard him with personal questions, and that’s just what she does the entire way home. She asks him all the basics, probing into his background and interests with relentless questions. His answers are pretty short for the most part, not getting very personal with her curiosity. (Sounds familiar.) But it’s her next question that has you wishing you were anywhere but here.

“Are you single?” She inquires innocently. (Although it’s perhaps not very innocent, given what you’ve told her about him.)

In the reflection of the rearview mirror, you see Jake’s eyes widen, mirroring pure shock. You bring your palm up to rest against your forehead, silently wishing to teleport to your apartment and end this agonizing drive once and for all.

But when he answers, you feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach. 

“I, uh, guess you could say I’m single. I’ve been dating casually, nothing serious though.”

At his mention of “casual dating,” your mind instantly begins reeling and going straight to Stacy and the possibility (likelihood) that he’s been dating her. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does—you’re nothing to him, after all—but the sting of his words still linger in the air, leaving you feeling so small. Perhaps if you looked like Stacy, he’d be just as interested in “casually” dating you. 

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“Would you like to stay for dinner?” She offers once the three of you make it up to the third floor of your complex. “I’m sure y/n could whip up something quick for us.” A bit of annoyance washes over you with her offering for you to make dinner for everyone. She obviously can’t, but the fact that she just decided you didn’t have anything else to do besides making dinner for three people? Maybe you’re overthinking it, but it’s not sitting right with you at the moment. 

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation finally catching up with you. Or it’s your mind swirling with a million things at once. The doctor's words, Jake dating Stacy, the burgeoning voice insisting that you don’t eat. (And eating around other people right now is just far too much.)

“Thanks for asking, but I have to get back to work,” he tells her as he’s helping her in the door.

“What do you do for work, Jake?” She asks. But before he gives himself the chance to answer, he’s telling you both goodbye as he quickly heads out the door.

…okay? It’s such a simple question, why couldn’t he answer it?

While you’re standing here, confused and baffled by his actions, your mom seems to have not even noticed it as she’s now seated on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels to find one of her shows. 

“When will you be ready for dinner?” She asks you, not even looking your way as you're standing dumbfounded in the middle of the living room. Trying to shove down your frustration, you take her hint that she’s ready to eat and head into the kitchen to prepare tonight's meal. 

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You greet Jake with a sincere smile as you take your seat in Movacks class, only to be met with a simple nod as he looks away from you. 

“Mornin, Jake!” You chirp, summoning your best “Oklahoma” intonation like he brought up the other night, hoping to coax a smile from him. But you're left feeling utterly humiliated as he doesn't even acknowledge you, opting instead to focus on his phone. It's as if you didn't say a single word, leaving you feeling like an actual imbecile for the obnoxious display you've just made. It’s rather clear he wants nothing to do with you today, his pissy mood a good indication that you should probably just keep to yourself. No need in furthering his frustrations with the annoyance that is you.

You’ve tried to ignore the fact that he’s become considerably more distant with you since he helped you bring your mom home the other day. You’ve not even heard from him since then, and given how invested he seemed to be with the whole thing, it’s almost like he’s completely left in the past at this point. 

“I trust you all read the poems you were assigned with your project partner last time we met,” proclaims Dr. Movack as he walks into the room just as class is set to begin.

You and Jake were assigned Sir Lancelot and Guinevere by Alfred Tennyson, a poem that delves deeply into the forbidden affair. A bit of an unwitting irony when considering the depths of your project. He seemed out of sorts about it when you were given the poem to analyze last class period, acting as though it was a chore to have to read it. But you were excited about it, for very obvious reasons as it’s yet another layer added to your research on the character you’ve been playing. 

"Alright, everyone," Dr. Movack announces, starting the timer on his phone. "For the first twenty minutes of class, I want you to pair up with your partners and discuss your individual analyses of the piece you were assigned."

With a hefty sigh, Jake pivots his upper body towards you. “Thoughts?” He asks as his hands gesture for you to begin the conversation, clearly annoyed at this whole thing. (As if it’s your fucking fault you’re his partner.)

“Well,” you start, still taken aback but his brash behavior towards you for, as far as you can tell, no logical reason. “It compares their love to that of nature, while also equating Guin’s beauty to the same thing, making it seem as tho–”

“Kay.” He abruptly cuts you off, turning himself around so he’s no longer facing you, arms crossed and a vexed look about his pretty face. Clad with his John Lennon glasses, reminding you way too much of your initial interactions with him.

“I…I wasn’t done, Jake,” you state, sternly. 

“What else do you need to say?” He implores, his tone making sound more like a harsh statement than a question.

“I also need to say that its theme is a balance of pain and joy, of knowing that they can never truly have each other the way they desire, but celebrating the profound joy they do experience in their shared moments,” 

“The poem constructs the idea of Lancelot tending to the needs of Guin much more tenderly and passionately than Arthur could have ever done for her,” you suggest, pushing him to give you more than what he’s been giving you thus far. (Which has been absolutely nothing.)

But… it didn’t work. You lost him. It was as if the last word out of your mouth shut him completely down. You see through the wire earpiece of his staple Ray-Bans as his eyes close. A hand slowly goes up to rub his temple. 

One more shot. 

“What do you think about—?”

“What the fuck did they teach you in Oklahoma?” He fumes, suddenly and unexpectedly, his head snapping in your direction.

“What?” You blink a few times, surely hearing him wrong. 

“This stupid ass shit you’re spewing,” he growls, turning away from you once again. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“Excuse me?” Okay, you were nearly certain you had heard him correctly. And the way his mouth was set in a straight, unchanging line of ire told you as much.

“I’m so tired of this back and forth game where you think your little hick town brain can get you anywhere in a place like this,” he mumbles angrily, ripping open his journal and book to take his own notes. “It’s not cute to use what little knowledge you came here with as a point of intellect. It doesn’t work to prove anything. We all know the backwoods girl who is hiding underneath this fucking charade you’re displaying for everyone.” 

Your throat constricts, growing tighter and tighter as tears wet your eyes, threatening to fall. He rakes his fingers haphazardly through his shoulder-length, waving locks. With fists clenched, nails pinching your skin where they dig into your palms, you want to grab him by his hair and force him to fully face you again. 

He needs to not be a coward when he says shit that makes your heart quite actually break, crookedly down the middle. Your heart that can only take so fucking much.

He turns, just slightly. His jaw is tight, flexing beneath his frustratingly beautiful skin. How could one man encapsulate so much? One second, he’s driving you here, there, and everywhere—making you feel at ease in a time of desolation. And the next, he’s mocking you for your heritage—calling you out and chiding you for something you can’t help or control. 

A state that, in this moment, you realize you’re proud to represent in some way (you grew up there, the place raised you). You’re feeling some strange, burning need to defend it. 

His body is swiveled back around to fully face you when he rips his glasses off of his face. You fear momentarily of him breaking the delicate metal, but you soon forget the thought when you notice his expression. 

His eyes are flaming, indignant — pure fire in the sweet honeyed bourbon hue of his irises. A fire that infiltrates something so sweet and almost pure… almost. It’s Jake, for God’s sake; he can only get so pure. The word doesn’t even come close to fitting his demeanor at this moment.

The way he looks at you, making you want to crawl completely out of your skin.

“I don’t want you to insert an opinion on this material that is founded on the bullshit they teach you in tiny towns like Cherry-fucking-Tree,” he spit. “It’s a waste of my time and energy to even entertain the ideas that circulate in your mind full of, at best, average thought processes.”

Average. Just an average, hick girl. From the shitass town of Cherry-fucking-Tree. 

Average—Worthless. Just like the town you come from. How could you ever be anything coming from a place like that?

The tears begin cascading down your cheeks before you can even think to challenge them. There is no point in stopping the pools that are leaving your eyes in steady tracks down your hot cheeks. You’re shaking—shivering with equal parts twinging sadness and unkempt rage.

You let them fall momentarily, in shock as his eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering and loathsome of you. In his eyes, you watch every negative emotion he feels for you pass through them. 

“Fuck you, Jake.” Your words are stern, louder than you expected. Yet, you don’t care–because your voice conveys all of the hurt you’re encompassed with. 

And as you utter the cold words, you notice that the rest of the classroom is dead silent. A quick glance out of your peripheral vision confirms that all their heads are turned towards you and Jake.

But the eye contact with him doesn’t break. As much as you hate when people see you cry, you need him to see the hurt he’s caused you. 

“I have heard quite enough out of the two of  you!” Shouts Dr. Movack from his place at the podium. Still yet, neither one of you looks away from the other. “You both need to leave my classroom, immediately!”

“Gladly,” you shout, tossing your things in your bag with such a force that causes Jake to wince with each thing you throw in. 

He begins doing the same, matching your frustration with heavy hands. 

You don’t want to walk out with him, so before he can finish, you begin stomping through the classroom, brushing past Dr. Movack once you make it to the door. 

“Expect zeros for today's participation!” He proclaims, but you’re already halfway down the hall. 

Heavy streams of tears drench your face as you pick up the pace to get the fuck out of this godforsaken building before Jake can catch up to you. 

You can’t stand the sight of him right now, you can’t even fathom ever speaking to him again. His words cut deeper than any knife ever could, of that you’re certain. 

It hurts, it really fucking hurts. 

“Y/n, please wait, I–I’m sorry,” you hear in the distance as you’re crossing the street to the parking lot where your car sits. “I didn’t mean—fuck.”

The sound of the voice is unmistakable.

It’s Jake’s. You can discern it from the one he wielded like a weapon, his tool of choice to dismantle and destroy you, word by hateful word.

He calls for you again, but you choose to ignore his pathetic attempt at an “apology,” jumping in your car and starting the engine, wiping the excess tears away that are constricting your vision.

You briefly look up as you shift the gear into drive, catching sight of Jake’s defeated form standing on the last concrete step of the stairway leading to the doors of Angell Hall. 

And as you’re backing out of your spot, he rips his glasses off, tossing them to the ground with a force that very obviously shatters them. 

You know he was probably just speaking out of pure anger, but where that anger is derived from is what you don’t understand. You’ve not done anything so bad to him to deserve any of what he just threw at you.

But no matter where it came from, he had no fucking right to speak to you the way he did. 

Not finding the strength within you to turn back and go to him to hear his apology, you drive away and leave him there to deal with what he’s done alone. 

While there’s a part of you that wants to hear his explanation, you don’t owe it to him to give him the chance. It’s not worth your time at this point. He’s made it known that you’re nothing but a massive pill in his life, that he would probably be much happier without you in it, ruining it with every backwoods word you speak.

He watches you as you drive away, his features as cold as if they were carved in the very stone he’s standing on, unreadable even from a distance.

Tears begin brimming in your ducts yet again as you turn onto the street to head home, him now fully out of your sight. 

It's unfathomable how someone could harbor such hatred towards you, and yet, despite it all, you can't shake the intense desire you still feel for him. 

It just doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t make sense.

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The squeaky wheels of the wooden library cart echo throughout the entire building with each push. The screeching metal wheels send a chill up your spine each time you move, and you’re silently apologizing to everyone in here for the obtrusive noise. With midterms officially over as of last week, everyone has been dropping their books off in piles the past few days. After sorting through them all, making sure to note who returned their books on their account, it’s finally time to put them back on the shelf. 

As much as you hate the squeaky cart, this is your favorite part of the job. It gives you the chance to conduct a very detailed tour of the library on your own terms, truly allowing you to see it all. There’s no lack of discovering something new each time. You love this old building, and you love the smell of the books. The scent was the first thing you noticed when you walked in here for the first time all those months ago, and it still remains your favorite smell in the world.

As you look towards the end of the long Political Science aisle you’re standing in, you suddenly catch Nat peeking her head around the corner, waving at you while her clunky brown boots click as she walks your direction. 

“Need any help? It’s dead as a doornail up there and I’m bored as hell.”

“Sure, Mr. Dickens,” you joke at her nod to a literary classic. “I’ll gladly accept your help.”

She begins helping with your task, finding a certain peace in her company amidst the quiet library.

“I can’t find where this goes, any clue?” You ask, holding up the book on the tools of presenting a good argument. She takes it from you and examines it a bit, reading the faded numbers on the spine. 

“Well, I see why you’re having trouble,” she says, full smirk across her blush pink, glossy lips. “It’s marked wrong. This goes in General Law.”

With a playful wink, she gestures toward the correct section to guide you to its proper place on the shelf.

“How’s your momma?” She asks. “Is she feeling better?”

“She’s okay. She’s home, and she’s alive…it’s all just so strange.” You shelve the last of the political science books stacked on your cart, wheeling it around the corner to the General Law section as Nat follows close behind. “There’s still so many unanswered questions. I just can’t figure out who called the ambulance.”

“Wasn’t it your neighbor?” She asks, helping you maneuver the heavy cart around the tight corner. 

“That’s what I thought,” you answer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you remember the strange conversation you had just days ago with Mrs. Sweeney. “But she told me she didn’t make the call. She said the ambulance just showed up. I asked her if she heard my mom calling out for help, or anything from our apartment that sounded concerning, something that would prompt an emergency call…and she said no.”

Nat matches your confused state, stopping to take in everything you’d just told her. “That just doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “Is it possible that she called for the ambulance?”

“My mom?” You hadn’t even considered the possibility. And, she would’ve told you…right? You don’t know why you’re so desperate to know, why it’s keeping you up at night that Mrs. Sweeney told you she didn’t call, that your mom had basically lied to you about the whole thing. “I–I don’t think so, Nat. She was completely unresponsive when they found her.” 

Now the wheels are turning. Maybe it was her, and perhaps she just…didn’t tell you? Is she trying to hide something? It just doesn’t feel likely but…possible, you guess. It wouldn’t hurt to ask her. Putting this whole thing to rest would make it so you can finally rest.

“Well, like you said,” Nat utters, breaking you free of your relentless, turning mind. “She’s alive. And that’s all that really matters, right?”

Of course that’s all that matters. But, you can’t help the feeling that there’s more to this than what you’re able to see, more that’s being hidden beneath the seemingly cracked surface. It could just be your anxious tendencies, telling you to worry when there’s truly nothing to be worried about.

Or, your gut feeling is correct. There’s something you’re not aware of that feels big.

You begin wheeling the now empty cart back to the circulation counter to grab another lot of books, Nat leading the way ahead of the obnoxious wheels. 

“Right,” you answer, deciding to push aside that worry for the time being.

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“Do you have any idea why Jake despises me? Like, has he ever said anything to you or Josh? Or Malachi?” You ask as you fill the cart with the next bundle of books to be put up.

“He doesn’t despise you, y/n. I know his exterior is rough, but there’s not an ounce of hate in that boy's heart. Just give him more time. You’ve seen it, you know he’s a good one.” 

You know deep down that he is, that he’s got a good heart with good intentions. But, there’s something about when he starts to become close to you that forces him to back away, to treat you like you’re a nuisance. He can shove his hatred for you down long enough, until he can’t and it comes out of him like he was accidentally hiding it.

“He does hate me, Nat. You can’t deny the way he acts when I’m around, like I’m the biggest burden that could’ve possibly been placed upon him.” You roughly toss the final book on the cart, wincing at the loud noise it made that you didn’t quite mean to happen. “You didn’t hear the way he spoke to me the other day, Nat. He belittled me in class. I have never been so humiliated and disrespected before in my life. Pretty sure I’m nothing more than walking garbage to him.”

“I hate to interrupt your little drama fest, but you are not the biggest burden in his life. There’s a lot you don’t know about him.” She says, frustration in her tone as she intervenes, slamming a book down on the cart just like you did. “I will stick up for you, y/n. But I also know things about him that you don’t.”

“That’s the problem. I know nothing about him. He doesn’t want me to know him. He’s built this wall around himself and refuses to let me in. He almost did the other night at my apartment, but when he realized he was getting a smidge too close to me, he shut down again. He’s the never ending enigma, one that just so happens to hate my guts.” Your words hang heavy in the air, a tense silence grappling them as you’re left with the realization of just how complex your relationship with Jake is, and it’s not by your choice. 

“I know he can be closed off, and I know he can be an asshole sometimes. Trust me. But you need to know a few things. He’s been through the ringer, multiple times.” She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, stopping you as you begin to walk away to put the books up, silently urging you to consider another perspective. 

“He and his brothers were adopted by their grandparents after their mom and dad were killed in a car accident. Drunk driver. It left all of Frankenmuth completely devastated.”  

His parents.

You’d never even once thought about where they were, or who they were. Being so caught up in your own shit, you hadn’t even considered…

Fuck.

“Their dad was in a local band,” she continues, taking a seat in the rolling chair behind the counter. “They never made it big beyond the area, but god, everyone in town loved them. And when Jake was about ten, he started playing with them. Playing the guitar his dad bought him, the one sitting in his room. He worked his ass off to buy that for Jake. They were killed only a few months after the first time he joined them on stage.”

When she mentioned his guitar, it all of a sudden reminded you of the night at your apartment. The night he became so disgusted by you right before he could finish talking about…

…about his dad. And the guitar he bought him, the very same one Nat is telling you about right now. You know this because you instantly took note of the SG sitting in his room the first night you stepped foot in there, and that’s the exact model he was talking about that night…the one he said defined him as a player, the one his dad searched high and low for. 

Oh my god.

“When they died, they moved in with their grandparents. But they owned an apartment complex in Detroit, so they had to move here with them. That’s when I met them, when they started school at Central High.”

You just nod in response, needing a second to fully absorb her words that are beginning to paint a much clearer picture of Jake. 

“Then, their grandma suddenly died. They were devastated, didn't come to school for weeks.” Her voice softens, her expression reflecting the weight of all the loss they had endured at such young ages. “They had to help their grandpa with the complex, learn how to run the business. Which turned out to be a good thing, because he got sick a few years later. Pancreatic cancer. The boys ended up dropping out of college for a bit to take care of him, to essentially take over acting landlords.” 

“Nat I can’t…I can’t believe it. I had no idea…” Your brain is struggling to process it all. And if it’s that hard for you to imagine, it must have been hell for Jake and his brothers to live it. It was their reality. But to you, it’s utterly heartbreaking. Unfathomable. 

 “They never left his side, especially Jake. He was with him twenty four seven, and when he died, Jake kind of became a recluse.”

The compassion you’re feeling for Jake and his family swells your heart as you’re realizing the depths of his burdens. His guarded nature suddenly makes a lot more sense as everything she’s telling you is fully sinking in. The old saying is true; you truly never know what someone is going through, what someone has been through. 

Regardless of how he’s acted towards you, you’re feeling a lot of guilt for being so quick to judge him. 

“Jake was the only one with him when he died. Matter of fact, he died in the exact same hospital your mom stayed in. I bet it was kind of hard for him to be there, but he stayed for you, y/n. That is the real Jake.”

Jake was committed to you that night. Stayed with you in the hospital that holds so much weight for him. Even in the midst of his own pain, he stayed with you. It explains so much.

“What happened to the complex? After their grandpa died?” 

“They live in it,” she answers with a grin. “They’re landlords. It was their inheritance. And as hard as it was for them to take over ownership as college students, they made it work. The three of them make one hell of a team.” 

You didn’t know what Jake did for work, but owning an apartment complex with his brothers was not on your list of possibilities. An extremely nice complex, at that. 

“Why didn’t any of them mention this to me? I get Jake but, Sam? Josh?” You can’t help the mix of surprise and confusion, wondering why they hadn’t shared such a big part of themselves with you. It’s their job. And you’ve never known anyone to keep something like that from you. 

Although it does make sense if they didn’t want it to lead to a deeper conversation about their losses. Maybe they’re the same as Jake in that aspect. They just don’t like to talk about hard things.  

Then, you remember how you’ve kept your life a secret from them, too. The only reason Jake knows about your mom is because he just happened to be there. But he knows nothing else. Your dad… he hasn’t and will probably never be mentioned with him. With any of them. And it’s not because you’re ashamed; it’s just not something you want broadcasted. 

“They don’t care for the attention it garners,” she explains. “And they probably didn’t want you to treat them any different. The only reason I know about it is because of my brother, and he’s the one that told me everything else about what they’ve been through. They really don’t like to talk about any of this stuff,” she adds, her voice heavy with sympathy. “They don’t want it to define them.”

“I can definitely understand that.” You say with deeply rooted empathy. Your heart aches, for all of them. But, you can deny the extra twinge of softness you feel for Jake. For him to have shoved all of this down the way he has, it’s no wonder he acts the way he does. It doesn’t completely excuse it, but it sure as hell makes a lot of fucking sense. 

The amount of pain they’ve experienced in their lives, losing practically everyone important in their lives. They’re not only bonded by brotherhood, they’re bonded even tighter because of everyone they’ve lost. All of them being so close to them, raising them. They’ve lost almost everyone who was ever important to them, being left with just each other to lean on. It all makes sense, and as much as he’s hurt you, you just can’t bring yourself to keep holding it against him. 

He’s hurting, too. 

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Carrying the third laundry basket up the stairs from the in-building laundry, you’re wondering just how two people have managed to collect so much clothing. You try to designate time each week specifically for laundry, but you’ve gotten so far behind on it that it’s become a little overwhelming. Each basket of clothes you’ve washed and brought back up to the apartment has been overflowing. You’re sure you’ll discover a missing sock or a pair of underwear or two that fell during the journey back to your place, but you’re not about to go back and find out.

You’re finally done washing everything. Now, the worst part: putting it all up. You decide to put that part off for a little while to get caught up on the rest of the chores that need to be done tonight. 

The dishes are next on the list. You usually don’t mind doing them, but your dishwasher decided to quit on you and the landlord is in no hurry to come and fix it. So, you’re stuck hand washing the pile that has somehow accumulated significantly over the last few days. 

With a resigned sigh, you roll up your sleeves and begin scrubbing away at the stack of plates and utensils. The warm water soothes your hands, and you find a sense of rhythm in the repetitive task. 

Your mind starts to drift to the other tasks that still need to be taken care of. The vacuuming, tidying up the living room, perhaps taking out the trash if you can muster up the energy.

But for now, you decide to focus on the task at hand, finding a strange sort of comfort in the motion of washing and rinsing each dish.

Despite the annoyance of hand washing dishes, there's a strange comfort in the routine of it all. With each plate cleaned and set aside to dry, you feel a small sense of accomplishment. 

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You peek around the door frame to see her lying in the same spot she has been for the last few hours, still grazing her plate of food you gave her and watching something mindless on the television. She hasn’t noticed you standing there yet, and just as you’re about to say something, you notice she’s not wearing her oxygen. 

“Mom,” you assert as you storm inside of her room, the frustration in your voice apparent. You grab her nasal cannula sitting on her nightstand and help her put it on. “How long have you not been wearing it?” 

She takes a deep breath as she further adjusts the tube to her face, letting out a dry cough from deep in her chest. “I’m fine, sweetie. I won’t keel over  if I go without it for a little bit. It’s just so invasive, I hate wearing that damn thing.”

“That is not what the doctor said.” You check her tank to be sure she’s getting enough to compensate for however long she’s kept it off. “And based on how horrible your cough sounds, you need it right now. Please, mom. You have to follow their orders. You don’t want a repeat of the other night, do you?”

She sits herself up a bit, as well as she can. Smiling at you and nodding, she says, “I know, I know. Your momma is just a little stubborn sometimes. What would I do without my sweet daughter to take care of me?” You smile back at her, but it quickly fades as you're reminded yet again of the other night and the questionable events that transpired. 

She picks up on your sudden change in expression. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She asks with wary concern. 

You decide that right now is as good a time as any to ask her your burning question. With a heavy breath, you take a seat on the edge of her bed beside her. Clearing your dry throat, you say “I have to ask you something.” 

“Of course, honey. What’s on your mind?” Her eyes watch you with a gentle kindness about them that you’ve always loved about her, but right now, along with the kindness there are a thousand secrets as dark as her pupils. It casts an unease in your spirit that is brand new to you, yet feels oddly familiar all at once. Has it always been there and you’ve just never noticed? Have you just denied it?

You can’t decipher why you’re so nervous to ask her. You shouldn’t be; it’s a simple question. But you feel this heaviness deep within your body that you can’t explain. An intuition that something is awry, perhaps? 

You’ve never once doubted your mom. You’ve always trusted her with everything for the simple fact that she’s never given you cause not to. But you can’t deny that something feels…off. And as she’s looking at you right now, you’re suddenly not sure you recognize the woman sitting before you anymore. Something is different. Everything is different. 

And you don’t know why you feel this way. But you do. And denying it further will only cause you to descend into a maddening cycle of endless wandering.

Her eyes are flicking back and forth between yours, her eyebrows are scrunched and her thin lips are slightly agape. With a curious nod of her head, she quietly signals you to just ask your damn question. 

“Did…” Your tight voice cracks and as she grabs your hand to try and comfort you, you find your voice to continue. “Did you call 911 that night?” The words flow out of your mouth like a river with no end, a strong current that knocks you into the depths of the raging waters. 

Her eyes widen and her mouth falls the rest of the way open. Her hand slowly moves away from yours as her eyes stay steady on you. A look of pure shock washes over her face as she’s quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. 

“I thought we agreed on Mrs. Sweeney calling.” She finally asserts, her voice suddenly much more strong and clear than it has been in a long time, startling you. “I’m not sure why you’re still on this, y/n.” Her tone is sharp as a blade, penetrating you each time she utters a word. She’s almost defensive, angry. Her eyes are narrowed on yours, unblinking and stilled. 

“I just…you’re right. I’m sorry, I must've forgotten.” You manipulate your tone to sound more sure, more accepting than you truly feel. You decided against telling her about your conversation with Mrs. Sweeney. You’ve a solid feeling it may not go over well if you tell her what was said. There’s a queasy feeling in the pit of your belly telling you to just shut up. A feeling you’ve never felt with your mom before. You’ve always known you could go to her for anything. Right now, you feel like shutting down completely. 

Her gruff features soften back to the way you’re most used to them, her smile taking over her thin scowl. However, the kindness in her eyes that was mixed with secrets earlier, has shifted to the secrets taking command. You don’t know who she is right now. And you’re wondering if you’ve ever truly known.

“It’s okay, honey. I know you’re awfully busy these days. I’m so proud of you.” Her tone has gone back to its weak, hushed quality. What was once a comfort to you, now feels quite the opposite. And something about her compliment felt…forced. Like she only said it as a distraction. And her voice changing on command, like that was forced, too. As if you weren’t feeling off about this whole thing enough, this has made it ten times worse.

Before you can figure out what to say, you catch the time from her nightstand clock out of the corner of your eye. Realizing it’s well after ten o’clock, you immediately step back in your caregiver shoes. It’s over an hour past time for her to take her evening medications. You grab the three bottles sitting next to the clock, dumping one pill out of each in your hand and setting them back down, taking the half-full glass of water in your hand next.

“Take these really quick.” You say as you hand her the pills and the glass. “I’ll get you more water once you’re done.” 

She nods, tossing all three pills in her mouth and downing the rest of her water before handing the glass back to you. 

Standing from the edge of her bed to head to the kitchen, you tell her you’ll be right back with her water. Without a word, she just smiles your way as you walk through the door.

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It’s nearly three in the morning and you’ve still not gone to bed. With as much time as you’ve had to dedicate to your mom, the apartment upkeep, work, and filming all while attempting to maintain a rather poor excuse for a social life, school and homework have been on the very bottom of your priority list. And that is very much not like you. Your grades have suffered the last few weeks. You’re falling behind, nearing the point of no return. So, sleep isn’t much of an option right now. Hasn’t been for several nights. It’s the only time you’ve got to do something for yourself. Even something as grueling as English homework. 

Tonight's task is to complete your paper on Carmilla for your Classic Horror course, but the words aren’t flowing as seamlessly as they should. As much as you want to be able to focus, you just can’t. You can only manage to get out a few sentences at a time before you have to stop and regather your train of thought. You keep checking your phone, scrolling through mindless social media, getting up to get a drink, anything that might keep you from this rather daunting task.

Your frustration with yourself is growing by the minute. You have to get this done by Monday, and you’re nowhere near finished. There’s hardly a conceivable thought typed on your word document and you don’t see yourself being able to form one anytime soon.

The ever burdening worry is all the more present after your talk with your mom. The way she acted when you asked your question, how her entire demeanor changed to one that made her unrecognizable to you…The questions are persistent, their relevance feeling more palpable than before.

As you start typing out your second paragraph, you’ve suddenly come to a realization that keeps you from continuing…

If she’s hiding that she did call for the ambulance, she would’ve had to use her cell phone. That call would still show up in her log, and although you don’t believe in invading someone's personal space, you just need to know. Odds are, she’s right. She didn’t call, and you’ll probably find absolutely nothing in her phone to indicate that she did. But at least you’ll know. And you can check it off your list of possibilities. You’ll be able to confirm that she wasn’t lying to you. (Because she wouldn’t do that…right?)

You’ve decided that checking her phone is the only way you’ll be able to put this whole thing to rest. Is it the right thing to do? Absolutely not. But you can’t focus until you know. 

Her door is always left open just in case something happens, you can hear her easier. So, with a light step, you walk inside her mostly dark room. Her television is quietly playing some old Western film you know you’ve seen a dozen times, but you can’t decipher which one it is. Some desert battle with horses and weapons flashes on the screen, the light illuminating the room in eerie beams. 

She’s fast asleep. Her oxygen tank is a steady hum against the low volume of the film, her breathing heavy but not labored.

Her phone rests on the nightstand closest to the wall, plugged into the charging cord. As you lift and touch the screen, you’re reminded of the fact that she keeps a six digit code to keep it locked. A code that you don’t know.

Although, you’ve got a hunch. With shaky thumbs, you type out the month, day and year of your birthday.

It worked. You’re in. 

Your eyes quickly shift to her sleeping form to be sure that she is still asleep. She’s situated on her back, her head rolled over on the pillow facing you. Her eyes aren’t open, and she’s not moved since you’ve been in here. You make haste in locating her call log and scrolling all the way to the date she landed herself in the emergency room. 

…and she was right. 

There are no 911 calls anywhere on her log. Not even a call made to the hospital…nothing. But as you take a closer look, there is something amiss. 

It was just after 1:30 in the morning when you and Jake arrived at your apartment to the chaotic scene. There’s an outgoing call that was made at 1:16…just minutes before the ambulance must have arrived. She was completely unresponsive when they found her, so how did she…? And why didn’t she call you?

The contact name is only adding to your questions. It’s a name you can’t place, and it’s an odd one.

Dodger.

Who the fuck is Dodger?

You don’t know a single person with that name…not that you can think of right away, at least. 

Whoever this Dodger is, might be the person responsible for the ambulance call. If not them, then who else? And the fact that she was on the phone with them right before…

Finding out the area code might give you some clue as to who this is. If nothing else, you’ll at least have an idea of where they live. After tapping the information icon to the right, you’re shocked when you see the three digits that tell you this is an Oklahoma number. 

There’s no one back home that she’s kept in touch with since the move. At least, not that you know of. She didn’t have many friends. None, actually. She spent all of her either time at home or, when your dad left, with you. Your mind is empty at trying to conjure up a single person she’d need to call from back home. You stare at the screen for a moment, trying your best to make sense of what you see before you. But you just can’t.

You need to call this number. But not with her phone, so you text yourself the contact information and delete the text from her phone so she won’t know. 

And as you’re in her text messages, you decide to see if she and Dodger ever text each other. But, there’s nothing. You’re quite literally the only person she texts, making this whole thing all the more strange. 

You place her phone back on the nightstand, checking on her once more before you quietly walk away. But before you do, something catches your eye. Her glass of water. It’s empty. You may as well fill it for her so she has it in case she wakes up thirsty. As you pick it up, something else catches your eye. Something far more alarming than an empty glass. 

You see the pills you gave her earlier, the ones you saw her swallow down. Or, at least you thought she did. But she didn’t. The three pills you gave her are sitting behind the glass, hidden from plain out of plain view. Had you not moved the glass, you wouldn’t have seen them. 

Suddenly, you’re remembering how the doctor was convinced that she hadn’t been taking them, asking you suspiciously if she had been. 

And you told him yes. Of course she’d been taking them, why wouldn’t she? 

You give them to her every night. You watch her take them every night. But if you thought she took them tonight when she actually didn’t, does that mean…that she never takes them? 

You can't bring yourself to believe that. You don’t even want to believe it. There’s an explanation. Has to be. 

She wouldn’t do that to herself, to you as her number one caregiver. She’s told you time and time again that she wants you to live your life for you, not for her. She’s said that she hates relying on you, but loves that she can. 

No, she wouldn’t do that. She would know to take her medications, because they make her better. And she wants to get better. For her and for you, like she’s said since she got sick in the first place. 

But it doesn’t explain…

…she really hasn’t been taking her pills.

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The cold, wet hair hitting your back makes you shiver before you wrap it up in a towel, taking the matching one to wrap up your soaking wet body. You decided to take an ‘everything’ shower before filming tonight, completing all of your deep conditions and skin scrubs. This is the most refreshed you’ve felt in weeks.

Tonight will be your last intimate scene with Sam, black lace dress included. And also your first with Jake. This will be the first time you’ll share the screen with him as your fictional ‘husband and wife’ characters. But there will be no loving sentiment between them on the screen. 

No. Tonight, Arthur will catch Guinevere in the middle of the act with her beloved Lancelot, his closest companion and best comrade. It’s going to be one of the most intense scenes within the entire project. 

According to what Josh has written in the script, Arthur will walk in on Guinevere and Lancelot making love, thus beginning the downfall of his reign due to his all consuming desires to get rid of Lancelot. 

Something else Josh wrote into the script is that Arthur and Lancelot have quite the heated argument over who is more deserving of their precious Guin. All the while, she is laid out on Lancelot's bed, clad in her most scandalous attire in front of both men whose need for her will end their relationship in one of the worst ways imaginable. Arthur will take one look at his wife, her body nearly on full display before them both, the most intimate gift that she’s offered his once closest confidant. He will then immediately order the death of Sir Lancelot for treason as he has committed one of the most heinous crimes against the king. 

Lancelot won’t argue, as he believes his time with Guinevere, however short, is enough to sustain him, even in death. She was worth it, she is worth it. And he will force Arthur to look upon her and realize the treasure in her that he has taken for granted. He will beg the king to at last show her the love she deserves once he is gone and no longer can. 

Suffice to say, tonight's scene is a big one. It serves as a catalyst for a lot of significant plot points. And you’re hoping that everything you’ve learned about acting thus far will suffice for the heaviness expected from you and your fellow actors. The hard part about this scene for you is the lack of dialogue. Once Arthur becomes privy to the affair between the two, Guinevere stays silent for the most part save for a few lines. Meaning you’ll be relying heavily on your body to convey her every emotion and thought, which you’ve found to be far more challenging than speaking a few lines with a manipulated voice.

Manipulating your body without a single word is a different thing altogether. To be able to convey emotions without speaking is something you’re not the most confident in, on and off  the screen.

But something happens to you once you put your costume on. You become someone else, someone you’ve always wished you could be. And with Jake being present, you’re sure you’ll have a little added inspiration. But that means you’ll be trying a little harder to look nice for tonight's filming session. Hence the ‘everything’ shower that felt like it took literal ages to complete, but felt so incredibly wonderful. (And also felt rather necessary.)

With your body now only a little damp, you remove your towel to start lathering yourself up in your favorite body lotion, fragrant with notes of wild lavender and chamomile, then taking your frenshe body oil in vanilla cashmere and massaging it all over your skin, focusing a little more on your neck and chest, even adding a little to inner thighs. These scents make for the perfect, seductive aroma, and your skin feels so soft, so alluring. Perfect for tonight.

Normally, you’d shy away from looking at yourself in the mirror, especially your nude form. Yet here you are, scrutinizing your reflection, noting each and every tiny thing that you wish you could alter. The years that you’ve spent hiding…years. 

It’s hard to look at your body when it’s not covered by the sweaters that are two sizes too big. You’re forced to accept your body, to accept the things you hate that you’ve felt the need to cover with a security blanket ever since you were a child. 

You stand to the side to see just how much your tummy is pooched from the apple cinnamon oatmeal you ate this morning. It could all be in your head, but you’re almost sure you can see the bloat from your tiny meal. You turn around completely, looking back for the crinkles of cellulite that you know are present in your ass. 

They’re there. Just as you suspected. You’re sure no model. No perfect ‘beauty queen’... 

…no Stacy. 

Fuck. How could anyone find you attractive when you’re so mortified by your own reflection? 

The voice in your head is loud and overpowering. It’s screaming louder than the voice that talked to you through recovery. 

You’re in such a strange place.

While your confidence in yourself has arguably never been higher, the urge to relapse has grown right along with it. Maybe it’s because you’ve suddenly found a version of yourself that you can appreciate. A version of yourself that you’ve always longed for. But she can’t be found in your real life. 

No. She only makes her appearance when you’re pretending to be someone else. She isn’t you.

She lives within you, but she isn’t you. 

You grab the towel and quickly cover yourself back up with it, not wanting to spiral even deeper into your insecurities when you’re supposed to be playing a confident, beautiful queen in a few hours. 

You’ll be fine once you put the dress on, you tell yourself. Please, please don’t do this. Not right now. 

You know shoving down the thoughts, ignoring them with a temporary fix, isn’t the answer. But you can’t deal with it right now. You don’t have time. You don’t have the mental space for it. 

You’ll deal with it later. It can wait. 

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Josh’s room is the set tonight, and it looks incredible. The bed is adorned with a white satin duvet, with red and white rose petals scattered all over. This is your throne for the night, where you’ll be lying for the entire duration of the scene. 

Josh’s walls are painted white, but he and Malachi have worked pure magic with the lighting that has given them a dark red hue. You thought they had actually painted them when you walked in, but Josh showed you the lights, the “wonders of cinematic sorcery,” as he called it. It looks like a brand new room, it looks so good. 

Jake was right when he told you his brother is one hell of a director. Everything he does feels professional. You just know you’ll see Josh’s name alongside the likes of Tarantino and Scorsese someday. His talent and eye for putting together the best scenes will get him far. And Malachi will be right alongside him, designing the perfect costumes for Josh’s films. A dynamic duo, those two. 

But if you’re honest with yourself, the beauty and eroticism of the set has you even more nervous for this scene. You just hope that you can do this set justice and not fuck it all up. It deserves some of the best acting you can offer Josh. You don’t want to let him down with your insecurities that have been weighing so heavily all day. 

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“I still can’t believe it,” Nat says as you’ve just finished applying the final layer of Ben Nye to your secret ink. (You still can’t get over the fact that Sam now knows about it. Not what you wanted, but there’s nothing you can do now. It’s done. It just feels strange that something so personal is now not as personal as you intended for it to be.)

As you dab a little finishing powder over the foundation, you turn your head over your shoulder to Natalia, who’s sitting crisscrossed in the center of Jake’s bed. “Believe what?” you ask her, snorting a chuckle. 

“Your sexy little tattoo, that’s what.” Her beautiful face wears that contagious smile of hers, her right eye throwing you a sly wink. “I would’ve never suspected it when I met you. You’re just full of secrets, aren’t you?” 

You have no idea. 

“Guess you could say that.” You huff a giggle while you secure all of Josh’s makeup back in his bag. Still to this day, he’s yet to ask you what it’s for. Odds are, he thinks you just need a little extra coverage for your face. It doesn’t seem he suspects a thing. (You’re just hoping Sam keeps his mouth shut about this unrevealed aspect of yourself.) 

“Do you think you’ll ever get anymore?” She questions as she’s handing you your gown. 

“Thank you, babe,” you tell her, taking the garment bag from her. “And I don’t know, I’ve not really put too much thought into it.” She helps you secure the hook and eye in the back of the dress, holding your hair over your shoulder so it’s not in her way. “I was pretty drunk when I got this one. But I do love it. So, maybe. It makes me feel mysterious, you know?” 

With the dress fastened, you stand in front of the mirror and adjust a few things. The thing you’re always the most concerned about with this costume is the chest area, naturally. If you situate the lace just right over your breasts, there’s not quite a full view of your intimate area. But there’s still enough to add a little sensuality to it. 

“Damn, y/n.” Nat says, her eyes trailing your chest as you get yourself adjusted just the way you like. 

“What?” You say through a giggle. 

“Oh, nothing,” she says. You can see her devious grin in her reflection of the mirror in front of you as she’s pulling your hair off your shoulder, smoothing out the kinks. “Just that Danny’s lucky he snatched me up when did.” Her golden eyes lock with your reflection as she winks and chuckles. “You’re just too gorgeous, girl.” 

You playfully roll your eyes as you both break out in a fit of giggles. (You wish everyone saw you that way. Jake, mostly.) With a final onceover of your liquid lipstick, blotting your lips and cleaning up the edges, you feel you’re about as ready as you can be for tonight's scene. 

“Well, he better watch his back,” you say, opening Jake’s door and walking through the threshold, Nat following close behind. “I could still steal you away.” More laughter sounds from you two as you head down the hallway, walking past the living room and up the staircase to the loft.

Danny is waiting at the top of the stairs, and when Nat makes it up to him, his toned arms wrap her in a full hug. “What are you two laughing about?” He asks, planting a sweet kiss to her temple.

Neither one of you says a word as you throw a silent wink towards Nat, letting the laughter bubbling within you both burst through yet again. 

“What?” He insists. 

Without an explanation, the two of you lock arms and proceed to the film set, leaving him still asking what the commotion is all about, but letting him sit in his wonder while you walk away together.

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“You ready for this?” Sam whispers to you, his face mere inches from yours. With you splayed out on your back, and he perched on his side right next to you, arm draped across your body, you’re positioned just the way Josh had in mind for the beginning of the shoot.

His smile, infectious and beautiful as always, warms your soul (and your body) and has you feeling very much at ease as you mentally prepare for this scene. You haven’t filmed with him in a while, and you’ve been so busy with the utter shitshow your life has been lately that you’ve just not been able to see him much. Feeling him this close to you again after all this time, you’d hate to admit just how nice it feels. 

It feels really fucking nice. You hadn’t realized how bad you missed it, how bad you missed him.

“I think so,” you mutter, smiling at him while he looks at you with heavy, lust filled eyes. “But, are you ready?”

He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it lovingly behind your ear with a peculiar smirk across his lips. You can’t see Jake, but you can hear the prolonged sigh from his lips as he’s positioned just outside the bedroom door, awaiting his cue to barge in on the two of you. 

“I think you already know the answer to that,” he confirms, sending off his words with a wink before he shifts his attention to your director.. “I think we’re good to go, Josh!”

Josh confirms with a nod of his head, gesturing a thumbs up to Malachi to dim the overhead lighting and giving Danny the “okay” to shine a little spotlight on the bed you’re on. 

“Scene 73, take one.” He doesn’t yet have a cue card, so with (a rather loud) clap of his hands, he yells, “ACTION!”

As soon as the scene begins, you’re fully encompassed by your alter, the ever sought after Queen Quiniverre. Every insecurity, every doubt, all but washes away once Josh says the word. You’re not you anymore; you feel as though everything you hate about yourself doesn’t exist within this realm. You’re not you, and Guinevere would never be insecure about the things that you are. 

And that’s exactly what inspires you to be the best Guinevere that you can be. You wish, more than anything, that you had her confidence. But even if you don’t have it, she does. And at least you can know what it’s like, even if the moments are short. 

Once Sam says his few words of dialogue, he leans in to envelop you in a passionate kiss full of burning desire. Bodies tangled, hands searching one another; a moment of pure ecstasy shared between two secret lovers, bound together by a love so deceitful to the King. 

And then, you hear him. He walks through the threshold with heavy feet, his breathing stern and labored. 

“I thought I knew better than to heed Mordred's vile words of my first in command. And yet, I find that I needn’t worry of his lies, only those of my beloved and her dearest, both of whom betray their King.” 

He unsheathes his sword, a motion to take Lancelot for himself. To battle to the death for their prize who lie in the bed before them. 

…his voice. 

It echoes throughout the entire room, the entire apartment. The anger he’s displaying is being pulled from somewhere deep within him, exhibiting itself through the King as he’s finally privy to his wife's infidelity. The volume nearly startles you from your position on the bed. You didn’t expect such vibrancy from him, such passion to be exuded through him. He’s speaking his dialogue perfectly, acting through it as though he’s done it a hundred times over. He’s still using his accent, but it’s believable this time. It’s coming through much more powerful than the last time you heard it. 

“My once most trusted comrade, you must die at my hands for treason. The highest crime against your king, to lay with his precious Guinevere, deserves no less than a death of the highest order.” 

His accent, where it was once convincing and accurate, has now begun to falter under the pressure of the scene. He’s beginning to sound less like the betrayed king, and more like an pissed off Jake.  

He continues to hold his sword out firm, glaring at Lancelot with a fiery anger from the depths of his soul, until he shifts them to you. The same anger geared towards you, only it doesn’t feel as though it’s Arthur looking at Guinevere, it’s more like Jake looking at you. And the extent of it is making you more uncomfortable as the seconds (that feel more like hours) are passing without a word from either of them. 

It’s supposed to be Sam’s turn to speak, but it’s likely that he’s caught on to the tension pouring from Jake, and the tensions that lie in the space between you and him. 

“Sam!” Jake screams, causing you to jolt from the sheer volume. “Say your fucking line so we can get this over with and I can get the fuck away from all of you!”

“Woah, woah,” Josh interjects, motioning for Malachi to turn the lights back on as he cuts the camera. “What the fuck, Jake? What’s your problem?”

Jake tosses his sword to the floor, taking off his cloak and throwing it towards Josh who hardly has enough warning to catch it. “This, Josh. This is my fucking problem!” Jake fumes, gesturing his flexed arms towards you and Sam as you’re both struck silent by his sudden outburst. “I can’t perform with this, I won’t.” 

You look to Sam as he blinks a few times, as if suddenly being pulled out of his state of utter shock at his brother's actions. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sam challenges, getting up from his position and leaving you there by yourself. 

Danny grabs Nat’s arm to take her out of the room, and she’s waving for you to join her. But you don’t want to leave, not yet. You don’t normally stick around for a full blown, Kiszka fight. But you have to hear what Jake is going to say for yourself. 

“It means, Sam, that I can’t stand working with you,” he looks to you, still on the bed but now in an upright position as you watch the scene unfold before you. “Or her.” 

What the fuck–?

Josh is pleading with him to calm down, but he won’t have it. He brushes him off when his twin offers a comforting hand to his arm. 

“Fuck this goddamn film and fuck every single one of you that has anything to do with it! It’s fucking bullshit. I’m sorry, Josh. I’m fucking done.”

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You can’t take it any longer. You storm out after him, heedless of everyone else, ignoring their presence and pushing your way through to reach him. 

He slams his door but you waste no time in opening it immediately after, refusing to let him shut you or anyone else out after such a blow-up.

There’s not much light in his room, save for the lamp in the corner shining a warm hue on the space. The calming aura of his room means nothing in comparison to the tensions between you two— the ever growing tensions that now feel sharper than any blade.

He stands facing his bed, his back turned to you. As soon as you enter the room and shut the door behind you, he quickly turns on his heel to face you. And he does not look pleased, his features etched with irritation. But you continue to stand your ground, not willing to budge anytime soon.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He growls, deep enough for your bones to feel it. His cheeks are flushed and there’s sweat accumulated between his knitted brows. That familiar flare of his nostrils makes an appearance and his lips are pursed in a tight scowl.

Normally, you’d cower down to anyone who’d find it in themselves to speak to you this way. You’d hide yourself, hide your feelings, stay quiet and out of the way. Give into them to keep the peace. But right now, fuck keeping the goddamn peace. You’ve kept it for far too long at this point and you’re done allowing yourself to be invisible any longer.

“My clothes are in here and I need to change since you selfishly decided that filming is over for the night,” you simper back, your volume challenging his. “And I’m also here to figure out what the fuck your problem with me is!”

His furious stare is penetrating your very soul, his eyes the darkest you’ve yet to see them. His fists are clenched and his biceps are bulging so much you’re just waiting for the chainmail sleeves to give way. 

But you’ve never seen him look better. 

“Problem?” He begins closing the short distance between you, practically stomping across the carpeted floor, flailing his arms about as he speaks. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The heat behind his tone grows stronger and stronger, his gaze on you darkening by the second. 

You refuse to break eye contact while you snicker and shake your head at him playing stupid with you. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. But he’s clearly choosing to play dumb with you, acting like he hasn’t put you on a fucking roller coaster with him since the day he was shoved into your already messy life. If he wants to keep playing games with you, then you have no problem playing your own against him. 

You’re still in your revealing attire, your breasts nearly on full display, the entirety of your form leaving next to nothing to the imagination— to Jake's imagination. You’re privy to his numerous glances at your breasts. You won’t pretend you’re not, and you can’t hold back the satisfied, devious curl of your lips each time you catch his gaze. You should find the urge to cover up, to hide yourself or wait until you can change to confront him.

But that’s not what you intend to do. Wearing this dress brings out a part of you that you’ve come to cherish— it cloaks you in a confident aura that you’ve lacked all your life. And as much as he tries to pretend it means nothing to him, you know the effect this dress has on him. You’ve seen it firsthand for yourself. He can try to hide it all he wants, but you and him both know what it did to him the first time he saw you wearing it in this very room. You may as well use that to your advantage right now. 

You feel powerful, in control. Those doubtful thoughts you were having earlier tonight about yourself have lowered their volume nearly to a full mute. If he can’t handle talking to you like this, then he can’t handle you.

“You’re fine with me one minute,” you huff a snarky giggle, standing firm and refusing to bring your arms up to cover yourself, even with his continuous gazing.“Then you act like you can’t stand my very existence the next. I’m just fucking confused, Jake. If you hate me so goddamn much, why don’t you ask me to leave? You don’t need me to do this fucking film. Why don’t you find some other unsuspecting girl and rid yourself of me once and for all?”

With as much of yourself as you’ve invested in this film, and the new found sense of self-assurance being in front of Josh’s camera has given you, you don’t want to quit this project. If walking away was truly what you wanted, you would have done so a long time ago. And deep down, you want to believe that if Jake truly wanted you to leave, he would’ve demanded it already. But right now, all you can think about is that conversation you overheard weeks ago. 

“I only asked her because I had to…I was not about to work on something alone with her.” 

It’s something you’ve not let yourself forget. Even after everything he’s done for you— helping you with your mom, staying the night with you when it felt like your world was crumbling— none of it seems to matter because of  his words that linger in your mind like a never ending echo. He wouldn’t have said them if he didn’t feel them. That much, you’re certain of.

And after what he said to you in class…it was a harsh reality that you weren’t ready to face. He validated your deepest fears of not belonging, of not being accepted. Every hurtful thing he’s ever said about you, each cutting remark he’s said to you are repeating relentlessly in your head. 

“I don’t hate you, y/n!” He shouts through gritted teeth. He takes a few steps towards you, leaving only inches of space between your bodies. His eyes are still fixed in their vexed glare, yet there’s something different behind their darkened gaze. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then…” Your voice is shaky as you try to raise it. You have to look up at him to see his face, he is so close to you. Your trembling body begins fighting against your accusatory words. “Then why did you say you only asked me because you had to? That you didn’t want to work on something alone with me?” Of everything he’s ever done to you, those words hurt the most.

“Because I can’t…” He throws his arms up in frustration, shaking his head as he looks away from you. “...I can’t trust myself to be alone with you. And I can’t fucking stand it when—” He stops himself before he can continue, his index and thumb tightly gripping his chin, almost and if to physically stop himself. 

“You can’t stand what, Jake?” Your anger surges, overpowering everything else. Your vision blurs and your limbs are tingling with pure rage. “What the fuck do I do that you can’t stand so badly?” 

He snaps his head towards you, his loose waves, making a luscious display around his handsome face. “I can’t stand seeing you with him.” He points to the photo on his dresser, the one of him and his brothers. The one with Sam. “You think it’s fucking easy for me to see you with him like that? Especially knowing what happened between you two the night we all went to the stupid fucking haunted house.” 

Now you’re pissed. Not only is his reasoning ridiculous, he’s also accusing you of something that didn’t happen. This isn’t your fault. None of this is. And for him to treat you like shit because of that?

“You don’t know shit, Jake!” Your voice rises to a near scream, letting go of any pretense of holding back. “Nothing happened that night, and even if it had, why the hell do you care? What makes you think you have any right to be pissed about anything that I do? I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you; this is your fault! So your reasoning is, frankly, complete bullshit. And I’m not buying any of it.” You’re yelling so loudly your voice is cracking and breaking, your words reverberating with raw, pissed off emotion. No one has ever provoked you to this level of anger. No one except your dad, when he decided out of the fucking blue to leave you. You hate that he’s brought out this side of you. “You act like that because you can’t stand the very thought of me,” you continue. “Just tell me you want nothing more to do with me and I’ll walk right out that door. You’ll never have to see me again.”

He stands still for a while, silently staring at the floor. He brings his hand up to rub his chin, something you’ve seen him do a hundred times, when his mind is racing about something. Josh almost always points it out. He does it a lot during filming, during your scenes with Sam. Especially during the ones when you’re wearing the very outfit you’re standing before him in right now. 

Then, he takes two more steps, until he’s close enough to you that you can feel his heaving breaths against your already heated skin. His demeanor has changed. He doesn’t seem angry anymore. The way he’s looking down at you…he now seems desperate. 

“I can’t stand the way he looks at you…the way you look at him,” he whispers, his eyes traveling the curve of your breasts as his lungs deflate letting out a deep sigh. His eyelids have become heavy over his whiskey colored eyes that flick back to yours. “I can’t stand it…because I wish it were me.” His voice, once harsh and furious, is now a deep, hushed whisper. It’s low, gravelly in pitch. 

It’s fucking sexy. But you’re still not convinced. You need more. You’re sick of thinking he likes you for a split second, then pulling himself away when he feels you’re getting too close. 

No. Not this time. If he pulls away again, you’re done. Out the door. Gone from his life and free to live yours without him and this film. You’ll take a failing grade if it means you don’t have to go through this anymore.

“I don’t believe you, Jake.” Your words are stern, but your body language begins deceiving your cold statement. You’re trembling, vibrating through to your very core. No matter how pissed you are, you can’t fight this incessant attraction you’ve felt for him for a long time now. You fought fiercely in the beginning, had completely convinced yourself that he was nothing more than a handsome jerk who harbored feelings of distaste towards you. 

But fuck. That made you want him more. His mystery, his demeanor. The kindness that seeped through every now and again. Nat was right; you’d always known it was there. His genuine heart is sometimes too strong to stay masked behind this rough act he's tried to uphold. It's broken before you enough times to know that it’s there. And maybe it’s because of you that it's breaking more and more. His guard is falling. That’s why you’re so fucking pissed that he’s fighting every second to keep it up. And what you just said…it's not that you don’t believe him. A big part of you does. You’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he was completely dumbfounded the first time he saw you in this lace dress. The way he seethes when you’re with Sam. On camera or not. 

But right now, you need to fucking see it. To see that side of him that you know is buried within. It’s not enough to simply hear his words; you need him to prove it to you. You’re tired of the back and forth with him. This is his opportunity to show you what ever the fuck it is that he wants from you.

There’s a look of confliction as his hand reaches out to you tentatively, his fingers playing with the lace on your shoulder. They move, hovering just inches over your collar bone before his fingertips delicately skate over the skin with such a gentle, intentional touch. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding as you feel the warmth of his touch.

“I’ve wanted to touch you…” His fingers follow the curve of your neck, passing over your pulse point, tracing a path along the curve of your jawline. “...just like this since the day I fucking laid eyes on you. And seeing my brother get to do it…” Your bottom lip is lightly tugged by the pad of his thumb, smearing the dark lipstick. “...it eats me up inside, y/n. I don’t think I can watch him kiss these lips one more time.” His focus is now entirely fixed on your lips, as his tongue gracefully glides over his own. Your craving for him intensifies with every passing moment. Each second fuels the fiery need within you.

“Then…why don’t you just do it?” The words fall straight from your mouth before you can even think twice about saying them, hanging in the air that’s slowly shifting from an angry tension to a much different kind. Your eyes lock yet again, each of you silently pleading with the other to bridge this divide between you once and for all.

With one hand still caressing your face and finding the small of your back, he pulls you flush against him, holding you tight against his warm body. He leans in, his lips brushing over yours, a feather-light caress that steals your breath. 

And as if you’re pulled together by an invisible tether, your lips finally meet. 

It starts slow, almost hesitant. But the intensity begins growing as your emotions are spilling over, fueling the kiss with a passion that is closer to desperation. His hand finds your hair, tangling your soft locks as he pulls you even closer, deepening your embrace with a hunger born of a longing that’s finally being set free.

You can feel his walls crumbling before you, letting break through his barrier. The insurmountable distance that was created between you, not only physically but emotionally, has at last been closed. 

His tongue glides across your teeth, drawing your bottom lip firmly between his. He serenades your mouth with the most beautiful melody, eliciting a yearning that forces your thighs to come together in an attempt to soothe the desire pulsing between them.

He tastes like the sweetest honey infused bourbon. His lips are soft, putting the most sumptuous velvet to shame. 

The hand resting on your back glides upward along your torso, stopping just before he reaches your heaving breast. His lips break from yours before he tugs on the hair at the nape of your neck, fully exposing the expanse to him. 

“Jake…” You start, but he’s already so attuned to your desires that you don’t have to say another word before his mouth meets your taut skin. His tongue traces along your neck, stopping to suckle the skin. A strained moan sounds from deep within you, eliciting a sensual snicker, reveling in the response he’s drawing from you.

“You smell so good,” he mumbles against you, sealing his compliment with a kiss. As if you’re not falling apart enough, you nearly melt into him when his hand finally caresses over your full breast. “This okay? Can I touch you here?” He whispers softly in the shell of your ear, his words both a question and a promise of his respect for you.

“Please, Jake, more” you whimper through heaving breaths. 

He groans deeply against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he teases your hardened nipple through the flimsy lace. You practically cry out for him, your body squirming with anticipation, begging him for more. He shushes you gently. “I’ve only just begun,” he whispers, his index finger tracing slow circles over your sensitive bud. “Let me take my time with you.”

He pinches your nipple, playful smirk gracing his lips as he chases the sounds escaping your parted mouth. 

You clutch his biceps tight, anchoring him to you to keep him from slipping away. He hisses as your nails dig into his skin, only igniting his desire for you.

“Do you believe me yet?” He whispers, his lips grazing your jawline.

While there’s not an ounce of lingering suspicion within you, you dare to toy with him a little further.

“Nuh uh, not yet.” You respond quietly, your body betraying you as your desire is displayed physically. He can sense it, and the mischievous grin curved on his lips assures you he’s privy to your little game.

“Feel how much I want you.” And with that, his hand takes yours, guiding it to his pulsing cock that’s straining against his black pants, imploring you to feel the undeniable need he has for you.

He throbs beneath your touch as you palm him through the satin fabric that still conceals him, keeping in time with your own racing heart. His breath hitches, he whimpers beautifully in your ear as you continue to feel him, and if it were even possible, he’s becoming even harder against your touch, desperate to remove the confines of his pants.

“Holy fuck, Jake…” 

Your legs press together once more at the feeling of him, his sheer size and thickness that is obvious even through the barrier between you. All you can think about is how he’d feel nestled away deep inside of you, filling you with every inch. He’s massive, that much you can tell, even through the barrier.

“Yeah?” He hums through heavy breaths. “That’s all for you, love.”

His words have your arousal nearly dripping down your thighs, your body growing more impatient by the second.

“Lay down for me,” he mutters in your ear. “Just like you were for the scene. Only this time, for me.” 

His words, almost possessive in their wake, leave you speechless and craving him even more. He lightly motions you in the direction of his bed, keeping his eyes locked with yours. 

Once you lie down, just as you did just moments ago, he positions himself at the end of the bed while he looks at you, taking in the vision before him. 

Normally, you wouldn’t have half the confidence for a moment such as this, and it’s for that very reason you’re glad  you’re in this very dress. It’s been the source of most confident moments as of late; it only makes sense that you’re wearing it in real life with Jake. 

As he begins to remove his chainmail top, you tremble at seeing him so bare. You’d seen it before, but not like this. This time, he’s taking it off for you, removing yet another barrier that exists between the two of you. 

You’re breathless at the sight of him. His pecs, sculpted and chiseled, rising and falling with his deep breaths. The smooth expanse of his unflawed skin, begging to be touched and explored. And his broad, sturdy shoulders that beckon you to sink your nails into, to keep a tight grip against while he’s on top of you. 

“Look at you,” he mutters, his eyes tracing every curve  of your body as he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you as though he’s not done looking at you just yet. “You’re a fucking queen,” he whispers, his voice husky and filled with desire. Finally, he leans in, his lips meeting yours with a tender gentleness, leaving you yearning for more as he lifts away again just slightly. “A beautiful queen.” 

He kisses you once again, this time hungrier than the last. His hands roam your body with a newfound intensity, each touch igniting a fire within you that leaves your body arching towards him, begging for more. More of him.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of kisses along your skin as his body slowly lowers down yours. You suck in a deep gasp as his warm, wet tongue follows a slow trail from your belly button, gliding all the way up to your chest, tracing along the curve of your breast. 

His lips suck a mark right where his tongue stops, leaving a bruise right where the fabric ends along your chest.

“So pretty,” he mumbles against the bruise his lips left on your taut skin, marveling at his work. “All marked up from me. Want to mark you up everywhere…”

His focus seems deliberate, as if he’s determined to leave his mark where it will be most visible during your scenes, his attention fixed solely on the skin peeking out amidst the black lace. 

“This…will be hard to cover up for filming, Jake…” you utter, breathless from your purely aroused state. 

“No,” he whispers between leaving his mark right in the middle of your breasts. “Don’t cover them. Let them see.”

Before you can continue your weak protest, he carefully pushes back the lace over your left breast, fully unveiling it before him. He shushes you as his lips instantly attach to your perked nipple, sucking it deep within his mouth, softly nibbling at it all while his hand removes the lace from your right breast, kneading the flesh between his fingers.

But as he does so, you feel your body begin to tense when you discover his fingers are all over the area covered with makeup. The area with your tattoo. It feels too fucking good to make him stop, but that same feeling that overcame you when Sam unsuspectingly saw it is blazing within you. 

Once you shift your eyes to his hand, you notice the makeup smeared almost completely, the red ink bleeding through to present itself, even if you aren’t ready for it to.

“Jake I…” 

But it’s too late. As he lifts to switch his attention to your right breast, he sees it. His eyes are fixed on your etched secret, mouth lazily agape at this small piece of you he’s discovering for the first time. 

“H…holy fuck,” he stammers, leaning in to peck his lips against the word along the tender spot. “This is so sexy I just…” he brings up his finger, tracing the “R”, then the “E”, the “D”

“Do you like it?” you ask him, feeling a rush of confidence wash over you.

Your initial hesitation has all but vanished. It's so different with Jake…something about the way he makes you feel, the way he brings out this part of you that no one else does. Not even Sam.

“I love this, y/n,” his lips meet the ink once more, decorating it with wet kisses. 

“I…I’ve always been so scared for people to see…” Your words would hardly be legible if he wasn’t so close to you. Your mumbled tone is evidence of how he’s affecting you, what he’s doing to you. “... and it’s not exactly accurate for the film,” you mutter through a weak chuckle.  

“Does anyone else know?” he quietly implores. “Does Sam know?” 

“No.” 

The word flies out of you before you can even take a second to think about it. It’s a lie. Sam does know. But that doesn’t matter to you right now. And Jake doesn’t need to know of what you almost did with his brother in a shitty attempt to get to him. 

“Only Natalia knows.”

“Good,” he mumbles between leaving more kisses along your breast, slowly creeping closer towards your erect nipple.“Let’s keep it that way.”

His tongue lightly flicks the sensitive bud, drawing languid circles around it while his fingers follow the same motion of the other breast.

With the way his body is positioned between your legs, you can’t close your thighs together to ease the ache between them. It doesn’t stop you from trying, though, and when he notices, he grins against your supple flesh, looking up at you to see your completely fucked out state. He understands what you need without a word, and he begins to shift his body even further down your own, keeping your legs spread and his mouth trailing down your flesh, until his face is nearly level with your throbbing core. 

The slit in your dress proves to be quite convenient at the moment, enabling your legs to spread easily while the only coverage you have is from the thong that perfectly matches your skin tone.

As his lips brush against your inner thigh, his warm breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, you find yourself instinctively arching your hips closer to him, craving whatever pleasure he can offer.

“You smell so fucking good, love,” he mutters. 

You’re silently praising yourself for thinking to add your body oil to your thighs, not realizing you were doing it for Jake. 

He’s not done marking you up just yet, as he sucks long and deep on the flesh of your inner thigh, eliciting a high pitched moan from deep within your being, your hand quickly flying up to stifle your sounds. 

“This one is just for me,” he mumbles against the bruise, tracing it delicately with the tip of  his finger. “And only for me.”

“Jake, please…I need more,” you cry out, your voice trembling with desperation as he stares deeply into your heavy, longing eyes. 

“What do you need, beautiful?” He probes, peppering your thigh with gentle kisses, following a slow path towards where you crave his lips the most.

“Jake…”  

“Tell me what you need,” he says in a hushed voice, his lips trailing a delicate kiss just above your throbbing clit. “Just tell me and I’ll do everything in my power. It’s the least I can do for you…please, let me make everything up to you.”

“Jake I don’t care anymore I just—” you reach down to brush a loose strand out of his face, fingers grazing over his sharp jawline as he leans in, leaving a sweet kiss in the middle of your palm. “I just need you.”

A devious, sinful smirk graces lips as his attention diverts to your aching heat. 

With his index finger, he traces the wetness you’ve left on the fabric of your panties, drawing slow and lazy circles over your clothed clit. 

“Can I take these off?” He asks, his blown pupils dark with need as his question almost sounds as though he’s begging. “Want to see you, all pretty and wet for me.” 

“It’s all for you, Jake.” 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. His hands, strong and firm, reach up to your hips, tugging at the sides of your thong as you lift yourself to help him pull it down your thighs. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He helps you lift your right leg out, then your left leg, placing your panties on the edge of the bed once they’re finally off of you. 

Out of everyone you’ve ever been with, no one has ever taken this much time with you. Not once has anyone asked what you need, what you want. It's a side of Jake you never expected to see. In a thousand years, you wouldn't have imagined him being this attentive, this caring toward you. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he hums, his eyes longing fixed on your dripping core. “Every single part of you, just perfect.”

You instinctively jolt once his lips attach to your already sensitive clit, sucking it gently, his warm tongue swirling around it. With a tender touch, he holds your hips down in place, keeping you still for him as he explores you.

“Jake, oh my god, plea–”

He cuts off your words with a long glide of his tongue from you leaking entrance to your aching clit, sealing with a deep kiss to your throbbing bud, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

With his middle finger, he prods your entrance before slowly pushing it all the way in, finally filling you as you clench hard around his long digit. His grip on your hips does little to restrain you; you find yourself grinding against him, yearning for more of his touch. His tongue dances over your clit while his finger delves deeper into you, setting an delicious rhythm that has you craving more.

Then, he adds a second finger, filling and stretching you around him even more. His thrusts quicken, driving you closer to the edge with each brush of his fingers inside of you. 

Your hands instinctively find his soft locks, fingers entwining in the strands and tugging. A low moan escapes him, sending vibrations against your core.

“Just like that, Jake, just like tha–” 

But just as you're nearing your peak, there’s a sudden knock at the door that causes Jake’s fingers to still their movement, keeping them inside of you as he lifts his face that’s now glistening from your dripping arousal. 

“Jake? Are you and y/n okay?” It’s Josh. He sounds concerned, distressed. It’s sweet, although his timing is…awful. “You’ve been in there for a while…we’re just worried about you guys.”

Shit.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: oof. that was a lot. thank you for sticking with me, lol.

who do we think the mysterious Dodger could be?

i'd love to hear your thoughts! don't be afraid to reach out; hearing from you all keeps me going.

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you)

sending all my love!

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @sarafrusciante2 @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul-27

[hackedmotionsensors]

this is personal so please don't reblog this bc I think its weird when I say personal stuff and people reblog it I feel like i shouldn't have to turn that setting on?? Lol

but...both of my parents are seniors. And neither one of them are doing very well health wise. My mom has nerve issues with her hand, diabetes and bad blood pressure, and has had multiple heart attacks, My dad had a fall and never really recovered and had some weird medical problems that we thought were strokes but they never confirmed it. He also got covid at the hospital for those problems so THANKS arizona hospitals

Anyway I get all that. And I wish i could help or be around more. But unfortunately my job (unless we get some cool changes in the agreement) require me to live in LA. I also LIKE living in LA (surprisingly with how much I hate traffic LOL)

But I always get SO STRESSED OUT during the holidays bc I visit them and I need to cross reference with my brother (but again he might not even CARE or be aware that this is happening bc...he just...kinda doesn't care when it happens and I DO see it). I need to ask him or his wife if this happens when I'm NOT here because I have a feeling it gets WORSE when I visit.

But each time I visit my mom finds a way to be a complete and utter bitch at my dad. And my dad IS frustrating. I totally get it. He's always been really frustrating but now its like...frustrating bc he does things that could endanger himself or chooses ways to not make things easier for himself out of pride or just being a senior and not wanting to admit stuff? Idk. I know its a fairly common thing. He also got phone scammed a few months back out of 7k$ and we all were like WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. He doesn't even like paying for COFFEE or good food for himself but LIED TO THE BANK to take out the money when they were like "This sounds like a scam sir" .....SO I GET IT. TRUST ME I GET IT.

But Thanksgiving was mostly good! Last Christmas (lol) I was stressed myself bc I was out of a job for a whole year and had to prep for a con and my car was on its last legs and like I said I just...get stressed LOL Its why i always drive. If I need to bail I absolutely will. Our family has NEVER been good during holidays. Its a lot of abused and abusive people with varying levels of addictions or mental illnesses (is it ANXIETY acting up this year? Or adhd induced RAGE from being overwhelmed! Has someone had TOO MUCH WINE and decided instead of being silly that they want to FIGHT!??! WHO CAN SAY!?!? ITS ANYONE'S GUESS!!!)

And Mom was just RELENTLESS last year. ANYTHING my dad did was a problem. ANYTHING he did...EXISTING...in a place he wasn't supposed to was like...a huge slight against her and because I had the audacity to be like "Mom relax. He's not doing anything" it meant I wasn't on her side or was insulting her or SOMETHING. And it completely blew out between me and her to the point she called my sister crying to try and be like LYDIA'S BEING HORRIBLE AND HATES ME ND SHE CALLED ME A BITCH(which I didn't but i VERYYYY nearly did because she was being a bitch) and like ...my sister is YOUNGER THAN ME LMAO. So my sister texted me like "what happened??" and I told her and she was like...AH. Okay I get it. Because my mom USED to live with her too but she pitched a fit at her and decided to basically run away from living with my sister and move in with her cousin. Then she left there (which honestly seemed the most stable?) and moved in with her sister. And she hated that too.(Running theme in this family is that my aunt is an ACTUAL bitch and I've known that since she came into the bathroom one time when I was sitting on the toilet bc I ran past her on the way into the house bc i REALLY had to pee and she came INTO the bathroom to scream at me for being rude.......but anyway) And then she ended up moving back in with my dad (They aren't married its just...basically roommates LMAO)

She hated living with my brother. My mom is like me. She's basically like a beta fish. She'll just bite the shit out of anything in her tank. I used to live with her and hated it.

LOL OKAY ANYWAY LONG STORY BUT basically....it was a fairly good holiday this time in comparison. I also left after a single day lol Bc I hate thanksgiving to begin with. Not 100% related to my family. I just think the holiday is stupid and pre-gaming christmas and a huge waste of money for someone who travels bc I'm gonna see all these maniacs in three weeks anyway.

I also had a deadline so I had a really good excuse to dip. Thank god.

But bc my parents helped me last year a lot I was like Let me do something REALLY minimal and take y'all out to breakfast. And on the way there my mom is sitting in the back seat behind my dad. My dad uses a cane but she doesn't like sitting in the front anyway. But she was sitting behind him and suddenly 'THE CAR SMELLS'.

Me genuinely thinking something was wrong like maybe I left the travel jerky i bought to eat on the way open. Or maybe I randomly smelled. Its a new car but I'm so used to my old car than anything potentially a problem is a stressor. But no. It was a not subtle way of bitching about my dad. And I was like....okay whatever let it go. Dad didn't say anything so lets just ignore it. Its only another hour or so. And then we get to the restaurant we were going to. My dad and I both get eggs and I ask if she can pass the ketchup. She hands ME the ketchup no problem. Then my dad uses it and sets it on the table. Pretty normal.

This is a thing ~I~ like to do. I like to put the condiments back in the holder thingies. Its not a deal breaker but its like...just a thing. Why have another thing in the way when we can put the ketchup back. So I can't reach it so I'm like "Mom can you tuck this back into the thing" "No. I don't want germs".

I knew exactly what she was doing and was like "Just put it back. I like to put them back." "NO. Its dirty. People touch it"

By this point the vein in my forehead is already throbbing. I go FINE. ITS FINE. I know exactly who you mean. And honestly I'm sure my dad does too and is just.....getting through it. I KNOW she's trying to rile ME up. She picks like a little fly at my dad all the time and its not to get a rile out of him bc she knows he won't really do anything about it. Unless she's hoping he'll blow up eventually and die. IDK (It might not be that drastic BUT Y'NEVER KNOW!!!)

So I let it go. And then she does that thing that bullys or abusers or idk what to even call this but she's done it to me HER WHOLE LIFE. She starts trying to act cute. "Can I have a bite of your eggs Lilly <3"

me "No. I don't want germs"

And now mom is mad. Not a total blow out but I know she's pissed at that. And I don't want this to totally melt down so i offer her the eggs if she really wants but she's already in a snit. THANKFULLY!!!!!!!!!! it blows over. Probably due it it being a massive carb bomb after yesterday's carb bomb. So before we head out I'm like Can you put the ketchup back now? I wanna put the syrup back too. SHE HUFFS. GOES "FINE" and picks it up as if it was covered in dog shit by the tip of her fingers.

AND I AM SCREAMING IN MY HEAD

THAT THIS IS WORSE THAN CHILDREN. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW. And she goes back into 1) doing NOT SO SUBTLE jabs at my dad. Using old insults she's always used but not SAYING its because my dad touched it but that PEOPLE touched it. BITCH YOU TOUCHED IT FIRST AND THEN ATE YOUR FOOD. She only washed her hands before eating bc she went to the bathroom AND she never wears a mask. You give two fucks about germs.

And then she has the audacity to say to me "THATS WHAT WAITRESSES ARE FOR"

which is A HUGE FUCKING TRIGGER FOR ME BC I USED TO WORK IN SERVICE. AND SO DOES SHE. IT DOESN'T ~MATTER~ WHAT THEIR JOB DESCRIPTION IS. IT HURTS ~NO~ ~ONE~ to pick up after yourself A LITTLE. Its just putting the ketchup BACK in the FUCKING CONTAINER. ALSO. WE VISIBLY SAW HOW SWAMPED THEY WERE. Its Black Friday they were hauling ass that day and we didn't end up waiting SO long but it was definitely a wait bc of how busy it was. So you're gonna make this lady who was ONLY NICE TO US. Didn't charge me an extra coffee bc I'm a mad lass who had a latte and a black coffee lmao AND She was Latina. Was there not some....Latina togetherness!??! HELLO!??? Very Mexican't mom. (we're not Mexican lmao)

And then on the drive home god I don't even remember exactly what it was bc the blood was in my ears and I was just trying to get them home so i could leave. She said something else that was VERY POINTEDLY about my dad and called it "PEOPLE" again. Like he's not stupid cmon man.

Like just for NO REASON. NOTHING my dad did had anything to really set her off on this. She was just being MEAN to be MEAN. And she KNOWS i hate it.

When i grew up I was always a lot closer to my dad and I can empathize with that. But...idk man we just had more in common? Even if she wasn't working super hard to make ends meet and he was middle class like I GET IT.

But there's resentment and just being a fucking bitch for no reason.

And again this is not to say like Oh my dad the poor uwu old man always getting beat up wah wah wah. Bc again he does a LOT to frustrate me on like...a blood pressure exploding way. But for him its just like...why would you DO THAT. Like we were in the middle of a walk with the family (my brothers family and me and the parents) and he goes OH YEAH LYDIA I MEANT TO SAY....You owe me money for the phone. Which was so fucking embarassing like why would you SAY THAT!?!?! Like i was so frustrated and like ugh. LOL And a thing my mom gets at my dad about is she's like "I SEE SENIORS ALL THE TIME OLDER THAN YOUR DAD THAT RUN MARATHONS" or whatever nonsense. And I'm like mom YOU can't even run a marathon or do half the thing these people say but also SOME PEOPLE ARE DIFFERENT!?!?!? My dad had a pretty bad fall a while back and never really recovered from it. So its really frustrating when he CARRIES AROUND HIS CANE or chooses to not bring it with him...and he just...doesn't use it. Like literally I was like Dad you have to USE your cane to stand up and walk not just carry it around like a purse. "Its a psychological thing more than anything" *cue me bursting all the blood vessels in my brain* and my mom being like SEE!? I have to deal with this ALL THE TIME. *shakes desk* BUT YOU MAKE THINGS WORSE BY BEING A BITCH AT THE SAME TIME AGHHHHHHH

I just....genuinely wish I had normal parents and a normal holiday get together instead of dreading the end of the year that its something I HAVE to do because I genuinely love these people but the drive back my chest hurt, my head hurt, my throat hurt from ranting in my car my JAW hurt from clenching it from stress.

Like at this rate I'm gonna die before they do holy shit. And I think also because they're seniors and in bad health that I worry about them at the same time because....its not fair to either of them that they had to end up moving in together (It ends I think in march thankfully) and because they're seniors that I know...well this could be the last holiday i spend with them. So I make the effort, risk the covid and just go visit them when i can. But holy fucking shit.

lmao my mom LITERALLY just called me now like MY GODDDDDD LMAO HOW DID SHE KNOWWWWWW

[ladykakata]

I just saw your post about ian’s disorder and how it distorts his reality and makes him question why mickey remains in his life and you really hit the nail on the head. people rarely talk about gallavich’s relationship battles from ian’s perspective unless it’s to criticise him and I think a lot of people find it difficult to relate to his issues ig? but mood disorders go hand in hand with anxiety, identity and confidence issues. but I also think its a writing issue because so little of ian’s experiences with his illness comes from his own perspective. so it makes sense the audience tends to sympathise more with mickey because we don’t get to see ian’s personal struggle or his reasoning for certain behaviors and s10 is one of the rare examples where he got to explain his issues and the audience still couldn’t understand. sorry this is ranty lol but I’m just happy to see more meta that defends some of ian’s actions 😊

Thank you <3 It makes me sad to see so many comments practically demonise Ian, and while Ian DOES do questionable things, he's no more or less blameless than Mickey.

A comment on my post mentioned that Ian fought for Mickey just as much as Mickey fought for Ian ... in the early seasons. Remember, Mickey literally beat Ian up in frustration over the situation with Svetlana and the forced marriage. Does him attacking Ian get him off the hook for what he did? No. Does it justify it? No. It's context, not justification, which can be two entirely different things. Ian refused to let Mickey go, he loved Mickey and was visibly heartbroken at the idea his man was slipping away, even if Mickey was trying to cover up his own upset by acting aggressively. Stans might paint Ian as in the wrong again, saying he should have been supportive of Mickey going through the forced marriage and understanding it's not as 'easy' as Ian makes it sound for Mickey to just deny his father. But bearing in mind, their relationship was still very young, Ian knows Terry is a disgusting and violent man, but the sense of doom and horror is not the same unless you've grown up with it and lived it like Mickey.

Ian fought for Mickey. And Mickey fought for Ian during his bipolar struggles. Keeping score is NOT wise in relationships, so I wouldn't call this keeping score, more them trading places in who is asking the other to stay or saying they love the other during dark times.

Another point is that this was all before Ian's bipolar condition really started to manifest, so Mickey must have been even more confused that the man who was distraught over him entering a meaningless marriage was suddenly pulling away and questioning his devotion. Emotional permanence is difficult in a lot of conditions, again I am not bipolar myself but DO have pretty erratic emotional issues that mean I can go from feeling adored to feeling like the scum of the Earth everyone hates, and there's the persistent background hum of feeling unwanted that's lifelong. Ian gets a triple-hit in that he's a middle child (younger than Fiona and Lip, older than Carl, Debbie and Liam), he's inherited Monica's bipolar disorder and his chronically unstable home life tends to lead to the idea of feeling wanted by his parents and forgotten by most. I wouldn't be surprised if he felt like his mother just rejected him/abandoned him considering how often she is gone, Frank has literally attacked him unprovoked and it was only when he grew in height and gained some confidence he really started to push back, and he is neither the baby of the family nor the parent figures that Fiona and Lip were forced to be. The people he tends to form relationships with tended to lean towards lust with no real chance at a stable, happy relationship (Kash, a married man with children, and Ned, who is the same albeit Jimmy is an adult) before Caleb and Trevor, which wouldn't surprise me if he again subconsciously thought he was disposable.

I guess I'm picking up on the side effects of Ian's neurodivergence, and it pairs with a comment remarking on how people are supportive of mental health disorders until their effects affect them, then suddenly everything is unacceptable. Again, some of Ian's actions are not justified - I'm once again referring to him baiting Mickey into a physical fight by calling him slurs - but he himself explains why he did it. Mickey looked past it, and I do wonder if he's realising that yeah ... Ian, the man HE knew and who was proudly gay with very little tolerance for homophobia, suddenly turning around and calling him slurs was incredibly out of character and likely another moment of Ian's brain lashing out.

Ian did negative things to Mickey, and he should apologise. Just as Mickey has done things to Ian and should apologise. One is not better than the other. Mickey's reasons for doing things can lie with his upbringing, PTSD and circumstances, Ian's reasons can lie with bipolar disorder, his upbringing and circumstances. But they are still well-intentioned for each other, and I think they do help bring out the best in each other.

[ravenbloodshot]

Jude Bellingham (Soccer Player).... Personality Reading

He's very disciplined about his sexual needs/lust. It's like he has a high sex drive but he doesn't act irrational bc of it and knows how to keep himself under control (I doubt he's easily seduced).

He's no sore loser, very good at accepting defeat in a healthy way. Doesn't throw a temper tantrum and likely won't be one of those soccer players that act all dramatic, throwing themselves around, pretending to be hurt. He has a sort of class about him

I think he ignores his wants alot. Like if he wanted to eat a bunch of junk food or partake in sex, he ignores these desires.

He has this childlike innocence to him, it could be bc he's young, but his mind isn't very dirty/corrupt and he's quite naive. I feel like he's more naive socially than anything, I doubt he can read ppl well and just goes off what they say to him (which he could end up being deceived). He could still have a child's mindset so I think he will need mature support from other adults to guide him (like a wise mentor)

He has problems with holding himself responsible/accountable. And he's quite cynical and prone to depression. He's like the kind of person that believes in fate or 'the universe' but only to blame situations on that. it's as if he sometimes believes 'oh its fate doing, there's nothing I can do to fix this" or "it's God's will". This mindset holds him back from taking action to fix his problems instead he sits back, slumps his shoulders, hangs his head and says "I guess this is my fate".

Okay, so. Remember when I told you guys he's obsessive, well that's showing up again. He's possessive and obsessive in romantic relationships, controlling too. Doesn't want his partner out of his sight and texts/calls too much to the point of love bombing. Too clingy, too passionate, too intense, too much of a cancer lol (I love y'all cancers though ❤). He should be careful with who he marry (or should I say his partner should be careful marrying him). He can get into a nasty divorce. The guy also gives "if I can't have you, nobody can" vibes sooooooo........

I will admit, I said he's quite a disciplined guy but in relationships (especially when he falls in love), all that sexual/emotional/physical disciplinance goes out the window. He also can become obsessed with getting with a person that doesn't want him.

This guy's suffers from mental health problems and has abandonment issues, he feels alone and like a outcast a lot. I see some anxiety and panic attacks. He's constantly on an emotional rollercoaster, highs and lows.

He has feminine gentleness about him, can take on a caretaker role. He's quite fragile.

Ik he's mixed (European/African) but he could feel like he doesn't belong to neither his black side or his white side. Has some identity issues. But I see he has interest in exploring his roots for both sides (idky his energy gives off someone who was raised by a single parent).

Has some drinking problems and is surrounded by a lot of yes men (ppl constantly lying to him).

Has some interest in the wars happening rn, may or may not end up saying something about the Israel-Hamas situation on social media. Even if he doesn't, irl he has a grounded stance on the matter

Wicked Games by The Weekend is a song that fits this readings energy

[remcycl333]

Is putting my awareness on having it the same as feeling it real? I feel like I put too much pressure on trying to feel how I would if I had it in the 3d and that’s where I struggle. I want to manifest moving out and given the circumstances I need it to reflect asap but idk how to feel it real and not panic when the circumstances are all up in my face and taking a toll on me. I’m so sorry if that was a lot, thank you so much for being so patient.

feeling it real doesn't have to feel like happiness or euphoria! sometimes the feeling of knowing doesn't feel like anything. so yes, as long as you're aware of the fact that you have it in imagination, that's enough! i have a friend who manifested her sp, and she said that the whole time she was manifesting her sp she felt anxious about it every day, but she just stood firm in the fact that her sp was hers and it still manifested!

i went through the same thing while manifesting at first. like when i was manifesting my sp a couple years ago, the DAY before he finally reached out to me i was sooo anxious out of nowhere, constantly thinking about how i much be doing everything wrong bc it wasn't here yet, how i needed to start over, how it'd be days without anything, etc, but i'd just talk to myself and be like "no im doing everything right, i already have it, im good, this isn't gonna effect anything bc its mine" etc.

having feelings of anxiety or worry is not a failure on your part, and they won't mess anything up (unless you assume they will). i've read this somewhere, i think it was twitter but i can't remember who said it, but think about anxiety. it's not logical! usually you feel anxious over something that you think will never even actually happen, but you still feel anxious anyway. or i have friends who sometimes say they're super anxious and they don't even know why. i had social anxiety as a teenager and i'd be soo anxious in social settings. what did i think was going to happen? nothing, but i was still anxious for no reason constantly. and my anxiety never manifested, because even i knew it was illogical. it still hindered me in other ways, but it didn't manifest into negative circumstances in my reality!

re-reading your ask i realize u didn't mention anxiety 😭 but im still gonna keep all that in bc i still think you/other people will benefit from those anecdotes! lol

"idk how to feel it real and not panic when the circumstances are all up in my face and taking a toll on me"

in my experience, you don't need to focus on feeling it real constantly! i focus on feeling it real while im imagining, but during the day, i just shift my state when i need to. that being said, there's no pressure to be in the state of the wish fulfilled every second of the day! the main goal is to enter TSOTWF more than the state of lack, but there's also more states you can enter throughout the day! sometimes during the day you're neither in the state of the wish fulfilled nor the state of lack. there's such thing as a neutral state! so if you're panicking and it's hard for you to shift back to your desired state, you can focus on shifting to a neutral state. you can do this by trying to calm yourself down, talking to yourself, meditating, taking deep breaths, etc. if you need to just take deep breaths and think of something else that has nothing to do with your desire, go for it!

if im manifesting something on a time crunch, it always really helps me to just deep breathe and talk to myself, saying things such as "there's nothing to worry about, its mine, it's promised, everything is going to work out perfectly, my 3D is going to change, my inner man already has it and my inner man is me" etc.

i manifested moving out and this was very helpful for me! i dealt with very toxic, narcissistic parents and my family struggled with money for most of my life. sometimes my parents would be yelling at me for no reason and it'd trigger me bc i was manifesting living in my own apartment on my own. in these times i'd focus on remaining calm and staying in a neutral state. eventually it got easier for me and i'd be able to talk to myself in my head while getting yelled at, saying stuff like "im so glad this isn't my life anymore, im so glad i live on my own whew" etc. i'd also imagine that i was just visiting home and i couldn't wait for my visit to be over so i could go back to my own apartment again.

just remember that no matter what happens in your 3D, nothing can stop you from having your desire in your imagination. you moved out in your 4D and nothing can change that! it is fact, and all you have to do is persist in that face. you don't have to gaslight or trick yourself into thinking you moved out in the 3D. you just need to stand firm in the fact you have it in your 4D.

anywayzzz i hope this helps! i hope i answered your question i fear i went on multiple different tangents lol <3

[cafeinthemoon]

Ruins - Part XVIII

Chapter 18

Wordcount 2,3k

Title Part XVIII

Fandom Shuumatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Previous chapters 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14 . 15 . 16 . 17

Symbols ⭕ . ➕. 💛

Warnings: none

Tagging @holdyourwine @lilacshouko @shirayuki-ayumi (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: So... its been a while lol First, let me tell you that this time I've spent without posting on social media was important, because I was really tired. I was stressed from work, I started college and was worried about all of this, so I barely had the time or the energy to sit in front of the notebook and write something, or even edit my drafts. I was feeling saturated from it, and sensed that if I continued to do it, the results, that is, the next chapters of my ffs, would be trash. I hope you understand this time.

This chapter is like a transition, and that's why it's short compared to others. The next one we will finally have the process of marriage and the rest, which I've been wanting to work on for too long! Now I'm really excited for that! So have this brief update and I see you in the next one :)

You didn’t wait until they approached your spot, neither you said anything to express your surprise: once you laid your eyes on them, you let go of Hades’ hand and, without waiting to see if he was going to follow you, you started running toward the group. There was no mistake: there you had your parents, your sisters and your niece, all of them marveled by the vision of the Gardens and cheered up by the fact that you were the first person they met once they crossed the Gates.

Your happiness deepened when you reached them at last: they were all well dressed and had refreshed expressions, indicating that, as much as your own travel to those lands, theirs was far from tiring despite the distance between Valhalla and Midgard.

As a little child who were left in a neighbor’s house for an entire day, once you saw your mother, you passed straight by a surprised Hermes and threw yourself in her arms. All the thoughts, anxieties and expectations you carried that morning came back at once, and you just started to cry.

– Mom – you mumbled – Is that really you, mom?

Though she responded to your gesture with equal emotion, even she was surprised with all those tears.

– My baby! – she laughed – You’ve missed us this much?

– You have no idea – you whispered back, now looking into her eyes.

Your father, who was watching everything with diversion, approached you two, and you opened your arms to hug him too.

– Y/n-chan, is it just me or are you a bit taller since the last time we’ve saw you? – he joked, putting his hand upon your head – What have they been feeding you?

You laughed until you were breathless: not only you’ve long passed the period of growth, but you were also the shortest among your sisters for most of your lives, and that has been a matter of interest for your father since you were, in fact, little. You used to get angry with this in the beginning, but later you’ve learned to send the provocation back to him, just like you did that time.

– Well, maybe you’ve became shorter, dad. It’s just a matter of perspective!

Everyone laughed, and you finally turned to your sisters.

Luna, who, just like you, shared physical resemblance with your mother, was dressed in blue and had her hair tied in a single, long braid; Helena, who was more like your father, had a pair of big eyes glowing with all the things she was seeing, and a curly hair left untied, spreading around her shoulders, where she had a rosy shawl to protect her against the evening’s breeze. Though she was way younger than you, she has passed you in height, and everything indicated that she would keep growing.

Luna was the one holding Ellie, your niece, and the baby let out a sequence of little screams when you arrived, eager to get your attention. She started laughing when you took her in your arms and the girls came to hug you.

– How are you doing, girls? – you asked between the hugs – You’ve never looked so beautiful!

– The same could be said about you – it was Helena’s calm response.

You laughed.

– They have really good cosmetics around here!

– I’m willing to try them, then! – Luna commented, enthusiastic.

Still holding the baby, you finally turned to Hermes.

– Thank you so much for bringing them here, Hermes-sama. It’s the best gift you’ve ever gave to me.

The gods’ messenger, always in his composed manners, nodded.

– I was just doing my job, y/n-san.

Ellie was the first to see when Hades approached, pointing at him with a curious expression. You turned and immediately felt the heat coming up to your cheeks: you’ve got so excited when you saw your relatives that you just left him behind, and only then you realized that this wasn’t the most appropriate thing to do, for despite being his bride and having built a strong, intimate bond with him, you were still human and he was a god, and that could be seen as offensive for anyone who would hear of this.

With this in mind, you stepped ahead and were going to apologize for your behavior, but you had no chance, for you were no longer the focus of the group: while Luna and Helena stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and fear, your parents, immediately understanding they had another divine being before them, bowed their heads in respect.

You soon took the responsibility of doing the presentations.

– So… This is Hades-sama, from Greece – you spoke in a low, shy manner – He’s the King of the Underworld and, as Hermes-sama might have informed you, my future husband.

Hades, now by your side, smiled with sympathy.

– It’s a beautiful family you have, y/n – and, approaching your parents and putting one hand on each one’s shoulders, – You are the family of my future wife. You bow to no one.

Their faces brightened up at those words, said in a soft, comforting tone, and you felt a sort of pride with the scene: if there was any chance of your family not accepting your relationship or not trusting him – after all, that marriage meant taking you away from them and to Hellheim – it disappeared the moment they were treated with genuine respect. You mother, in particular, was satisfied with what she was seeing, which you noticed in the clear message you’ve caught in her eyes: being the responsible for three girls who would soon start their own lives out of her guardianship, it was only natural that the kind of people with whom they’d chose to live was among her biggest worries, and, whatever she was expecting in this sense, to see one of her girls becoming a god’s wife was beyond her imagination; but, if you were happy with this, she wouldn’t ask for more.

Hades greeted your sisters with manners that reminded you of the old gentlemen you used to see in important events at your city, nodding and making brief comments about their beauty. You and the girls always made fun of this, because the old – and, many times, uninteresting – men were the only ones who would behave like this, but having that polite, handsome man making use of those manners without the affectation typical of those other ones convinced them of the honesty of his words, and that left them ecstatic.

Finally, he turned to you and to your niece, who has been observing him with attentive eyes since he arrived and had no problems in being picked up by him, laughing and stretching her little arms to the stranger who received those gestures with diversion.

– And this is my niece, Ellie – you introduced the baby while passing her to his hands; and, with a playful smile, – I guess she likes you!

– Me or my earring? – he asked in return, laughing as he tried to keep the girl’s hand away from his ear; and, to her, – Your curiosity surpasses my expectations, little one!

Though Ellie clearly didn’t understand what curiosity or expectations meant, she seemed to enjoy being held by Hades more than by yourself, because, after playing with her for a moment, she refused to return to you when you tried to pick her back, provoking everyone’s laughter.

And, as expected, your mother was the first to verbalize her opinion on this.

– You have a way with small children, my Lord! That’s surprising, to say the least!

Hades turned to her with a sort of prideful, nostalgic smile.

– I am the eldest of four brothers – he let Ellie hold his index finger – I still remember when each of them were just like Ellie-chan.

Hermes, who was observing everything in silence, was the first to reply that time.

– Let’s pray that this conversation never reaches Poseidon-sama’s ears, uncle.

– I agree with you, Hermes-sama – you, the only human there who met Poseidon, completed with a clever smile.

***

Hermes led your family to rooms on the wing of the apprentices on the human lodge, so that you would stay close to them for the entire period of their stay. It was established that, while your parents would have one room for themselves, your sisters and the baby would stay in a contiguous one, both located on the floor under your own room; to access them, you’d only need to walk down the stairs and cross a corridor for a few meters.

Just like the apprentices, they were all allowed to visit the Gardens and take their meals at the common room, and they enjoyed each opportunity in that sense. Well, actually, your parents decided to turn their stay at the blessed lands into a second honeymoon, something that was first pointed out by Helena and confirmed by you and Luna when you saw them walking with their hands entwined in the Gardens in the next morning of their arrival; your sisters, on their turn, had no difficulties in making friends with the other girls, particularly with Heracles’ disciples, so that later he came to express his contentment in knowing this, stating that you were lucky to have such excellent siblings.

***

Those days spent in the company of your beloved ones were the happiest since your arrival at the divine lands: having your relatives and the man you loved in the same place, and seeing them getting along, was more than your could ask for, even when you knew it wouldn’t last forever.

About this, you already have established your opinion, which was discussed later.

You were taking care of your flowers at the Green House. Your garden, by the way, was growing larger, and that only added to your contentment.

That afternoon, you were upon a small staircase, watering the flowers above your table, when you heard the door opening; you recognized the visitor’s steps and smiled.

– You’re late – you warned him as you walked down the stairs and put the watering can on the floor, beside the table, then crossed your arms to pretend irritation – We were supposed to to take a walk at the Gardens… but this was half an hour ago.

Hades, who was in fact the visitor, walked around the table and stopped by your side, surrounding you with his arms.

– Will you forgive me for this small crime, little one, if I reveal my reasons to you?

You shrugged.

– You can try.

As you imagined, he was with your parents.

– We’ve spent a wonderful time together – he explained – During which interesting conversations happened.

Your face heated up with that.

– Well, if these conversations didn’t include my parents narrating embarrassing episodes of my childhood that I intended to keep out of your knowledge, it’s okay for me.

This caused laughter from your partner, who replied that he then preferred to stay silent about the topics of the said conversations.

***

You had your arms leaning on the wood guardrail as your eyes followed the stream passing under the bridge. The murmur of the water, as sweet as the first time you heard it, was now like the music from a dream, from a memory you’ve long lost and then happily retrieved: yes, you were revisiting the places of the garden where you met for the second time, and now you were in the middle of that bridge where you had your first conversation about your dreams. Those events happened months ago, but to you it hasn’t been more than a few days, and the emotions you’ve experienced that day were vivid inside you.

Apparently, Hades had similar feelings towards it, and he showed it to you: you felt his fingers brushing your hair, then his hands bringing you closer, for a hug.

– Your mood seems lighter now that you have your family here, my y/n – he kissed the top of your head – The time you’ve spent with Heracles was really worth it.

– Indeed, it was – you murmured, passing your arms around his waist – Honestly, I feel even better now that they’re here. If I was scared by all the reasons I’ve told you before, now I know that it was silly of me to be afraid. There’s only room for happiness in my heart these days. Heracles-sama taught me to value the time I have with them instead of concentrating in the future days, in a time when they won’t be with me. And this is what I’m trying to do right now.

– A wise choice – Hades commented – And, judging by what I’ve learned from your parents, they must have the same view on this question. Have you already talked to them about it?

You sighed and moved away from his hug.

– Not yet. I know I have to do this, and they’re probably waiting for something of this type, but I’m still nervous about taking the first step.

– Well, if this helps, you can try to find a chance to bring out the subject during an informal moment. You know, sitting around a table and discuss things like a meeting between monarchs is quite stressful.

You turned to him with a frown.

– This is something stressful for you? – and, with a giggle, – You never told me that!

His lips stretched in a smirk in response.

– There are a few things I still haven’t told you, my girl. For example… – you felt his hand surrounding your waist and bring you back to him – I was sent straight to our future when I saw you holding your niece in your arms. You created such a beautiful scene together.

Your cheeks heated up.

– Our future? Are you talking about…? – you gasped – Hades, we will have a long time to think about this, don’t you think?

The god approached his lips from your ear, as if his next words shouldn’t be heard by anyone but you.

– I do. But there’s nothing wrong in speaking about this right now.

Part XIX

[unproduciblesmackdown]

revisited some parts of deh i hadn't in a while via obc boots, mostly kicked off by audio of an aus tour show, & it's like now hang on lol reevaluating the whole of heidi's material / that arc like i have been too generous what in the....kind of worked backwards from good for you b/c for that song i've Been like sympathetic re: alana & jared's sections while like Shrug at heidi like i'm on evan's side there really. but the whole thing is like, sympathy for heidi's feelings aside, i'm on evan's side b/c like yeah heidi has feelings & insecurities too but it's not the same peer to peer like fellow unpopular couple of students as parent to child & i'm looking at it all like The Whole Thread is heidi's insecurities as A Mother & the demand is on evan all the time to not just Not cause her insecurity but also assuage ones that have nothing to do with him, e.g. what's he supposed to say about digs at his dad's wife

& like really going over that First Scene i.e. opening scene post evan's soliloquy i.e. anybody have a map it's like. sure only increasingly like Oh Boy when evan not being able to order pizza despite the online option is met with the "you Need to be able to order dinner for yourself" ft. that he should be "too old for this" (disability....grow up) (not a direct quote but rather yknow the "you're a senior in high school, evan" intro) & nothing about like, support or alternatives, certainly nothing about it being Okay that he couldn't. just that he Has to do this thing this way (why. or else what.) & also just the simple fact that evan has been honest about "something wrong with him" / something he did that he figures she wouldn't like & gotten this wholly negative response about that just being Unacceptable to hear, regardless of the "positive" pivot like you can do it re: school, just must not be Trying enough, just must be evan's own attitude or something else about him, the letters had better help....& all this revisiting inspired by beau woodbridge evan's delivery after heidi says the line about Her Not Wanting To Hear (framed about Her Feelings if evan were to Tell her about this) about evan having no friends, & like the delivery of "neither do i??" like a sort of nonplussed indignation that is a kind of "how do you think *i* feel about it??" like no yeah what about evan's feelings about him dealing with his problems here, the one not having dinner, not having friends, not Not having anxiety, etc. like obviously heidi like every person ever has feelings & problems too but it's that the parent's problems are supposed to be Made Up For by the child somehow, while evan's problems are framed as Being A Problem for his mom, how she feels about Knowing about it, try harder please okay evan....but cue, yknow, how she resents evan feeling any responsibility for Her Problems in gfy yknow not insofar as she's been embarrassed to tell him like "yeah money is a problem" when it's been about pushing him to get scholarships but rather when the murphys know (maybe just via evan implying they're Not Rich to zoe after zoe is like ah, to be poor....) that heidi will need Financial Support for college for evan & then heidi like i'm not That poor & to take money would be wrong (always the reminder heidi does not know everything re: evan & connor isn't true either)

which, that last part of her dinner at the murphys pre gfy was really this time hitting like ://// whew okay. all of it always grating lmao but like, "i don't want evan to get the idea etc" like ma'am he's sitting right here? he's seventeen? can't just Declare the ideas evan will or won't absorb even though like yeah also clearly it's about her pride as A Good Mom being wounded & just putting it on evan by expressing it that way like no i have to be A Good Mom via my example, is why i must decline....& like i'm sure it can all be softened depending on how heidi is played but still like, this is about her Full Story / Material, & just what is written lol like even if she was more [pensive emoji single tear] in delivery or something, vs watching the obc like full anger & contempt by this point & i'm like yeah this Shouldn't be familiar if the excuse of like "well heidi is messing up in this Special Occasion, an outlier" really went that far. or was actually out of line w/how she acts other times. or how this all resolves. but heidi storming out While lashing out at evan / blaming him like my god lmfaooo & like. speaking of "do you think the murphy parents did read between the lines & think evan & connor are secret gay high school lovers" like gee evan having no problem moving in to the murphy household, keeping secrets from his mom like his ostensible epic friendship w/connor, not talking aobut her or really trying on his own to involve her, being fairly alarmed when Surprise Dinner With Your Mom, heidi acting like That??? like "do you think the murphy parents read between the lines to think evan is abused by his parent" i mean like lol lmfaooo on both points like heternormativity? the normativity of abuse & parents Owning their child as well? in the murphy household? but you know. of course no deh is not supposed to be about that but i'm like, uh oh, whole time i was like "well my own perspective based on what i learned from personal experience & then learned About such experiences isn't that relevant at least to heidi b/c it's supposed to be that she's Not Like That at the end of the day" but i'm like is it in effect though lol, is it really that different In Essence if not also like "yep the way heidi acts is just directly familiar sometimes. maybe often. or always" difference in degree like. plus just that how often is whatever particular lens/perspective like Useless to apply

anyway & that fight in the leadup to gfy is wild & just like further illuminating re: how the whole time, from the first scene, it's like okay to heidi what's most important in her motivations is Her Insecurity about how anything about evan supposedly reflects on her being a mom, like. again that heidi has no idea everything about evan & connor isn't true & she's just going sicko mode at evan b/c the murphys Aren't His Family, yknow, She is, & that entitlement that's supposed to come with it, evan can't have these other adults acting Parently towards him re: money & housing & dinners & feeling fond of him or anything, all circumventing her status as His Mother....the whole "sorry i can't give you more than that, shit" "well it's not my fault other people can" like yeah sorry about your feelings heidi, yeah it's not "nice" of evan to say that but i'm not like yes evan must never even think things that aren't nice(tm) much less say them, that again like even if we sympathize w/heidi there b/c obviously yeah she'd be hurt & feel insecure. even if we suppose that was mean of evan. i'm like well yeah he's right. just setting aside the apparent universal desire for a life as closely approximating the brady bunch as possible, it's like hey yeah look evan's been getting dinners this way, re: him not ordering a pizza at the start of a show. turning out to be less important like "well at least you've been eating, good" than evan not doing so through the Proper efforts to Become Normal(tm) & of course that like. coming from another mom staying home making him food is unacceptable b/c she imagines this is supplanting her / making her the Bad Mom vs this Good Mom & then taking it out on evan to make her feel Good Enough(tm) like truly just the usual fallback refrain of "ohh sorry i'm not perfect / have feelings / have problems" which is true for everyone ever but yknow evan is the one having to Defend his feelings & problems & imperfections against the fallout of "failing" to be "responsible" for mitigating or fulfilling heidi's & she's the one who can break out "i'm your mother" whereas evan's less overtly declared "i'm your son" about her potentially failing Him is what gets met with more contempt & "ohh sorry i'm not perfect & have feelings & problems" & her starting off Good For You. great

& like the way All That illustrates, like the way evan getting dinner now through a different now available avenue is, to heidi, more about her own feelings than about [evan gets dinner now], like just that expanded to how it's not Okay that evan's problems seem to be getting better / he's getting more support / he's doing better or anything as soon as heidi becomes insecure about her not having the role she wants in it. the entire thread about her being bothered about evan not telling her things, lying about things, hiding things, like yeah evident that she Is worried about him but same as she's evidently worried about him in the first scene, when, again, we Did see him share something honestly with her & she was like "UGH evan jeez i Hate that you told me this" & then her input is to tell him to Get Good, yknow, must be his own failures, get on that. gosh why would he keep anything from her. & then yknow we have that line later on, evan like you don't know me & heidi like "i thought i did" (contempt again) & like the main issue of this not being like "oh no if i Don't know him or about his problems then i'm not supporting him like i thought i was / he's not getting the support Overall i thought he was" but rather like i can't believe evan is doing this to me / her insecurities & evan's "responsibility" for them, again, rather than yknow. evan's wellbeing regardless of her personal feelings? & we're ready for resolution after heidi inadvertently reads his diary to realize he was that sad & it's like. even if he wasn't That Sad like none of that response was okay. at any point lol like it's still the issue of her dynamic with him where evan is In Charge Of how heidi feels & that obviously she can act on this in the ways she can & what can evan do about anything but avoid her / not share things / idk indeed move in with this other family lol, sorry about the pretenses (also obviously like. murphy parents not doing that much better. certainly larry like, are you kidding? never changes his mind that all connor's problems were connor's fault & Failings & now his reaction to it is about facing any insecurity & Rejecting It as no i'm always right & just have to hold out forever. vs that zoe is also bearing the brunt of being Trapped In The Family(tm) but cynthia dares to be like "no, i feel like i failed my dead son" & "no, i don't feel someone 'has to be the bad guy' who tramples boundaries")

like speaking of boundaries. ppl having always pointed out "uh oh, heidi's not good with those" or the point like "in gfy heidi's also mad about the rejection by her ex-husband & just putting that over her fight w/evan" like not beating the [parent making their child the one in charge of them & their feelings & actions] allegations.......

& you know, the resolution like "ohh you were sadder than i knew" like okay Now that matters instead of heidi Just being insecure that he wasn't sharing this with her already, thus the important part being how that makes her feel like a bad mom vs like, how evan is actually doing & her actual role in this beyond what makes her feel best, personally? or that like oh i'm Not going to not be here, physically, in this house....like okay. but what about the actual dynamic you have while around him & you will always be around him, b/c like, has that changed from the start. how is heidi going to offer support re: evan Feeling Like This that's different from "you Need to order pizza and Need to get your cast signed, Just Do It" or that b/c she doesn't want to hear otherwise like well then of course evan won't tell her, or maybe a therapist if that's not confidential, or other people if it'll get back to his mom, or the internet if that'll get back to his mom which i guess it will. is evan gonna be not in charge of her feelings anymore. i'm just like yeah evan find yourself in college sure get outta there idk if you're even rude along the way. & obv shoot larry into the sun

[artemis32]

I've read Subjugation II, and it's amazing!! I didn't evem notice that was the first time you've written smut (that's the name? I forgot, lol). Anyway, what are your thoughts if reader fells pregnant after that? Or not even after that but in the same universe of the fic? 🙄🙄

Hope you're well 😃

subjugation drabble i

So usually I'm not into the whole pregnancy thing, but oh my gosh do I have some thoughts (also the phrase “barefoot and pregnant” sounds a bit strange in English, I’m sorry ://)

I have no idea if this is a drabble or not, but we’re labelling it as one

Also - my laptop is very buggy at the moment, so until that's fixed, I unfortunately can't write anything (except maybe a few short drabbles)

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tw: pregnancy mentions, noncon / dubcon, oral sex (f receiving), creampie

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subjugation masterlist

bnha masterlist

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So neither of these men believe in wrapping it before they tap it - why should they when you belong to them. They don’t care much for pulling out either, that’s no fun.

Really, it wouldn’t be any surprise to either of them if you ended up pregnant sooner or later.

Only, it might happen a bit sooner than either of them would like. 

You only just started to “accept” them, they really want to enjoy their time with you for as long as possible - children would be a distraction. 

Don’t get me wrong, they definitely want you to carry their children in the future, and not just one either, though they haven’t decided on a specific number yet.

They want children, they truly do - but they want your full attention more, at least for the moment. They can’t very well get down and dirty if you have a few rascals running around at all hours of the day.

Then again, the idea of you barefoot and pregnant has been one of their biggest fantasies for a while - the gentle swell of your stomach, plush breasts filled with milk, your face glowing beautifully as your pregnancy continues.

It’s tempting, getting you pregnant as soon as possible. But they’ll put it off for as long as they can stand. 

Shota is the voice of reason, reminding Hizashi of how much time and energy goes into raising infants, children who you have to care for all day, everyday.

You don’t get a say in the final decision. They may take into consideration your thoughts and feelings, but ultimately, their word is law. Whether you actually want children or not is irrelevant.

Any anxieties you have about pregnancy or being a mother are brushed off, gently but firmly. They may try to quell your fears at first, but eventually their patience will run out and they tell you outright that you have no choice in the matter.

They may consider putting you on some form of birth control until they feel ready to give up their time with you, until they’re ready to become parents, but who knows how long that will last.

When they eventually do want children, no amount of begging or pleading will change their minds. Sobs and screams fall on deaf ears, and physical retaliation is met with stern discipline. They aren’t above tying you down to get what they want.

Out of the two of them, I imagine that Shota has more of a breeding kink than Hizashi does. 

Hear me out - while Hizashi loves the sexual act in itself, Shota loves the idea of you being pregnant, especially with his or Hizashi’s child.

Not only the mental image of you being pregnant, but also the idea of you relying on him during the pregnancy, having to ask him for help with anything and everything.

Washing your hair while you shower or washing your back and legs while you bath. He’d insist on bathing with you, slotting himself in behind you, gently massaging your shoulders, softly rubbing circles onto your back with the washcloth. 

He’d help you get dressed too, and he’d take his sweet time. He’d help you put on lotion, squirting it into his hands to warm it up first. He’d have you sit on the bed while he kneels on the floor between your legs, both of you covered by nothing more than a towel. 

His fingers would lightly massage your ankles, gently rolling the swollen joints, working his way up, kneading your sore legs. 

Of course he wouldn’t stop there - he would massage your hands and feet, your arms and back. He would save your stomach for last.

Still kneeling on the floor, his rough palms would smooth over your bloated stomach, rubbing in small, slow circles.

If you happen to look at his face, you would see him staring at you already, eyes dark and filled with a deep loving look.

Naturally, seeing you all pliant and willing would stir up something within him.

Sex helps with stress during pregnancy - that’s what he would tell you in those moments, gently coaxing you on to your back.

“I’m helping you. You and the baby.” He would say as he lowered himself between your legs, shifting you so that your legs lay over his shoulders.

He would stare at you with such adoration, placing soft kisses on the inside of each thigh, working his way up to the apex of your thighs.

Soft is the best way to describe him. His only focus is you, your pleasure, your desire. 

One orgasm turns into two, which turns into three.

After he’s had his fill, he’ll straighten up, dropping the towel around his waist. Still, he remains calm and gentle with you, slowly working his thick cock into your dripping cunt. There’s almost no stretch, no burn - curtesy of the three or four orgasms he pulled out of you with his mouth minutes prior.

He rocks his hips back and forth to a gentle rhythm, the veins along his cock dragging over your sensitive walls. Usually he’s able to push you into another two or three orgasms - pregnancy made you more sensitive than before, not that either of them ever complain.

Once he’s cum, buried to the hilt inside you, he’ll pull out slowly before pulling you into him, cuddling you close.

He never rushes to leave you, to clean you up or dress you. Oftentimes, you’ll fall asleep in his arms, still naked, and wake up hours later, clean and dressed, wedged between him and Hizashi.

Hizashi loves slow gentle sex with you too, though he hangs around you more than Shota does, if that’s even possible.

He seems to believe that pregnancy addles your brains, and he doesn’t trust you to complete tasks - he helps you put on your shoes, feeds you, brushes your hair for you.

It might have infuriated you, how both of them almost infantilize you - it should, but their softer demeanour is refreshing. Having them coddle you is far better than them punishing you in a cruel and painful fashion.

So overall, they love the idea of you being pregnant, and they definitely want to start a family one day, just not anytime soon.

Though when it does eventually happen, you’ll probably end up smothered and coddled to death.

[starboy-at-the-disco]

hi ccan you tell me more about Subject A and Subject B. cause I looked through their tags on your blog and um. 👁️👁️👁️👁️ interested

Hai this ask got lost somehow but I FOUND IT so hello yes I’d love to talk about my special interest

So subject A and subject B are characters from the idkhow arg/concept albums, they are unwilling test subjects of an evil corporation called tellexx and basically tellexx uses them to invent time travel and then go through time performing propaganda music to brainwash people. There is VERY VERY LITTLE canonical information about the subjects as people but we do know that their real names are Dallon and Ryan (just like the band members) and we know that the white shadow (the ghost thing in the videos) was sent by tellexx to monitor them throughout time. We also know the subjects are being drugged using sugar pills but can presume the drugs aren’t affecting B as much as they are affecting A or B is not being given the same amount as A based on B’s general vibe in the videos. Also it seems B is the one who administers tests on A sometimes (ex. New invention and diatt) which is possibly real to why he’s being given less drugs? Thats all stuff from the first too albums though, uh gloom division gets more complicated. The subjects get separated, A gets moved to a new program called the gloom division and basically tellexx turns him into a personification the sin of pride ? And that’s like all we know. I have a lot of thoughts on gloom div but I’m gonna mostly stick to razz because my gloom div interpretations get kinda out there lol. Uhhh I think that’s all the canonical information we have about them?

So basically I made it my life’s mission to make up elaborate lore for them and I’ve written a ridiculous amount of fanfics about them. Also I have several OCs in the tellexx universe to fill out the cast a little more, and like the subjects are basically my OCs too at this point because their is little to no canonical charactieztion for them (aside from song lyrics which are vague at best). Ok so let’s talk about the subjects.

I stick the subjects around age 20 when they get kidnapped and then around 24 when they start actually successfully time traveling. Subject A was raised in a doomsday cult and had very abusive parents. He was super sheltered and rarely left the house. When he was 19-20 he decided to run away and tellexx found him after that. Subject B’s dad was abusive and he ended up getting kicked out when he was around 17, he was homeless for a while but he was living with a friend at the time of his kidnapping.

Subject A is autistic and gay, he’s also on the acearo spec and genderfluid but he doesn’t find that stuff out until after escaping tellexx. His special interests are stuffed animals, space, and cats (with a big emphasis on stuffed animals lol). He’s extremely clingy to anyone who shows him affection and I play around a lot with the idea that he age regresses on occasion as a trauma response. (But obviously neither he nor subject B have the language to know that that’s what’s happening)

Subject B is bi and also autistic, he is also on the acearo spec cuz I said so :3 his special interest is the ocean and sea creatures. He has anger issues and major major trust issues. Him and A are very codependent and they both have issues with separation anxiety. He has a history of being violent with tellexx employees and it takes a while for them to get him to cooperate but once he does he’s relatively easy to get to do what they want.

Anyways now to some of my OCs, rapid fire addition

Dr. Adalia (aka Dr. addy): the subjects main handler/tellexx issued therapist. Her job is to keep them compliant and basically gaslight them until they act like good little tellexx robots. She’s super fucking manipulative ‼️

Gloom: a clone of subject A (not the mannequin I made up gloom b4 the mannequin existed ok), he’s the replacement they give B after A has to go get turned into a demon or whatever. Gloom has been watching the subjects on security cameras for like a year to learn A’s mannerisms and stuff and over that span of time got parasocially obsessed with the subjects. He looks like Dallon from the what love music video and he’s very special to me.

Mr. Cain: glooms handler. He sucks we hate Mr. Cain >:[

Rose: breezy’s character from gloom division. Subject A was in love with her b4 he got got by tellexx (?) and now she’s involved with tellexx in some way and it’s breaking A’s brain. Yeah idk about her rlly yet

Dolly: A’s new handler during gloom div :3 she, well not actively participating in the tellexx torture stuff, is complicit in all of it well insisting it’s not her fault and she didn’t realize tellexx sucked so bad until she was too far in to quit. Her and A get into a super weird toxic sort of relationship :( it is hashtag bad

Ok so that’s my tellexx universe. I could probably go more in depth but that’s my attempt at giving a basic run down. 👍👍👍👍👍

[guckies]

while i do agree that the new egg tasks rarely take in consideration single parents or external forces (travelling, events, meetups), i don't think the eggs are going to die from neglect.

the admins have shown that if the parents / primary caretakers is seriously unavailable they will try and get another member to take care of them (foolish counting as pepito's caretaker, roier being asked to do leo's tasks)

and we know that admins can and will play other eggs if their main admin is unavailable, i don't think egg neglect is an actual possibility anymore since neither party (streamer and admins) want that to happen

but i think they need to drop the whole non-parent penalty, or revamp it o_o since it makes everything much more complicated

Yeah it is very true that it is unlikely for the eggs to die from neglect now but there is always a possibility of miscommunication. Especially when the parent is travelling or busy and doesn’t reach out to the others in time or the egg doesn’t log on as much, which I think is why I’m having so much problem with it at the moment. Since a majority of the players are away and the system is really new, they others are not really going to be taking into account other eggs as much.

Really it’s just why now? We’ve know the dates for Eslands and the Streamer Awards for what feels like months now so it super strange in my opinion at least to be starting them now when barely anyone is able to log on. Plus again when so many people have expressed how they greatly dislike the tasks and cookies. Why are we still doing them if we don’t like them? Just to name a few: Fit said he thought it made sense that the tasks would go away naturally after purgatory due to the eggs surviving for months on their own; Phil even though he doesn’t really seem to care that much is never greatly excited to do them; Tubbo basically was speed running them mostly for money and typically procrastinated them before the reset; Foolish and Leo basically throw tantrums anytime the tasks are brought up and I’ve seen a bunch of viewers literally manifesting and praying the tasks were gone before learning they were back.

I think the admins are good when it does come around to it being a genuine moment of “maybe this egg might die” but I think they really lack in the hypothetical doom testing area before they put it into practice. The admins need someone with heavy anxiety and overthinking problems(like me lol) who would be able to think of every possible fault there might be. Like single parents who can’t log on as often aren’t always given support by others, parents/guardians to multiple eggs often experience the “how am I meant to feed multiple if I’m just barely getting one fed” every time it’s introduced and the “this task is impossible without another player & I’m the only one online” moments.

It’s just there are so many things that keeping slipping through the checks that we are already so aware of. So I think the best way to go about the tasks at the moment would be phasing it out or just plain making it optional. Especially since the tasks aren’t really liked at all.

By optional I mean, they just wouldn’t have to do it to keep the egg alive and it would be somewhat like the bounties. So the parents could do the egg quests for extra money and have the tickets be equal to something related to the eggs, like cosmetics or perks(hearts, armour, weapons) for the eggs.

But I heavily agree on the non parent thing, I think that really punishes single parents for no reason and kinda dampens the fun in hanging out with other eggs. Like Willy and Dapper, they aren’t parent and kid but if Dapper wanted to do the tasks with him that day then he should. Plus it could really strengthen their bond and make Willy want to play more as having an egg around kinda helps make the experience of qsmp more enjoyable especially when no one else is online.

Also I think the non parent thing and the tasks being the reason the eggs live another week does put a whole lot of outside stress on the ccs which I heavily disagree with. I think that this is a mc server to make connections and speak to people you never would have before. The eggs have proved to be great at helping with that so the stress of them dying because you weren’t able to log in that week kinda brings the whole experience down and negatively affects the chances of those situations happening. But if I had it my way the eggs would only be able to die the same way hunters of Artemis do, in combat (or possibly in natural situations).

[jerzwriter]

Reverse Uno while I think of my own response…

In your HC, do Casey and Kaycee have any long-term effects from the chemical attack or its treatment?

Hey there! Thanks for the Reverse Uno!

Both of them have lingering PTSD as a result of the attack. They already had anxiety disorders prior to the attack, so this doesn't help. The thing about PTSD and anxiety, in general, is that it never fully goes away. So, each of them will have times in their lives when this will rear its head.

Casey will struggle a bit during her pregnancies, and when her children are very young - the normal anxiety parents have about their children will be exacerbated for her. Ironically, her third pregnancy (which nearly costs her life) will have a calming effect. She'll emerge from that, so grateful for a second chance; she just wants to live life to its fullest.

For Kaycee, it will become an issue after her father's death when she becomes preoccupied with her mother's health. When her mother passed, it will really really hit her. She will deal with a very deep depression, and her anxiety will be at a level she hasn't seen in a very long time.

I also want to address Tobias & Ethan's PTSD, respectively. Neither of them will have come out of that unscathed.

As far as physical ramifications - I have not thought of any that will impact Kaycee, but as far as Casey goes...

Even though she's almost a decade younger than Tobias, she does pass before him after a battle with an illness that is linked to the long-term effects of the attack. This will be extremely painful for Tobias, who feels like he failed her somehow (even though he hasn't). I will eventually write this. But I've always said when I post that fic, that will be when I'm done here... when I have no more stories to tell... and I'm not there yet. But, I could always change my mind and post it anyway! lol

Thanks for the ask, Mal!

[inkednotebook]

OC Deep Dive - Teddy Wilson

Icing Waved Off

What uncommon/common fear do they have?

Snakes, crowded spaces, and small/crammed spaces.

Do they have any pet peeves?

Not many. He hates bad drivers and people who chew with their mouth open, though.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Over the counter pain killers, at least two books, and a massage gun.

What do they notice first in a person?

Their physical build. Not in an attraction kind of way, more in a "if this person was my opponent how should I prepare?" kind of way. It's habit for him at this point to size up people unintentionally. As such, he notices a lot of small details about a person's physique, like if they lean their weight more on one side, if their stance is wide, etc.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Like an 8 or 9, probably. As a hockey player, he's kind of expected to have a high pain tolerance, and has built one up over the years.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Depends on the situation. On the ice? Fight all the way. He's good player and he knows it, and he's not going to let a trailing score or a scrappy opponent get to him. Off the ice? Flight. He's not good with deep emotions, so when things get messy in his personal life, his instinct is to avoid it like the plague.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

He comes from a decent sized family, I think. Immediate is small, only him, his parents, and his brother. He has quite a bit of extended family, though. Three grandparents, several aunts and uncles, and a lot of cousins. They don't all live in one place, though, so he didn't have a lot of big family gatherings growing up. He's not super close with a lot of his family because they're pretty conservative, but he has some cousins he keeps in touch with and he's reasonably close with his immediate family.

What animal represents them best?

Hm. I want to say a stag maybe? Oh! No. A goat lmao. Goats are herd creatures and crave that connection, they can be very feisty at times, will headbutt you, aren't picky eaters, and get scared easily (he has an anxiety disorder).

What is a smell that they dislike?

Super floral things, especially artificial floral. Also the smell of mowed grass.

Have they broken any bones?

Oh, most definitely. Don't think you can play pro sports without ever breaking a bone.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Laid back/chill vibes, friendly but not great at small talk, tall, weirdly attached at the hip to his teammate?

Are they a night owl or a morning bird?

Neither? Idk haha for his job he kind of has to be up at all hours. Early morning skate and practice, afternoon naps, evening games, late night flights... I guess during the off season he's more of a night owl since that's when he usually exerts the most energy during the regular season.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

He doesn't have a huge sweet tooth, so anything that's artificially sweet like candy he doesn't like. He loves anything savoury, but he especially loves the taste of a grilled steak.

Do they have any hobbies?

He enjoys reading mystery novels and sometimes sci-fi novels, playing co-op video games, and watching crime shows, sci-fi shows, and sports (usually other hockey teams and baseball).

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

Sooo awkwardly lol. He's not great with attention, despite literally being in the spotlight for a living. He'd kind of laugh, thank everyone, and slip closer to someone so he's not just standing by himself (probably he'd move closer to James).

Do they like to wear jewellery?

He sometimes will wear a simple silver chain or watch to games or out to dinner with the guys, but usually he's not a jewellery person.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Messy but legible.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Anxiety and determination.

Do they have a favorite fabric?

Not really, no.

What kind of accent do they have?

Subtle Canadian. So, kind of like the standard American accent you hear on TV but with some Canadian aspects (e.g., Canadian raising and slang/terms for stuff).

Tagging (no pressure ofc) @willtheweaver @illarian-rambling @oh-no-another-idea @theeccentricraven and @aalinaaaaaa

[consul-valerius]

Show Me What Normal is for You

Donna’s voice trailed off, their eyes widening as they spoke. They glanced up at Valerius, seeking some sort of validation, some sort of recognization. They silently hoped he would be normal; neither upset nor happy. Just… normal.

An evening of drinking and story-weaving leads Vesuvia's most dysfunctional polycule into a discussion of the divine (which leads to discussions of the past and perhaps the present too). However, not everyone involved is as intrigued when a certain Arcana is mentioned. It is up to Valerius to encourage his lover to open up to him in a way they haven't: to tell the full truth of their murky upbringing.

Rating: T for discussions of past abuse & darker themes

WC: 7,401 split between two chapters

Characters & Relationships: Valerius, Donna, Nadia (all in their own traid lol) & Sam and Lucio

Content warnings: discussions of past childhood abuse, discussions of attempted infanticide, childhood trauma, negative self talk/self thinking (most of this appears exclusively in the second chapter), casual discussions of death, mentioned parental death, and very casual daddy dom language because Sam and Lucio are there lmao

A/N: after years.... i have finally sat down and made Donna actually talk about their childhood/upbringing lmao this is a pretty personal fic for me for a variety of reasons, and it's one that I'm fairly proud of but also deeply insecure about all the same LOL again, very dialogue heavy and introspective; please heed all content warnings!

First chapter preview undercut, with links to both chapters there as well! if darker themes aren't your jam, you can just avoid the second chapter and know there's a lot of hurt but also a lot of gay comfort lmfao

Part One // Part Two

“What do you mean by that?” Nadia asked. Gods, it was becoming grating to Sam how endearing she was behaving. 

“Well, let’s use the cards as an example. Anyone can read the cards. I know their assigned meanings, and if you paid me, I would do a card reading for you and may actually sell you on my sincerity. But that’s all it is: storytelling. I can twist any general reading to be specific toward you if you told me enough about yourself—that is why there are so many con artists when it comes to this. If you can tell a tale, you can read the cards. 

Donna, however, actually can hear the Arcane and interpret their messages. That isn't exactly standard practice, and certainly not one I can do anymore.”

“Any more?” Lucio prodded, snuggling closer. 

“I used to have… some connection to my patron, yes.” Sam paused to glance down at the hand Lucio was playing with; he seemed to be reflecting on what to say next. His shoulders straightened out before he sighed. “But she severed that tie long ago. It was my own doing, of course. The Arcana do not take kindly to those who break from their paths, and they especially do not enjoy feeling replaced by some mortal being.”

“Huh—"

“They can do that?” Nadia cut in, a sudden and uncommon anxiety now in her tone. “Break off a connection, that is.”

A bitter smile graced Sam’s features; he regarded Nadia up and down for a moment before nodding. 

“In my case, yes. Though perhaps it was for the best; breaking that tie broke off all of my connection to the arcane realms. I am much better at judging and denying earthly temptations than I would be magical.”

“Magical temptations? Like what, fairy circles or what have you?” Valerius piped up again, his focus now squarely on Donna’s hair. He thankfully did not seem aware of Sam’s giggle at his question. 

“Well, no, silly boy,” Sam sighed as Lucio snickered. “I mean much more divine intervention.”

“Do the Arcana… meddle in earthly affairs?” Nadia reclined further into her seat, getting more comfortable. 

“Obviously they do,” Sam said, mirroring her posture. “The fact that they choose humans to take under their wing says enough. But most patrons know not to directly interfere with this world; many will only tend to their flock in dreams or drug-induced stupors; whenever the veil is at its most thin or what have you.”

“And you are implying there are those who do more, are you not?”

“Well, yes.”

“Do you know which ones specifically—“

“The Devil.”

All eyes quickly snapped down to Donna. Their head was down, their shoulders hunched, and their fingers dug into their knees. Nadia tilted her head as she pushed forward slightly in her seat, readying herself to dart to the floor if need be. It seemed as if Sam was going to do the same, but he was stopped by Lucio grabbing his hand with a bruising grip.

“The Devil…?” Valerius prodded, the only one not fully aware of the tone shift. 

“The Devil represents an excess of indulgences,” Sam cut in, trying to keep his tone neutral while trying to focus his attention between Lucio and Donna. “Out of all of the arcana, it makes the most sense that He would be most interested in earthly affairs and getting entangled in them; to want more than the vast expanses of magical realms he can control is in line with what he represents. He is the one patron to meddle in the affairs of others, regardless of who their patron is, to a normally… detrimental effect.”

“Detrimental?” Nadia pushed, her own curiosity outweighing her concern momentarily. 

Sam shot Donna a concerned look, his lips sealing into a thin line. They slowly lifted their head, the pink in their hair gone and back to its normal blue. 

They only shrugged up at him, a small smile on their face. 

“Well…” Sam finally continued, pulling Lucio closer to him by the waist. “In my life, and in the type of work I used to do, I’ve seen people get… desperate . Desperate for a variety of things: money, power, friends, family, the love those people can give to you—we traversed in dark places, and it can lead to ravenous desires. I was lucky to have not just been disconnected from the magical realms but to have a mentor who knew too well the horrors that lurk there. 

Others do not. Even the faintest whispers of the divine can twist the noblest of people. And this world is often cruel and unforgiving: to be offered a lifeline, to be offered some notion of control, is sometimes far too captivating to ignore.”

“You’re speaking in riddles,” Valerius interjected, now annoyed. “Speak plainly.”

“The drunkard says to the master,” Sam finally laughed, though there was little joy there. Lucio and Donna had both, shockingly, fallen silent, neither quite looking at anything or anyone. “What I mean is that it is easy for The Devil to tempt and offer solutions . I once knew a woman—a good, strong woman, I might add—who lost her entire family to a group of highwaymen. A senseless tragedy that falls on many—she is not unique, and neither are the effects of grief. She sought out my mentor for guidance, but your fellow human can only do so much for you. She was desperate for answers and for justice, and this world marches to the beat of its own drum. It was just taking too damn long. 

So who better to come in than The Devil himself? Or what she thought was him. In exchange for something trivial, he can give you a name, a place they live, and even their weaknesses. But even more than that—what of power, what of strength? If you are to face your family’s slayers, should you not be prepared to dish out justice? She made deal after deal behind our backs, each one more complicated, each price growing steeper and steeper. By the time I or anyone had noticed a change, it was far too late. The Devil’s chains are… unbreakable. And the damage they do is far more than anyone can help.” 

A long, heavy silence filled up the space like a thick smog. Nadia averted her eyes entirely, lost in her own thoughts, unsure what question to ask next. Valerius sat up straighter, his hands still petting through Donna’s hair. He could not see their expression from where he was sitting. He could only see how Lucio glanced back to the doorway as if he was worried someone was there. Valerius couldn’t help but think the same thing. 

“But why go through that only to be… well.. ruined?” He asked without thinking. Sam only smiled sadly at him. 

“You are so lucky, my dear boy, to have never been in want of anything.” Sam patted Lucio’s hip as he spoke, soothing him absently as he regarded Valerius. “And I hope you never experience it—truly, I do. Anyone may fall victim to this—it is our nature, after all, to seek out temptations with no regard for ourselves or others. That is the essence of the card; it is neither good nor evil: The Devil just exists as a paradigm of our makeup. He cannot help himself to crave more from this world, and we, in turn, cannot help but be tempted by him. It is up to the person on what they choose to do or not do, on the vile acts they may commit, and on giving up everything to gain their single want. Had I any line of communication left, I am not so sure I would be here—“

“ Gods , this is grim!”

[ofcowardiceandkings]

mmh thing because of dad poll

this is such a nearly 5 am post lol

hhh i feel a little odd about my relationship with my parents sometimes because yknow its ... strsnge

ive reflected on it a lot since i was a lot younger as well and its very complicated but like .. ive known for a good long while that im far more emotionally mature and diplomatic than them both lmao

like ... i love them both and ive not got a truly negative relationship with either of them but sometimes its a little hard not to feel exasperated with their antics. i know WHY theyre like this, they both have a lot of trauma and baggage, but i feel like they dealt with it in a less than productive way for various reasons .. and ive tried to help them multiple times as well but at this point ive washed my hands of the matter because it just doesnt work , id much rather see them happier but you cant help people who dont want to help themselves

i dont wanna go into huge amounts of depth or air out their nonsense, but it explains a lot lol ... one being a csa survivor who had kids very young but doesnt actually like young children much at all, and still has problems with stubbornness and accountability/consequences and anger/patience .. and the other losing his mother very young, working in a new industry through connections very young (but thoroughly enjoying it) only to be shat out the other end with no recourse or way forward, losing his brother to a family drama related murder (yes really), and falling into alcoholism very much like his mother and other lost industry friends (he doesnt have many friends at all now), then having a minor stroke and losing memories words and personality traits, while also not wanting to bother people with his own feelings ?? plus neither set of grandparents was exactly perfect .... its a c c c combo ... both of them are sort of shut-ins especially my dad and i suspect if we lived further away from my maternal family my mum wouldnt do much either

and the bickering drives me nuts lol moving out was the best thing i did for my own wellbeing its VERY hard not to snap back at them sometimes like IM the parent

im not bitter either about how they definitely contributed to my anxiety disorder, they acknowledge it as well so its not a Big Issue and even though its shit i feel like its made me a more considerate person than i could have been. im generally not .. bitter its not really the right word ,, nor is sour either ? but at least on my end i feel a little melancholy about it all

id very much like to help but theres only so much attention i have to give on encouraging people who usually dont want to hear it when im dealing with my own shit

idk its .. strange

but like just fucking go to therapy jfskdjskdj jesus

anyway

yeah

[capturingmyexperience]

ME

a little about me and my journey so far. I have spent my nearly 37 years misunderstood and asking myself what's wrong with me? why can't I cope like everyone else, oh but I was funny and made everyone laugh with my blunt abrupt approach. years pass and I become a mummy which sent me into an even bigger downhill spiral not just me to think about but another two humans who rely on me and my partner on top of that.

the the comments begin oh you should tidy while they are asleep you should do xyz, never once did anyone say cut yourself some slack and offer a helping hand or ear to just listen as everyone I approached to reach out and open up, they hard it worse or what I was feeling was completely fine. I now realise yes this is normal in my family case as there is a lot of undiagnosed autism/adhd.

I return to my mask and my shell as what's the point nobody is going to listen. Given tablets to help with the anxiety would you like some therapy? constantly reminding the doctors I wasn't depressed. as the two times I did accept therapy, I was in meltdown stage and both therapists joked about bipolar, but in the end said you just don't cope well with everyday stresses which build up. ya don't say Sherlock!

I will just hide behind the mask a little while longer shall i. years have past and seeing the same struggles in my own children give me the fire in my belly to fight for myself and them. school doesn't get to see the meltdowns but I also don't have any faith in that system as my own school reports clearly says school let me down and I didn't receive the support I needed, every teacher saying the exact same things, works better one to one, daydreams, could achieve more and so on.

fast forward still waiting for my own assessment I take both my two children private, and I will eventually go the private route for myself. now I know more about autism and adhd and both my kids having two complete different profiles and no two people are the same.

and to the eye my both kids don't fit the stereotyped autism and neither do I and I'm sure like many other parents out there, we are faced with oh they don't look autistic, what does autism look like ?

this has all brought me down a path of passion and wanting to work with children. Help children fully accept themselves, for who they are. In a world that we need to hide who we truly our. I hope one day I have a unique space were I can offer a safe counselling service , which breaks the stigma that there needs to be something wrong with you stop seek help. I wish this to be in an outdoor setting casual not a forced faced to face interaction which causes so much unease.

I also suspect dyslexia with myself so if grammar bothers you just remember I'm trying my best here so bare with me on that one lol.

when I'm writing I type fast and don't proof read because my words come out fast just like they do from my brain so I roll with it. Sometimes il proof read and other times I just let it roll as that's just part of who I am.

I cannot wait to read other peoples stories and I have a few stories ready and waiting to be uploaded just not sure how to do it yet lol.

CAPTURINGMYEXPERIENCE