#at least not art that changes the world per say

[sagabrielle]

"tortured poets" RIGHT. world-renowed struggling artist, taylor swift.

[frodo-a-gogo]

also final word on this probably- I *like* Joyce Messier a great deal as a character. I think she's cool and interesting. I find it fascinating that she tends to approach things very bluntly. the words she uses and the manner in which she analyzes things, this is sort of an instance of a character who knows exactly *what she is* and articulates it in a manner congruent with the writers of the game. she is, as she says wryly but honestly, "a bourgeois woman". i cant think of too many rich people who would without prompting and prodding, self identify with marxist social taxonomies in this way, even with a thin veil of ironic self deprecation. She's educated. she knows the words and the motivating logics of class analysis. and shes *cool*. harry picks that up. honesty is cool. bluntness is cool. cynicism is cool. she is quite open about her place in the world and how she conceives of it. unlike a lot of other powerful figures in the game, i dont think shes completely swallowed by self justifying rhetoric the way, say, sunday friend is. or she is up to a point. she knows about countercultural movements and she has affinities for them and is also aware that they inevitably are consumed by capital. (this, by the way, is kind of complex in that like. ok its a depressing reality but also i think if the de team was fully bought into that line of thinking, they would not make this game. it is telling that joyce of all people would critique cindy on the basis of capital subsuming revolutionary art. I dont think joyce is wrong per se, but i think she is drawn to that line of thinking because it is *very comforting for someone of her class position to dismiss the value and power of revolutionary art and critique of capital* just a thought) She's disgusting in that her power is not rightfully hers. her position is not rightfully hers. she is actively repressing and oppressing others in service of disgusting, semi-fascistic, hypercapitalist forces. shes enjoying the comforts and benefits that such a role allows her. shes disgusting shes frustrating shes profoundly arrogant (as her clash with evrart claire proves definitively). Her self satisfied idiocy is what allows her to play with fire and foolishly assume she cannot be burned. She's smart but her comfortable position puts the blinders on her and so she's also pretty fucking stupid. and shes also deeply deeply sad. I empathize. I pity her. She's so fucking sad. I don't think she is drawn to self medication and self destruction through constant pale exposure or all that rueful nostalgic rumination for no reason. She knows what she is to the world and she knows what she's doing and she's too cowardly and comfortable and self interested to change, but she's too self-aware to ignore it completely. I think she probably dislikes herself to some degree and i think its destroying her. Like most of the cast of the game, she's complex and deeply human. She's hateful, but I also think she is too well realized to hate, at least not for me.

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 11 (Part 2 of 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; EMDR (VIVID intro to revisiting traumatic situations); crying + feelings of sadness; heart issues (POTs); use of heart monitors; dangerously high heart rate; implied abusive situations; derogatory verbiage from past abuser; implied drug use; very unsanitary living conditions; visits to safe place; usage of containment strategy * * * revisited, vivid memories of sexual encounters; body changes as a result of pregnancy; talks of baby + pregnancy; pregnancy hormones (+ continuing to act on them ;)); reader and jake continue to be STUBBORN; cheating; heavy petting; forgetfulness (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 11 (Part 2) Word Count: 23.9k+

a/n: i broke my promise, i know. :( i feel absolutely fucking terrible that i made you all wait, but life happens. :'( i wish this story was my main priority/job, but alas...that dream is not a reality. i need you all to know: when i say i'm going to do something, i fully intend on it, but...life (and crippling adhd + anxiety).

i am so incredibly sorry, my lovely readers. :(

also, life update to blame (only if you care to read). BUT, on top of trying to get my house completely cleaned/shit thrown away, i officially had to empty out my classroom (see also: due to toxic work enviro, i had to leave the career i've wanted to live out since i was six y/o). so, i'm currently in the process of completely shifting careers (going from one emotionally taxing career to another, but that is apparently the type of job my heart desires lol).

as always, big thank you to @joshym for being the best sister there ever was and supporting me in my writings + pursuits <3 i love you to the ends of the earth, lis. you're my person. <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤 (fr, i listen to it nonstop when i write this.... all of the songs are pertinent to the story and aid in telling it - either already or eventually.)

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

"I covet truth; beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; I leave it behind with the games of youth."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

-🌼🌼🌼-

Monday

December 12, 2022

“So, any news on the baby since I last saw you?” Gia started, a sure smile on her face that helped ease you. “You had your second appointment on Thursday, right?”

“No,” you shook your head. “Dr. Rose wanted to just wait until closer to Week 18 so we could find out the gender at one session rather than having to wait between week 16 and week 18. Knock everything out at once,” you explained, clearing your throat. Looking around the office, you admired the pieces of floral art littering the walls, as you always did. “We’re going this Friday now.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Gia asked, raising a brow. She was rolling to her desk, getting the (seemingly) last thing she needed for your session today and placing it in her lap. “Not stressed about putting it off?”

“No, actually. I’m not stressed at all,” you acknowledged, sticking your lip out in thought. You hadn’t even thought to be stressed yet. Progress? Sure seemed like it. “It’s strange; the longer time passes, the bigger I get. . . The worries just aren’t as prevalent. It’s like I can feel that the baby is okay.”

“Not strange at all, babe,” Gia reassured with a shake of her head. Her platinum blonde hair was wavy today, framing her angular face perfectly. “Completely normal for new mothers to sort of get used to the pregnancy enough to feel at peace, per se. And I am so proud of you for getting to that point.”

“Well thanks,” you grinned crookedly, trying your best to settle into the worn, camel-colored leather of her sofa. “Can’t say the same for today’s session though. . . I am nervous about it.”

Gia waved it away, showing you a look of ease on her stark features. “No need. You’re the one in control, girly,” she winked, placing both white-sneakered feet on the ground. 

She reached in her desk drawer for the little pouch, the familiar one that you knew held the device you’d be using today. A sudden wave of nerves began to crash over you as she unzipped it, revealing it and the paddles that would be the catalyst in placing your brain. . .elsewhere— somewhere. 

Somewhere bad? Good? In-between?

“Here’s the plan,” she started, wheeling her chair closer to the couch, where you were trying your damnedest to sit comfortably. “We’ll start with your safe place to give you some sense of peace and stability — gotta make sure it’s still fresh and open in your mind.” 

You watched as she turned the knob of the device, the little green light beginning to blink to notate that it’s on. “Then,” she continued, situating the device to look it over before her green eyes settled back on you. “Once you feel comfortable, I’ll tell you to begin walking away. Whatever direction you’d like to go, it’s completely up to you.” 

Gia held the paddles out in front of you, and with clammy, shaky palms, you tentatively took hold of them. One in each hand, just like last time.

You couldn’t stop worrying about where you’d end up, where you’d walk away to. Walking away from your beautiful field, from Jake. . . What if you couldn’t do it? 

“Will I. . .,” you cleared your throat, nervous. “If where I go is too hard, do I just—,” you panicked, unable to properly finish your sentence due to an onslaught of nerves. “What will I do?”

You were fumbling with your words and clarity, before she interjected, knowing just where your mind was going. “I’ll simply tell you to walk back to your safe place. I’ll be talking you through it, I’ll be right here the whole time — just gotta keep your ears open for me,” she winked, clicking open her iPad and testing her Apple pencil on the screen, readying to take notes. 

“And, if at any point I see your body language change to indicate any distress, I’ll guide you back to your safe place, okay?” She soothingly told you the words, her full pink lips widening to a sweet smile, clicking her pencil into its spot at the top of her iPad case. “Remember, my specialized area is EMDR. I’ve done it multiple times before this – successfully. I plan to complete this successfully with you, too, y/n.”

When you gave her a small, timid smile, she took that as an indicator to continue on with her little speech. The tiny faux grin on your otherwise concerned face was the most emotion you could muster in that moment. 

“It will hurt from time to time. I can’t take that away. It will be harder than most other things you’ve ever had to do.” She paused, her own brows curving to show care for your rigid state. Gia reached forward to unwrap your hands from the paddles gently. Once she had a hold on your hands, she rubbed the backs of them reassuringly, her thumbs so soft with their intricate patterns. You looked down to study the patterns, working to focus on something else and rid yourself of the nerves. 

“Y/n.” She stated your name, making you look up at her. Her seafoam-colored eyes grabbed yours. “Before we begin. . . I want to make sure – once more – that you are sure about this . . . that you want to continue. We’ve talked about it a lot, but I want you to be sure. There are other routes of therapy. . .”

“No,�� you replied, completely sure of your decision. “No. I want to do this. I promise I haven’t changed my mind. I don’t want to change my mind,” you rushed out, desperate for her to understand you. “I’m just–just scared. Is that not okay?”

You didn’t mean to sound defensive, but your biting tone contradicted that. The nerves were wracking you, from the inside out. 

Luckily, Gia seemed unphased, keeping with her featherlight touch to the backs of your hands. “It absolutely is okay to be scared,” she confirmed, tone firm and soft all at once. “But, I need you to keep in mind: you are in charge this time. You have the power. We will approach these places in the now – you are in the driver’s seat of conquering these past battles. We’re in this together, love – and we will make it out stronger and better than before we started.”

Her voice assured you, of course. But the fear was still ever-present. 

Sure, you did have control. But what if you couldn’t control where you went? 

Where would you go? That was what scared you most. Your mind was bound to let loose. It was one telling part of this sort of therapy. You didn’t really know what had been hiding deep in the drawers of the credenza in your mind. . .  

Hence you being here.

You just knew, whatever it was lying beneath the surface — you knew it was. . . a lot. 

Then, as if she could hear the additional fearful thoughts swimming in your brain, she grasped your hands tighter in hers, moving to rub her thumbs over the tops of your knuckles. “You’ll be just fine. We’ve got a solid plan, babe. I just need you to trust me, and I need you to trust yourself. If you need to walk away, tell me and we’ll do it. That is in our power – your power.” Her pristinely white, pearly teeth were on display as she looked deep into your worried eyes. “We can do this, okay?”

We. I’m not alone. 

You’d never had a single doubt about Gia. Of course you trusted her. But. . .maybe the true problem was trusting yourself. . . Over the past several months, you were finding that to be a bit more difficult. 

But, Gia was right. You had to put some trust in yourself to know when you needed to step away. You could do it. You had to.

And knowing that she had a plan and had done it so many times before. . . Those were relieving thoughts, to say the very least. She knew what she was doing, and she knew what was best for you. 

I can do this, you recited to yourself. I can. . .

You sighed, out of both relief and persistent worry. “I trust you,” you told her, another somewhat forced smile following your words. “And I’ll learn to trust myself. . . I’ll try my best,” you grinned sheepishly. “We’ve got this.”

“Good deal,” she responded with a far more sincere smile than you could offer. “There’s just one more thing we need to do before we get started.” 

She clicked her iPad closed, wheeling back toward her desk, reaching down in the same drawer she pulled the device from. Only this time, she pulled out a large legal style, white notepad, and a large box of Crayola markers. Lastly, she grabbed a flawlessly sharpened pencil from the ceramic baby blue jar, covered in white roses, next to her keyboard. 

What could she be up to? You wondered, eyebrows drawn together. 

“I need you to describe something for me, something visual to lock any horrible memory away in.” She took a sip of her tea, which sat atop her desk, before she stood up from her chair. She came to sit directly next to you on her couch. The smell of eucalyptus that swirled off of her, from her perfume, was soothing. “You need to give it lots of detail, make it unique. I’ll even draw it for you,” she held up the notepad, pointing to it with a gentle smile. “Seeing it visually will help you when it’s time to lock the memories away mentally. Some people want a box, a filing cabinet, a treasure chest,” she laughed, and you giggled at that one, too. Jake would love that one. Buried treasure, like his pirate documentaries. . . “Whatever you want. You just tell me exactly what you want it to look like.” 

Something about this felt a little silly, but you understood the purpose for it. Just having a place to put the memories after you visited them, it felt like closure. A special sort of closure at the end of every session, just like your safe place felt like closure. . .

And then, you knew what you wanted it to look like. Saw the image, clear as day, in your mind. It felt significant to you, it felt right. There was no question. 

But, you had a thought.

“Would–would it be okay if I drew it?” You questioned carefully. 

She eagerly handed you the notepad, markers and pen with a huge smile. “Absolutely. That’s called trusting yourself big time, girly. This box is a special one!” Her voice was wet as she sniffled. “I’m not supposed to get so emotional with my clients, but I’m proud of you. You’re making great strides and we’ve barely started.”

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling a bit encouraged, your own throat tight as you reviewed her once more with a glance. 

Then, sticking the tip of your tongue out from the corner of your mouth, you looked down at the paper, and began. 

A small, wooden box was all you could see in your mind. So, you drew it out, as best you could, given your lack of artistic abilities.

One side, then the other, the bottom, the top. . .

Before you knew it, you had a perfect, rectangular box on the stripped notebook paper. Then, it was time for the important part: the details. 

There was only one element that felt right — felt safe — to decorate the box with. 

Scouring through the markers, you found two perfect shades of purple at the bottom — two very different shades, to add depth. You weren’t an artist, really, but you could pretend for the box’s sake. 

Then, you searched for the greenest green you could find. One more marker in a shade of dark brown, and you were ready to draw the box exactly as you saw it in your mind. 

You began drawing tiny individual stalks of lavender on top of the box. You filled in their blooms with the purples, drawing their stems underneath with the green. Their placement may have seemed scattered across the top, but you kept going. To you, it made sense. And that was all that mattered. 

One bloom in the top left corner, one diagonal from it in the bottom right corner. Then, there was one on the bottom left going straight up and down, with a slight curve to the stem. . . And one more, laying on its side directly in the middle. . .

It was perfect. Just as you’d imagined.

You filled in the blank spaces with the brown marker, immulating the antiqued, stained mahogany wood you were envisioning. 

And once you filled it all in, your vision had come to life right before your own eyes. It was the ideal picture of what you saw, and despite the fact that you were no artist, it was beautiful. You loved it. Looking at it forced emotions you weren’t expecting, so many big emotions that begged to be surfaced. 

And for whatever reason, looking at it made you think of the baby. This beautiful, hand drawn box held a strange connection to the life you and Jake had created, though you couldn’t explain how. . . 

But, you felt it. You felt it so strongly. 

“Lavender means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Gia asked you, smiling and wiping away a stray tear that sat on top of her highlighted cheekbone. “It’s very lovely, y/n. And I’m so glad that you drew it.”

You contemplated her question about lavender. You’d never considered just how prevalent it was in all of your happy places. . . But, it was. It meant so much. . . 

Who knew that such a simple plant could bring you so much comfort? So much peace? 

A tear came to your eye at the thought of how special the plant had become to you. . . It was really no secret why it’d become special. 

Gia leaned over, giving you a small side hug, but didn’t linger before making her way back to her chair. She sat at the edge of it, elbows placed on both knees as she clasped her hands at the front. 

“How are we feeling?” She asked, sniffling once more as she looked you directly in the eyes. “A little better now that we have our box?”

“Yes,” you nodded, wiping under your eye to rid yourself of any tears. “The box idea is genius.”

“The technical term is containment. Again, it’s simply where the client creates a space to store the distressing memories. I want to emphasize that the memories aren’t coming back to control you, rather you’re the one controlling them. And, the box’s containment of the unpleasant memories gives you a little extra control over these memories and the emotions attached to them. They’re yours to deal with,” she explained softly. “You done with the notebook and pens?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded eagerly, handing the materials back to her. You went over her words in your head, extra control. . . the idea of that sounded wonderful to you. Those words aided in lifting a decent amount of weight from your nervous body. 

She took the materials from you, and as she did so, you decided to take the paddles in your hands once more, feeling much more confident. 

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, rolling back in her tufted chair to put the markers and pencils back on the desk. “I definitely can’t take credit for the idea of containing those horrendous memories in a certain area. . . but it has proven wonderfully effective for every client I’ve practiced this form of therapy with,” she explained further, coming back to sit in front of you, wheeling smoothly back towards you. When she was about two feet away from you, she stopped and observed the picture of your box, the notepad still in her lap. “Do you have a clear idea of the box in your mind?”

“The clearest,” you affirmed, no question in your mind of the precise placement of each piece of lavender. The exact color of mahogany that you’d depicted for the wood, sealed in your brain. 

“Wonderful. Well, I’m going to hold it so I can get a good idea of it; just in case you need help finding it at any point,” she said, eyes scanning the page as she spoke. “I’d love to see this in real life – it’s gorgeous.”

“I think so, too,” you grinned, eyes twinkling. And, suddenly, your body felt light in a way that could only indicate one thing. . . you knew there was no time like the present. “I’m ready.” 

Gia looked up at your words, her own eyes donning a spark as she tucked the notepad onto her lap. “If you’re ready, I’m ready,” she smiled kindly, her eyes trustworthy and open for opportunity. “First things first. Make yourself as comfortable as you need to. Sit, lay down. . . it’s up to you.”

You kept yourself upright on the couch, allowing yourself to sink back into its cushions a bit more. And for some reason, the thought of crossing your legs, criss-cross applesauce came to mind. So, you did just that, bringing your legs up to the couch and criss-crossing one over the other. You looked at your belly as you did. A timid grin crept along your lips at the thought of knowing you didn't have much longer until you’d no longer be able to do this. 

Thank you, sweet baby.

With one deep breath in, you felt your stiff limbs loosen with the comfort of the new position you found yourself in. And with the exhale, you looked down at the paddles in your hands, holding them probably a bit too tight as you felt your nails digging into your clammy palms. Still yet, you kept your grip, somehow feeling a bit more secure that way. 

“Nice and comfy?” Gia asked, her warm, knowing smile aiding in relaxing your body even more. 

You looked down at your hands, smoothing your thumbs over the cool plastic of the paddles. You knew this was it, that this could begin to change a lot; it could change everything. The thought of change was a frightening one, but with this change would come a healing journey like you’d never known. For you, for the baby, for  Jake, even. . .

“As I’ll ever be,” you confidently answered. You were ready to embark on this expedition of mending. 

“Perfect,” she said, her voice soft, reassuring. “Close your eyes, take a few deep breaths. Let yourself relax.”

You did as she said, and with one breath in through your nose and blowing it slowly out of your mouth, you closed your eyes. 

You felt your chest rise and fall with each breath. You began to breathe deeper and easier the longer your eyes were closed. 

“Good job.” You heard her sweet voice, feeling comforted by the simple fact that you knew she was still with you. Though you could no longer see her, you felt her. And that was more than enough. “I’ll start the paddles off slowly, just like last time. Turning them on in 3, 2. . .” 

Your body instinctively jolted at the light humming sensation you felt against your palms, your eyes closing a little tighter. But, you quickly remembered the feeling from last time and it didn’t take you very long to get used to it. You even found a little relief in the alternating vibrations. Their consistent rhythm worked to ease your mind. Your eyes, though still closed, instinctively followed in the back and forth motion of the pulsations in your palms. 

“Does this speed feel okay?” You heard her ask, her voice suddenly becoming more distant as you let yourself focus on the steady thrumming of the paddles. 

“Yes,” you whispered, the sound of your voice echoing as though you were in a long, narrow tunnel. “Feels good.” 

“We’ll start with establishing your safe place, y/n. Go ahead and start walking to it. Lead the way.” 

My safe place. 

Suddenly, as though the mere mention of it had  some sort of ability to transcend you there, you began feeling the familiar cool breeze against your face. Faint sounds of the birds singing in the forest of trees filled your ears, becoming a bit louder as you found your footing against the lightly dampened grass beneath your feet. “The birds,” you felt yourself say. “They’re singing, their chirps are becoming clearer now.” 

“Wonderful.” Her voice was heard all around you, echoing against the wind. “Tell me what you see.” 

Your eyes, still physically shut, began to open in your mind. They squinted at the bright, warm rays from the sun. And as you turned your face upwards toward the sky, you could feel the radiance of the rays against your skin. 

And, as you peered a few feet ahead of you, you witnessed a beautiful family of deer were perusing the lush meadow. 

“The sun. . . It’s so beautiful and bright, but it doesn’t hurt to look at it,” you shared with her, squinting towards it with no negative effect, shocked by the fact. “And the deer. So innocent and pure. They’re so near to me, but not scared of me at all.”

“You’re doing amazing, y/n. Keep going, tell me what you can touch, what you can smell.” Her voice carried throughout the trees like the wind, meshing beautifully with the songs of the birds. 

Bending down, you ran your fingers through the dewy blades of grass. They felt cool, soft. Like a blanket of emerald velvet. “The grass. It’s soft, a little wet.”

And then, the smells. The fragrance of freshly rain coated grass, as though an evening shower had just finished nourishing the ground before you’d arrived. The rainfall, sustaining the life of the pasture, the jude green grasses, the illustrious amethyst plant surrounding you. . . 

The divine aroma from your favored flower overwhelmed your senses in the most alluring way. The bloomed field, surrounding you, holding you carefully in its gentle grasp. 

“The lavender,” you felt yourself say, eagerly. “I can smell it, so fresh and clean; the sense of calm it brings me. . .” 

You then felt the paddles pick up in their speed, ever so slightly, but enough that you could tell.

“Oh yes, your lavender,” Gia hushed as she positively tracked with you. 

My lavender. 

Gently, you sat your body down in the midst of the flowers. And once you did, you felt the urge to place your hands against your tummy, to feel the baby, just like last time. 

There you are, right where you belong, you thought when you felt the smooth bump beneath your hands. 

You felt nearly complete, nearly, but you knew something was still missing—someone. 

And just when you started to look beyond the stems of lavender to find him, there he was. 

Clad in the very same navy blue, three piece suit you’d seen him in the first time. The rays from the sun bounced off of his chestnut locks, his tanned skin radiant and glowing. 

With a soft, lopsided smile, he slowly walked toward you. The vision of him, walking amongst the stalks of lavender as they gently swayed from the light breeze against his calves. . . You felt yourself sigh with relief. 

This was safe. This was home. 

Once he approached you in what felt like no time at all, he laid down right beside you, extending one arm out for you to join him. And as you did, letting yourself at last melt into his warm embrace, you were finally there. 

Your safest place.

“I’m here now,” you muttered, feeling yourself smile warmly as you did. “And I’m safe.” 

“Enjoy it for a moment, let it sink in, put yourself at ease.” You heard Gia’s voice, but the more you focused on Jake, the more distant she became. 

You found yourself gazing into his eyes, sparkling like golden gems, as he cradled you in the crook of his arm. 

In his amber-brown eyes, you saw your haven, your sanctuary of serenity. 

A gentle smile graced his lips as he reached up, tenderly brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear. “It’s time to step away now, y/n,” he told you. Though, you knew it was truthfully Gia telling you, you heard Jake’s voice. You watched his lips move as he spoke, “You can do this. I’m right here.” 

Again, you knew the words were coming from Gia. But, hearing them in his voice, as much as you didn’t want to leave him, it was the final push you needed. 

It was time. 

With only a bit of resistance, you sat up, slowly standing to your feet and urged yourself forward towards the unknown. When you looked back, you saw Jake standing gracefully amongst the fragrant blooms of your lavender. 

Home, you thought. He looks like home. 

With one final sigh, and with the most strength you were sure you’d ever mustered, you walked away from him. 

Your hands found your belly for some extra courage as you stepped away, everything turning black for a moment once you got far enough. But, the further you went, a tiny, dim light caught your attention. It initially seemed like miles away, but with every step you took, it became worlds closer. 

A lamp. You could finally see it. It was old, dusty. It was sitting atop a table, from what you could tell. . . 

With one more step, the full picture started to come to you. You’d guessed right — it sat on top of a round, wooden table that only had one leg in the center, making it lean a little to the left. The white, canvas lampshade was stained so badly. . . 

The stains were reminiscent of those that come from years of smoking cigarettes near it. 

In fact, you were shocked that you could tell it had ever been white. 

As the image became more clear, you saw a black ash tray next to the lamp, full of cigarette butts, all but confirming your cigarette theory. You could smell the smoke, too, as though someone had just finished one off. The stench was putrid, the chemically treated tobacco mixed disgustingly with the other trash laying on the table. 

To the right, you saw a sofa. The blue cloth over the cushions, stained just like the lamp, was tattered and worn. It was full of holes. Tiny, black holes. Cigarette burns?

God, the smell was nearly becoming too much. It was so strong, potent. Cigarettes and filth. Utter filth. Filth that you suddenly began to remember being suffocated by as a child.  

No wonder you liked things so pristinely clean. . .

The shag carpet beneath your feet felt like it had never been vacuumed after years of wear. It was littered with half empty beer cans, more cigarette butts, rat droppings. . .

God — the fucking smell. A triggering smell—one that had your stomach turning to the point that vomit rose in your throat. 

The paddles sped up a bit more, much more noticeably this time as they forced your brain to grasp what you were experiencing. 

“Tell me what you see, y/n. Tell me where you are.” It was no longer Jake’s voice that you were hearing, it was once again Gia’s. And though you missed the sound of his, you were so happy to hear her, reminding you that she was still there. 

This was the past. Gia was the present. You were with Gia.

You stepped to the side, glancing around the room you were standing in, trying with all of your might to not allow the stench to make you sick. 

“It’s—I’m in a living room, I think. . .?” You noticed a television set, one from the late nineties with a built-in VCR, sitting on top of a makeshift table made of three small slabs of particle board. 

The more you looked around, you noticed there was only one average-sized window in the whole room, next to the white front door. The door was scuffed to hell and looked ready to give at any second. The blinds attached to the window were ripped to shreds, hardly hanging onto the frame. 

“Y-yeah, it’s a living room. It’s. . .It was our living room. One of them, at least. I’m fully beginning to. . . To recognize it. . .”

You’d lived in so many homes as a child, seen many living rooms. But this one, this home and the walls surrounding you. . .this one was different. While most homes from your childhood didn’t leave you with happy memories, this one felt—evil. This had been a personal hell.

Anxiety, heavy sadness. . . this room was wrought with it.

And as you heard a certain laugh, deep and throaty, from the next room over, your stomach churned and your mind went fuzzy. That sound. It was vile and thick with too many years of smoking. That particular laugh was associated with ugliness and gut-wrenching fear. 

The man that the laugh was attached to. . . This was his house. You remembered that now. There was no safety here. This place was only associated with feeling powerless, forgotten, and lonely. 

The paddles wiggled in your hands, the vibrations reaching your worn nerves.

Elsie was here, though. Somewhere. You knew that. 

And Elsie had helped in making it less lonely — just knowing she was in this past-tense moment filled you with ease. Your sister was here. 

Though, you knew for past Elsie, she was still trapped. Even though she comforted this adult version of you that was invading. . . there was still no escape for little girl Elsie. 

This place had been desolate, with no chance for escape. You’d been tied here by invisible rope.

Fuck. Where was your sister? You could feel her near, but she wasn’t in the living room with you. Your skin prickled at what she could be experiencing. . . You couldn’t fully wrap your brain around it. 

But this was the past. Right now, you just needed to focus on your surroundings.

Living room. The living room. 

Your mind was quickly skirting back to your present placement. And, rather than standing, you suddenly realized you were sitting on the ground. Strangely, your hands in the memory were free of the paddles, tucked safely in your lap, shaking. . . And not daring to touch the dirty, shaggy carpet. 

For a split second, you wondered. . . Why were you not sitting on the couch or a chair? And why were you sitting in a place you felt you couldn’t move from? Was this how you’d been placed originally? In the past? 

You observed the wobbly dinner table in front of you and realized it had zero chairs. And on a second glance around the room, you noticed something you hadn’t before. . . a sleeping form on the couch. 

So, it seemed, with the occupied couch being the only other piece of furniture in the living room besides the table. . . the floor had been your only option. 

You used the unconscious state of the room’s other occupant to your advantage and turned a bit to observe the person. The person’s face wasn’t visible and their body was covered in a blanket filled with holes and torn more than it wasn’t. But. . . You could see hair. 

Blonde. Yellow-blonde. Box-dyed with the cheapest dye. 

Long hair, ratty and knotted to the point of almost no fixing it. The way the strands shone a little bit under the dim lighting from the old, dusty lamp showed you it was very oily as well. . . It wasn’t a healthy shine. 

The person on the couch, from what you could see, was far from healthy in any capacity. The body looked malnourished through the blanket’s holes. At closer inspection, you noticed an arm dangling off the sofa, peeking from the blanket. 

The arm was littered in tiny holes and scars. . . from heroin injections, multiple cigarette burns. . . Then there was the red, irritated acne that littered the pale skin, between the various marks. 

Poor thing. What a dreaded way to live life. . . Your heart broke in your chest and tears sprung to your tired eyes as your hand clutched at your tummy. 

You could do that in the memory. You were you in the present, yet placed like you’d been in the past. . . so weird.

All you knew was you had a sense to protect the untouched life in your womb. The feeling of being a protector to your child was unparalleled to anything in this moment. . . You would never let the little life inside of you bear witness to anything like you had as a child. . .

Like your current situation. 

Or, past situation, rather. . . This was not real. Not in the present. This was controlled — controllable.

The paddles jolted in your real hands, helping you to center you.

“Y/n,” Gia’s voice broke through your psyche, touching your brain delicately. You let out a sigh of relief at the sound of her soft spoken tone. “Can you hear me, girly?”

You nodded, but weren’t sure if she could see it or if the action was only visible in your dreamlike stupor. This was so weird. . . 

So, you decided to respond the best you could with words. “Y—yeah,” you stuttered out, blinking rapidly as you tried (and failed) to keep tears at bay. “This is. . . So familiar, yet so forgotten. . .,” your voice faded out. 

Your eyes in the memory were now pinched shut, trying to keep the laughter you could still hear from the kitchen (because, yes, you somehow knew exactly where it was coming from) far away. 

But it just seemed to be getting closer. . .

“Tell me where you are, y/n,” Gia requested, soothing, yet strong. “Take me with you. You are going to be okay.”

“I—I can’t—,” gasping, you shook your head. 

Willing the menacing, thick chuckle to fade, you squinted your eyes open slowly, tried to refocus on the living room to tell Gia what you could. Your hands still held your belly, but your thighs came closer to your chest. You wanted to scrunch up and stay in your bubble. 

“Y/n.”

Your blood ran cold and your skin prickled harshly with goosebumps. Fear. Terror. Dread.

The voice wasn’t Gia’s. It wasn’t Jake’s. No. It was coming from behind you. The person on the couch. The worn down, baby blue fabric couch. The navy blue patterns of it, a distant memory, washing back quickly like a flood. . . 

This was definitely a memory. A real thing that had happened in the past. This had happened before. It was deeply repressed. 

A dark memory. Bad. So, so bad.

You felt dirty for more reasons than one now. . . 

Looking down, you noticed your outfit had changed. Though you still looked as you currently did in 2022, you were wearing an outfit you had as a child. The attire made your skin crawl. 

This pajama set, you were made to wear it more often than not.

A tiny, satin set. Too small for you to properly fit into. How old were you? Nine? Ten? Was this right before you went to live with. . .?

“Pig.”

No. Not that nickname. No no no.

You hadn’t heard that since your mother had called you��.

The person on the couch.

“Piggy.”

Did you have it in yourself to face her? Could you? What would happen if you didn’t? No. No.

You had to. The baby, safe in your belly. . . that baby needed a mom who could face her demons and not fall to them. 

. . .Fall to them like the shell of a woman, on the couch behind you, had fallen to hers. 

You felt crippled with fear, but brave beyond comparison all at once. . .

The steady tremors from the paddles in your hands were the best help you could’ve had in the moment, reminding you of your power. . .

And, once you’d given yourself the strength to swivel your body to meet her eyes. . . there she was. 

A woman whose face had become a shadow since she’d left you. The moment she’d left you. . .a mess of snot and tears, head throbbing as it laid on Elsie’s shoulder, desperate to understand a mother that had never seemed to love you. 

Your eyes were her eyes. Thankfully, that was about where the similarities in your features stopped. 

She was paler than you. Her lips, thin and cracked from lack of hydration where yours were full. Her cheekbones were sharp and protruded more than they should. . . Your cheekbones, defined, yet concealed under soft skin you took very good care of . . . 

And her face. . . It also lacked freckles. You had the tiniest spatter of light freckles that sat at the tops of your cheeks. Your freckles, mimicking angel kisses, which stayed mostly hidden save for the summertime when they’d make an appearance after exposure from the sun. Her skin was washed out, lacking color. It was as if she hadn’t even been exposed to the sun for a long, long time. . .

Perhaps you might’ve looked more like her than you could tell at this moment. But, right now, all you saw was a sunken face, holding more wrinkles and lines than a woman her age should hone. And, her eyes,  even if they looked like yours initially, were glassy and hollow from too many drugs. . . 

Right now, they held uncertainty and a rage that was becoming more and more apparent the longer you looked into her eyes. . .

She looked lost. . . Confused, yet furious. 

The fury, pointed towards you. 

“Get. Up,” your mother ordered, voice cracking a bit, spit flying past her chapped lips. The tone of her voice. . . it made your heart jump into your throat. “Do your job, Pig.”

Before you could respond, you felt heavy footsteps make their way into the living room, shaking the weak structure of the small home that seemed to be falling apart around you. 

“Move, you lazy drug slut,” a booming voice growled. You knew it was aimed towards your mother. “Give little Piggy some space to sit next to Mr. Morgan, hm?”

Mr. Morgan.

The paddles buzzed in your hands, re-centering you. 

You didn’t dare look at the man who’d entered the room behind you, knowing it was the same man attached to the laughter from the kitchen. 

So, it was only out of your peripheral vision when you noticed him round to the other side of you, getting close to your mom. The next thing you saw, faded from the corner of your eye, were fat, sausage-like fingers reaching to yank the thin blanket off your mother. The unmasked view of her figure broke your heart further, her body shaking, bones on full display through her papery skin, begging for a fix. . . 

It didn’t take long for those same fingers to forcefully clutch her shoulder and yank her up. You could’ve sworn you heard the bones in her shoulder crack, but she barely let out a yelp. It was more of a tired groan, eyes closed and eyebrows drawn in with irritation towards being disturbed. 

But, she shook more. . . Her bones, most likely rattling under her skin. And this time, you knew it was more from nerves and terror, than lack of drugs. She was just trying to play tough.

Mr. Morgan (the name, making bile rise in your throat) came to sit at the end of the couch, but your eyes once again drew shut and your body became rigid. Even if you were facing the couch, you still only kept your body towards your mother’s. She wasn’t safe, by any means. But she wasn’t Mr. Morgan. 

You couldn’t look at him. The vile smell of him alone, sweat and grime from lack of showering. . . You were going to hurl on the spot. The way the nausea quickly began to rise in the hollow of your throat, you knew there was no time to get out now. . . Your heartbeat was thrumming so vigorously in your chest, you felt like you were going to choke on its strength.

Then the ugly, bitter laughter was back again. . . Right in front of you this time, your mother moaning next to him. . .

A distant beeping in the background. . . what? Where was that coming–?

The intensity of the paddles increased, the vibrations working to balance you amidst the fear.

“Open your eyes, Pig,” Mr. Morgan grunted, reprimanding you. His voice was stark and loud against the decaying walls of the living room. You winced with what you imagined to come, your heart accelerating and your blood running colder than cold. “Open. Your. Fucking. Eyes, my little whor–.”

The paddles were working so hard to bring you back, but you couldn’t–.

“Y/n.” Gia’s voice rang out through the disgusting home, flowing into your ears, reassuring you. “It’s time to leave, y/n. Find your safe place.”

You didn’t have to be told twice, not with the tears streaming down your face and the way your breath was stuck in your lungs. Your chest stung from the way your heart rate wouldn’t let up. . . the way your heart raced, unrelenting and beating harder every time. . . . The pain was excruciating, making you want to keel over from the intensity. 

There wasn’t a memory of leaving the room, you just knew you had left as you ran. 

You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, eyes still shut to avoid being used by him–Mr. Morgan. God. You hated that man. You hated your mother. 

But, you weren’t with them anymore. The rotting smell of the home and the body odor that reeked from the two people in your vision – it was all gone. You were out. So, you decided to open your eyes. You had to open them to find the place you’d created for a time just like this. . . 

Your place. Your home. The field of lavender. Jake. Peaceful serenity, awaiting you amongst the birds chirping and the light blue skies. . .

So, with eyes open and tears streaming down your cheeks, you decided you needed to be there now. Now now now now. . .

And before you could request it any further, your feet were touching the lush grass and the skies were clear and powdery blue above you. . .

“Are you safe, y/n?” Gia asked, her voice much clearer when you were in the field, surrounded by nature. Your sanctuary. 

“Yes,” you breathed, voice cracking just a little on the word. You hadn’t spoken for a while. . . Too scared to do so. Clearing your throat, you tried once more. “Yes. Yes, I’m safe. I’m in my safe place. The lavender. The beautiful, tall trees filled with green leaves. The breeze is perfectly warm against my face. . .”

“Wonderful,” Gia said, sounding relieved and stoic all at once. “You are okay, girly. You are okay. It’s not your current reality. It’s not right now. This is right now. You are safe.”

Yes. I’m safe. 

Your breathing was coming much easier and your heart wasn’t pounding in your ears any longer. 

Your hands found your belly, the sweetest little round bump.  But where was. . .?

Then, you felt him. Jake. 

Solid and sure behind you, his chest meeting your back. His arms, coming to wrap around you, cradling you and the belly that held his baby. Your head, falling of its own accord to lay back on his shoulder. . . 

You were finally able to relax. Let go. The tears poured from your eyes, wetting your cheeks with steady tracks.

“Shhh,” Jake shushed you, the minty smell of his toothpaste lingering on his breath as it washed over your features. The sandalwood-vanilla of his cologne was reminiscent of heaven, you were sure of it. “It’s okay, baby.”

He swayed you a little, your eyes falling closed in peaceful surrender to him and this moment. . .

“Y/n, I want you to think of your box,” you heard the words, knowing it was Gia. But, you felt Jake saying it. Even if she was the one saying the words, you wanted him to help guide you, too. Your mind was a funny place. 

His voice kept soothing you, “Think of the box and open it. Open it and place the memory you stepped into today inside of it. Secure that memory inside of the box.”

So, with one fleeting glance at the disgusting past you’d had to re-experience today, you mentally opened the lid to the box. And, as the lid opened, you let the people and the stingy place flow quickly into the sturdy wooden structure of the box. 

You could have spit on the people and the place and the smells. . . Fuck it all. 

The sureness of the box truly calmed you as the last little bit of the memory faded into the box. 

“Tuck it away in your box. Just keep it there until you’re ready to revisit it again. . .,” Gia counseled, her words yet again came through as if Jake were saying them. His breath was warm against the column of your throat, lips near to your ear. “You have control of it, y/n.”

Once you knew it was all inside, you let the lid click shut. The little pieces of lavender you imagined to be skillfully painted atop the box assured you that it would all be over soon. 

Beep beep beep beep. The beeping again. Familiar. You’d heard it momentarily at the disgusting, decrepit house. What was it?

“Y/n,” you heard Gia again, her words no longer masked by Jake’s voice. “Are you ready to come back to the office?”

As much as you wanted to never leave the man who still held you, you knew that the sooner you left the safe place, the sooner you could actually see him. He was waiting for you. In the lobby. In the present. 

“Yeah,” you sighed with a sniffle, most of your tears dry after the safety you’d felt in the field of lavender. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“I’m right here with you,” Gia assured you, her voice the closest it had been since initially closing your eyes. 

You closed your eyes once more, your body feeling lighter. Letting yourself sink into real time, you felt the soft, camel leather of the couch under you, around you. Then came the smell of Gia’s essential oils, filtering in through your senses. Things were okay. 

When your eyes cracked open, so tentative and slow, Gia was ready and waiting with open eyes. 

But the beeping. . . It was still happening — it was incessant. And it was fully apparent now that the sound was coming from your belt bag, hanging on Gia’s office door handle. 

Your heart monitor. 

Shit.

“How long has that been going off?” You blanched, eyes bugged as you got off the couch to grab your bag from the handle. Though, your legs were weaker than you expected, body worn down. It forced you to sit back down to gain your wherewithal.

Noticing this, Gia stuck a hand out to get you to pause from trying again. “I will grab the bag,” she soothed. “You stay there. Give yourself time to adjust to the present time. You’ve been through it, babe.”

All you could do was nod and swallow thickly, your heart no longer beating hard enough to make the phone go off. But apparently it had accelerated at some point. . . 

And then you remembered. 

Mr. Morgan. He’d made your heart rate go ballistic. 

When he’d approached, commanded you to open your eyes, and almost called you that horrible name. . . it had gone insane. 

Your chest had been in so much pain, and you could remember hearing the incessant beeping, now. . .

“Fuck, Gia,” you combed a hand through your hair. “My heart . . . I remember. . . my chest was hurting like a bitch.”

Gia inhaled deeply. “Yeah. . . You know, how about I hold the phone that tracks it from here on out? To keep an eye on your heart rate?” She suggested, raising a brow as she walked back to you with the belt bag. Raising a brow, she eyed you as she got close enough to hand your belongings over to you. “We need to be aware of your health and the baby’s first and foremost, before anything else.”

You swallowed with a slight nod, not wanting to see where your heart had skyrocketed to. But you knew you had to see it. So, you unzipped your bag and shakily got your monitor phone out.

When you slid the screen open to check, your breath caught in your throat. Tears welled in your eyes at the very large number, flashing at you in red. 

Shit. 185. What the fuck?

That could have gotten really bad, really fast if Gia hadn’t stopped you when she did.

“So. . . What had it gotten to?” Gia questioned carefully, wide eyes serious and ready to help. 

You observed her for a second, not wanting to divulge just how high it had gotten for one reason in specific. . . The fear that Gia would make you stop EMDR if she knew just how high it had gotten — that possibility kept your lips sealed.

“Girly, I really feel it’s incredibly important that we keep track of that. I didn’t want to be invasive while you were under, but I heard it and I knew what it was. . .,” Gia tried to counsel you, taking your skeptical gaze as you finding her invasive. “I really didn’t like not knowing what your heart rate was. It’s best we stay aware of that. We have to be so careful of that, girly.”

You wanted to tell her. Duh. Why wouldn’t you want to? You told her everything else. . . The possibility of not being able to—.

“We will still continue our EMDR, y/n,” Gia grinned warmly with a wink. “I know that’s what you’re worried about. . .”

Your mouth puckered, as you took in a deep breath, gawking at the tall blonde across from you. 

You couldn’t help the bubble of a laugh that spurted from your lips, in spite of your worried thoughts. You were in awe of your therapist’s intuition. “How did you know?” You questioned, already mostly knowing the answer.

The answer was: people in this profession were really very incredible. . . And Gia — she, in particular, was so empathetic and so aware of everything that mattered to you. . .

“It’s my job to tune in to that shit,” she grinned, sitting back in her rolling chair, one leg crossed over the other. 

After sharing a smirk with her, you decided you might as well tell her. You were nearing the end of your time, and you assumed she still wanted to be filled in on what had happened during your time under. 

“My BPM was. . . in the 180s,” you divulged, wary of her reaction. “That’s um—that’s really high,” you tagged on to the end, blowing out a breath, still shocked at the number yourself.

“Ho-ly fuck,” Gia stated, eyes wide and mouth in a straight line as she shook her head. “No shit that’s high.”

“We’ll figure it out?” you stated the question, hoping it would be ammunition for Gia to agree. 

“Of course,” she nodded adamantly. Sitting up in her chair, she leaned forward. Her elbows, on the ends of her thighs, near her knee caps. “When do you turn it in? How long do we have with it?”

“I turn it in next week,” you answered, curious where she was going. “Hopefully I’ll get some results and sure answers. . .” Trailing off, you decided to shut up so she could get to her point. 

“Well. . .,” she started, rubbing her palms together, eyes glancing down and back to you, “Would you be opposed to me attaching another monitor to you during our sessions? After that one is turned in?”

“That’s a great plan,” you answered, nodding with pursed lips. “Sounds safe.” Though, you paused. One more question. “And you’ll keep watch of it next time?”

“If that’s what you want from me, I’d love to be able to help you in that way,” she answered with a reassuring sureness in her tone. 

“I do want that,” you replied with a sheepish grin. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course, girly,” Gia smiled, lopsided and full of ease. “We’ll make sure to get you through this therapy the safest we possibly can. Gotta protect you and that baby.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

After filling her in on everything from your EMDR vision, she’d given you a few more pieces of therapeutic wisdom and advice. Little things to follow if the memories came back with a vengeance. 

But, you’d gone more than five minutes over your session’s time at that point, pushing her other appointment back. 

So, you didn’t get long before the two of you had to bustle out. You’d been about eight minutes past session end time when you officially exited the small room, the session having just ended. 

A long fucking session.

Your body was extremely weighed down by fatigue and exhaustion. So, when you finally connected with Jake, you sunk happily into his warm, safe embrace. 

It seemed walking directly into Jake’s arms was exactly what your body longed for after leaving Gia’s office. You’d had little to no choice in where your body had guided you.

He had already been standing, waiting for you. His amber-brown eyes, wide open and full of readiness to help you. He’d seemed anxious to see you. You could tell as much by the tapping of his foot, the way he’d been worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, the wrinkle of his brows. . .

So, of course, as soon as you approached, his arms had widened to welcome you in. 

Surprisingly, you hadn’t cried when you met his arms. . . Honestly, it was probably because you’d exhausted your tear ducts during your session. And all that you felt now was pure numbness. You didn’t know how to feel – just knew that you were tired and needed someone to be close to.

And Jake was the person you wanted most. 

Once safe in his embrace, you didn’t have the mental energy to even think about how it would look to Gia – but you knew she’d understand. 

You felt Gia come up behind you, even halfway heard her introducing herself to Jake. 

And even though you were out of it, you still heard Jake respond kindly, hearing the smile in his voice. When he moved his hand to shake hers, you didn’t turn around, just kept your face tucked into his shoulder, one of his arms still tightly hugging you to him. The pressure was really nice – it really calmed you down to feel so secure with him. 

It felt like the field of lavender, but this was really real – and that made it inexplicably better. 

Thankfully since you’d quickly scheduled the next session in Gia’s office, you didn’t have to wait much longer to head home. You didn’t want to leave his embrace, but you ended up turning out of Jake’s arms to tell Gia goodbye. 

When you reached forward to give her a hug, she whispered calmly in your ear. “You’re safe. Everything is okay in the here and now. I’m proud of you, y/n. You are already making great strides.”

After telling her a quiet ‘thank you’, you turned to Jake. 

“I’m ready when you are,” he assured you, lips turned up in an easy grin. His eyes were soft in a way that showed you he really was ready to be whatever you needed him to be. 

You didn’t need to be told again. You were ready for food and sleep. So, after the two of you waved to Gia over your shoulders,  Jake let you lead him out, opening the door for you from behind. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you snapped out of your daze and found a bit of energy, you decided to divulge to Jake just how high your heart rate had gotten during the session.

You had expected him to be a little worried on your behalf, but he’d gotten. . . really, really worried. You’d go so far as to call it a minor anxiety attack. 

His eyes had bugged, face had paled, and his breathing had gotten choppy. . . All signs of some serious anxiety on his end. 

His care for the situation was apparent, that much was for certain. He’d babbled in a rush of words – voiced a lot of concern on your behalf and the baby’s. . . Well, that was what you could catch in his raspy, frenzied tone. You’d missed a few things as he’d rushed the words out.

It was really sweet how much he cared. You had to work to keep the tiny grin off your face in response to his obviously sincere regard for your health (and the baby’s). You’d kept your quiet smile at bay the best you could and calmly reassured him that you were wearing a heart monitor for a reason – so the doctors could track those weird things and get down to the root of why your heart sucked ass at times. 

You’d explained that medical professionals had started dealing with it the night at the emergency room and would continue once your monitor got sent in within the next couple of weeks.

“I know today’s already been a lot, but do you have it in you to explain more about that night?” Jake asked, his breathing evening out as he rounded the curb, out of the office parking lot. “The night you went to the emergency room?”

“Yeah, totally,” you readily agreed, jumping at the opportunity to not think about the muddled images still flashing in your mind from your session. “Where do you want me to start?” You wondered aloud, peeking at him as you picked with a loose string on the seam of your leggings.

He cleared his throat in the way that indicated he was a little nervous. “What triggered it, exactly? Had you been okay at the bar that night? Was it because of something that had happened there?”

“It wasn’t really because of anything that happened at the bar, no,” you shook your head, looking down at the string you were pulling at, giving it a good yank to do away with it. “And I was kind of okay that night. . . Same as I’d been every other day around the time,” you laughed humorlessly, not missing those days at all. 

But, you couldn’t help reflecting on the events at the bar. . . since he'd brought it up. That night, just thinking of it still gave you butterflies. . . The way he’d feasted his eyes on you as your song played. . .

Stay focused, y/n.

“Um— during those earlier days, I’d had several days where I’d been really fuckin’ dizzy. . . could hardly eat most days, always nauseous and puking. . .,” you crinkled your nose at the thought, shivering at the memories. 

After getting over the thought of the constant vomiting, you stopped your train of thought to consider the fainting. All of the factors. You were not sure what to blame in particular. Though, you remembered Dr. Stevens’ opinion. 

“Honestly, more than one factor triggered it. . . but. . .,” you drew in a breath, pinching your eyes shut at the worst part of the night. “I actually blacked out and fucking fainted,” you cracked one eye open to look over at him to gauge his reaction.

“You blacked— you what?!” His voice rose a little bit at the idea, the car swerving the slightest bit when he glanced at you.

“Focus on the road!” You shook your head, eyes now opened wide at his swerve. However, you did find his reaction a bit funny. “I’m fine now, Jake,” you reassured, reaching over to give his arm one squeeze. 

But quickly, you placed your hand back in your lap to avoid any sort of awkwardness. 

You offered him a smile as your hand moved, looking up at him from your twitching thumbs, just as he glanced down at you. 

His eyebrows were still knit with worry when he faced the road again. “You’re sure?”

“Mostly,” you answered, thinking of the heart monitor’s job, peering down briefly to where it stayed on your chest. “They’re tracking my heart rate to make totally sure. And I’ve even kept an eye on my hemoglobin — which is doing much better, too. Not that you care about that part—.”

“I care about it all,” Jake interrupted, his tone insistent enough to make you pause and look over at him. 

Let him care, y/n. He wants to. . . Don’t tell him what he cares about and what he doesn’t. . .

From under your lashes, you studied him. You were glad he was now stopped at a light, giving you a little time to share a look with him. His eyes were full of warmth. . . The deep brown of his irises, capturing you. His eyes held yours so tenderly, desperate for you to understand he meant what he said.

And you did understand. You understood that he truly cared for you. . . and that his patience for you was incredible. You just felt completely undeserving of the amount of chances he’d given you after you’d hurt him so badly. 

The look in his eyes had you trapped, completely enamored by all of him. . . Your heart beat was pulsing in your ears, helping you to feel light as a feather under his stare. 

But, when a car honked to let you both know the light had turned green, it jolted you both, effectively tearing your focus from the other. He was driving again and you were back to looking through the windshield to continue your story. 

You cleared your throat to break up the air.

“We um— we checked all the boxes, you could say. The doctor was sure to put measures in place to keep an eye on all of the things that could have been a major issue to trigger that,” you spoke confidently, to give him affirmation that things were okay. “So, yes, I’m sure I’m fine now and I’m going to be fine in the future.”

Out of selfish desire, you let your line of sight float back to him. Yet again. It was just so easy to sit and admire his natural beauty. . .

Jake sucked in a breath, so deep from his chest. You could tell he was considering your words, one brow still arched in contemplation. 

“Okay,” he sighed his response, relief evident in his looser posture. He eased up his grip on the wheel, leaning back in the seat. You tried not to watch the way his jeans stretched over his lap. “So,” he started, “is there anything else you found out that night? A big, prevailing reason you quite literally blacked out?”

“The doctor I spoke to thinks it’s because of this underlying condition I most likely have — called POTS.”

“POTS?” He asked, his tone curious. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that.”

“It’s just a blood circulation disorder. I think I’ve had it nearly all my life. But it can be brought on by stress and cause things like fainting. . .,” you trailed off, glancing down at your belly. “Which I was obviously feeling a lot of with the baby. I mean, talk about massive life change,” you smirked, rubbing the bump that was more and more noticeable every day. 

“And I was the only one who knew this giant thing for a bit. . . then only Elsie knew. And, yeah, when Josh found out, I was feeling a little better. Felt lighter. . .,” you paused, your next words, being important to you. “But I still wanted to tell you most,” your lips lifted in spite of yourself. “But, we weren’t really talking because of all the shit that happened between u–.”

You stopped yourself at that, though. Shit. Today didn’t really seem like the time to get into all of that. It had already been such a long day. 

The car stayed silent for a few beats. 

Once Jake started speaking again, your eyes found his handsome profile.

“Yeah. . .,” Jake offered in response to that, his jaw clenching. His eyes were dead-set on the road. The expression on his face, hard. Yet. . .it wasn’t angry. Not angry at all, just thoughtful. 

He seemed to be contemplating it all.

He proved you right with his next words, bringing you back. “I need you to know—I’m really fucking sorry for not being so present—for not noticing more. I wish I would’ve been more aware and been there for you. . . Shit, I should have noticed you weren’t eating normally and were constantly sick,” he rubbed his forehead once, jaw tight again as he spoke on the subject. “I was still just stuck in my own head over stuff — really hurt. I still am, I think. But, I also, more importantly, had no way of knowing that you were carrying my kid, so. . .,” he trailed off, clearing his throat. “So I didn’t watch too hard for things out of the ordinary — my mind was in other places.” 

Other places, your mind repeated, mocking you. Like Maya. . . 

Your stomach was still churning at the depressing thought of him having ignored you and still being hurt (albeit, you’d deserved it), when his voice echoed back through your train of thought. 

“I did notice you weren’t home that night, though. . . After dropping Maya off at her place, I got home and you weren’t there. I. . .,” he sniffed, running a nervous hand through his hair as he looked both ways to make a turn. “I panicked, noticed your chapstick and house key were on the ground outside — it made no fuckin’ sense. I called Josh to ask him where you were — assumed he’d know. And, he did. But he told me the bare fucking minimum. I didn’t even know you were at the emergency room. He just told me not to worry and cut me off with an ‘I love you’ before hanging up on me,” Jake rolled his eyes at the memory, fists gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. “Now I know it’s because you obviously really needed him. . . But at that point, I was so pissed. Obviously, you were in some sort of bind and there was nothing I could do to help since we were. . .,” he let his train of thought fade into nothing. Your mind was a frenzy of everything he was telling you, but you tuned back in when he began speaking again. “And then your heart monitor came in the mail. . . I didn’t even think about how they could be connected. I just knew the very little Josh had told me from that night and then I saw a damn heart monitor show up. . . I was just super fucking confused and terrified for you. . . I was trying my best to connect all of the dots.”

“Well. . .,” you started, not sure if you should say what you were thinking. But still, you did. “It wasn’t really any of your business at that point. I didn’t want to make you— it was just a lot to process for me and we. . .,” you trailed off, at a loss. Still so tired from the session. “I don’t know. . . I had reasons.”

“I know, y/n,” he responded, voice tight with masked emotion. 

You didn’t know what to say after that. Your eyes were trained on what was outside the passenger side window.

The air in the car was dense, slightly awkward on your end. 

It was strange how weird things could feel after a damn conversation when, just a week ago in this very car, you’d had him in your mouth. 

It was slightly embarrassing that a hard conversation topic was what it took to make both of you freeze up. But, somehow, you could still find the wherewithal to have your mouth on his. . . Mhm.

That was what you got for making sex such a giant thing before. . . now you’d made that easy and everything else fucking taboo. 

But the sex had just been too good to not make it something you did all the damn time. . . 

God, you missed sex with him. . . Him, inside of you, his hips going at a perfect pace. . .

Thanks to your motherfucking hormones, you were back in the living room floor with him. . . So often, you went back to that one rainy morning with Aretha Franklin on the turntable. . .

The look on his face when you fucked him, one of your favorite sights. That morning, just like always, he’d watched you so closely. . . Your face, your breasts, your ass, or your pussy that was wrapped around him, so tight. 

As he fucked you so slow and purposeful, a hand raising your leg to get a better angle, he hit a secret spot inside of you. Your toes had curled as you whined his name.

And just as his name fell from your lips, he’d scrunched his brows, and let his mouth fall open with certain movements of his hips. His jaw, clenched, when you’d flex around him or biting his lip when you’d let out a shaky breath. . . 

“Y/n?”

“Yes?” You shook your head of the fucking delicious scene in your memories. 

Now was not the time. 

To show respect, you did your best to wipe the picture and put your full attention on him. You glanced at him. He looked so beautiful under the natural light of the early evening and the streetlights. And his hair looked so healthy and long. . .

“I’m not upset or anything that you kept any of it from me,” he ventured to explain, your mind coming back to the topic at hand. “I need you to know that.”

“You’ve kind of already told me all of this before,” you started with a smile, eyeing the radio for a bit. 

Music. You needed music. 

You began to mess with the buttons, turned down the volume, and hooked your phone up to the aux. “I know you, Jake,” you continued with a sigh, scrolling your playlists, finding a song you were suddenly craving to hear. “I know you well enough to know you aren’t upset with me for keeping it all from you for a bit. You have a good heart.”

“You give me too much credit,” he humorously laughed. “I’m not always so sure about how good I am these days — kind of always doubted that about myself and right now is no different.”

At his words and sound of disbelief, you looked over at him with a wrinkle in your brow. His own eyebrows were set with an odd, unreadable emotion. You hadn’t clicked the song to play yet. This was too important to not address.

“Jacob,” you said sternly. His eyes stayed glued to the busier street. “I don’t give you ‘too much credit’.  I just see you and know you well – anyone who truly matters sees you for who you truly are. I, like all of them, love y— appreciate everything you are.” 

Shit. What was that that almost slipped from your lips?! Nothing. It was nothing. Ignore, ignore, ignore. . . 

You were just hormonal and emotional. 

You continued with intent to make your point known, doing your best to forget the slip-up. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes – we all have. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m not about to hold anything against you right now.”

Cracking a smile, you decided you wanted to throw in a bit of a joke. “I mean, I would have to hold it against you if you killed someone or some shit,” you giggled, his own raspy laugh joining you. 

But fuck, you couldn’t ignore that one emotion you were feeling. . .

It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. You didn’t know why the fuck you’d said that word of all words.

But this feeling. . . It was intense like love could be. It had your heart in your throat and your tummy tied in nervous knots. . . 

You’d felt a need to say the words. A need for him to know how much you. . . how much you. . . How much you what, exactly?!

This was going to drive you fucking nuts. 

So, to break the nonstop, crazy wave of thought, you played the song you felt like playing at the moment. 

The song was “In the Moment” by Snoh Aalegra, one of your favorite R&B goddesses. 

And, of course, the lyrics matched your heart. Perfectly. Oddly. Precisely. Music was your favorite language.

Do you mind if I try to come apologize to you?

'Cause I said some things that I realized wasn't true

You couldn’t stop your movements when your head slowly turned to look in his direction. His sunglasses were off due to the darker sky, so you could see every blink of his pretty eyes, long lashes touching the dark circles under his eyes with each blink. He watched the road carefully, maneuvered around cars with an ease that had you hoping he’d be around to drive you to the hospital on a certain day in May. . . 

Your heart swelled in your chest at his attention to the road. This particularly protective nature of his, as the driver, was new. . .

And I'm sorry for it 

I'm emotional 

This is your fault 

Please listen when I say 

I care about you

You tried to look away from him. Really, you did. It just couldn’t be helped. The way these lyrics kept pulling something from deep within your soul as you watched him drive. . .

But you still couldn’t figure out what was getting pulled in you, exactly. It felt weird, but only in a fulfilling way. . . Your heart ached, your head clouded with all things surrounding him. 

And then, just as he stopped at a red light, his eyes met yours. 

You had been caught red handed in your stare, but it didn’t seem to matter. Not to you, not to him. He smiled at you, the same, warm smile you knew all too well to be uniquely his. (And hopefully your baby’s.) 

The lyrics and melody of the song were adding to your already emotionally-tangled state. You just wanted to be with him always—hold him tight so he couldn’t leave. Never wanted him to leave.

Out of pure instinct, your hands found rest on your tummy, tucking underneath the bump. His smile only grew, stretching wide on his lips as his eyes followed the movement. Your heart did a little flip in your chest. 

This moment. . .

His foot let off the brake when the light turned green, pulling his eyes away from yours. The music coasting through the speakers said all the things you so desperately wanted to say. Though, Snoh sang them far more beautifully than you could ever say them yourself.

I was in the moment

I ain't really mean what I said to you

So put away your pride, baby

We can work it out if you want this, too

You hoped on every star in the winter sky that Jake was listening to the words, somehow feeling them as deeply as you were.

But if I could stay, I’d stay with you. . .

Your phone ringing snapped you out of your reverie and when you looked down to see who it was, you were not expecting the contact you saw. 

The OB office. 

Your heart started speeding up in your chest again, breath catching and nerves wracking your system at the most inopportune time. As you turned down the song to talk to the person on the other end, you contemplated why they were calling. . .

The appointment had already been rescheduled. . . So what else could be needed? Was something wrong?

You felt Jake’s palm splay across your thigh, fingers giving light, pulsing grips to the muscle through the fabric of your leggings. Skin heating at his touch, you looked up and over at him. 

“Who?” He whispered, quietly as he could. 

“OBGYN,” you mouthed back, clicking the green button to answer at the same time that he raised a brow in confusion.

“Hello?” You spoke into the phone, trying to keep your voice even-toned for whoever called you.

“Miss y/n?” Dr. Rose responded. Her Southern accent, friendly, on the other end, sounding happy as a lark. 

Hearing her sound okay helped your nerves ease up – weren’t quite as frayed as they had been to begin with. Jake’s hand was still on your leg, offering reassurance. But while his touch did comfort you, it also made your heart rate speed up and head swim for another reason entirely. 

Thankfully, considering the baby, your heart was slowing down. . . If Dr. Rose sounded fine, then surely things were fine, right? 

“Hi, Dr. Rose,” you said, voice perking up just the slightest bit. Looking out the windshield, you focused on the pretty colors in the sky. All light pinks, oranges, and the prettiest periwinkle thanks to the winter evening’s premature setting sun. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, more than, Sweet Cakes! Just checkin’ in to see that Friday still works for ya,” she explained, her drawl not quite as thick the more she spoke. But it was still there and it made you feel warm inside for some reason. 

Admittedly, you knew it was partially due to the fact that she seemed to only be calling to confirm your appointment. According to Dr. Rose, everything was ‘more than’ alright. . . you released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Yeah. It works for me,” you sighed, running a nervous hand through your hair, knee still bouncing with the unexpectedness of the phone call. “Let me check with Jake real quick. I’m with him right now,” you held your hand over the speaker, looking over to your handsome driver. He’d just made it onto a highway, but momentarily glanced down at you. You hushed your next question, not wanting to disturb Dr. Rose. “Does Friday still work for you? For the week 17 appointment?”

Jake’s face opened up at the question, his eyes brightening with a smile that lifted the corner of his mouth. “Of course,” he quietly responded. “I have the whole day blocked off just for that.”

Your stomach did somersaults at him being so excited for the appointment, but you still dipped your eyebrows in at him. “You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered back. “Take the whole day for it.”

Jake shook his head, and with a dimple in his cheek, he just looked back at the road. Didn’t even acknowledge what you said any further. 

You closed your eyes, a small smile on your lips at his desire to be fully available – it gave you butterflies. Back to the phone call at hand, you faced the windshield again to continue the call with your OB. “Dr. Rose?” 

“Yes ma’am,” she excitedly greeted back.

“It still works for us,” you said, the smile not fading from your lips. Us. You really, really loved the sound of that word coming off your tongue. “Are you sure you’re still okay doing the appointment before week 18? I know how you feel about all of that. . .”

You didn’t know why you were asking – shouldn’t have even said anything. The idea of putting it off any longer was not what you wanted, and you didn’t want to make Dr. Rose think you’d be okay with that. But, it was too late now. You’d already asked. 

“Oh, yes, babygirl. I’m the one that made ya wait past week 16! I felt bad, but I didn’t want ya to have any lull period,” she boomed on the other end, sounding so genuinely kind-hearted. It made your heart feel so full. “Completely fine with me – why I offered it to ya! I gotta admit, I’m a little excited to be findin’ out the gender a week earlier than normal. Ya know I never do that for my girls, but you’ve just seemed very special to me since the day you walked in. You’re a good seed in a bag ‘a bad ones, sweetie pie. So, I just had to make an exception.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Rose,” you gushed, a tear coming to the corner of your eye at her sentiment.

“I knew it would drive ya nuts havin’ to wait.”

“It would have,” you giggled, agreeing with a sniff to attempt to rid yourself of the tear. 

She laughed heartily on the other end. “You have a beautifully passionate heart, little miss y/n,” she remarked. “You’re goin’ to be a wonderful mama for it.” 

Aaand, there was no stopping the tear as it turned into a couple more, drifting down your cheek. 

Jake must have looked over at the perfect time, because as soon as the tears fell, he was squeezing your thigh once more. His hand had never left your body. 

But, you really needed him to stop holding you and caring because you were going to pounce on him. No questions asked. . .especially with the fluffy headspace you were in. 

Emotional over a phone call or not, your body reacted to him in ways you couldn’t stop.

“How’s your heart?” Dr. Rose was in your ear again, bringing you back. She was in no rush whatsoever. You were shocked that she seemed to want to keep the conversation going. Even after the first question, she continued with another. “I know ya filled me in on it a little bit last week on the phone, but any more updates?”

“Doing alright, I think,” you responded, sniffling at her eagerness to stay updated on your wellbeing. Was she just being a good doctor? Probably. But, still. It meant a lot to you. “I will send my monitor in on the 17th. I’m so ready to be done with it,” you replied with a huff of a laugh, looking down to mess with a loose string on your oversized jacket. “And I think everything else has gotten much better since that ER visit, too. Just keeping an eye on things,” you finished, happy to explain everything to her. 

This phone call was officially a highlight to your day now that you knew there was no reason to stress over it. Dr. Rose just made you feel good. You really enjoyed talking to the older Southern woman. Her heart shone through her personality. And, whether she made these efforts for all patients or not (you were sure she did), it just meant the world to you that she seemed to be so thoughtful. 

She seemed to take very seriously that it was a vulnerable time in any woman’s life. Dr. Rose just seemed to do very well at her job. You were grateful for her.

“When Mount Sinai sent over that information all those weeks ago, I gotta be honest, it stressed me for ya for a bit,” she said, voice suddenly thick with a sort of concerned emotion. Not worried anymore, you could tell that much. But, it was obvious she had been troubled by it when it initially happened, from the way she sounded now. 

“Although, when I read all of their tests on my end, I knew you’d be okay. Just a bump in the road, sweetie – it happens. You will be just fine!” She reassured you in her twang, the words made your head clear in a way you’d needed since the night at the hospital. “And, that sweet baby was doing so great still, in spite of it all. You’ve got a strong one, mama.”

Yeah, there was no stopping the onslaught of tears at those words. Your baby was strong. You were so proud. 

“Yeah?” You sniffed. “You think so?”

“I know so. That little one was movin’ and groovin’ already that first day. . . that sure doesn’t happen with every baby! He or she is very special – just like their mama,” she emphasized, sniffling on her own end of the phone. “Well. . . . as long as this Friday still works for you, I think I can let ya go, honey bun.”

“Yes, it does,” you confirmed once more, pulling the sleeve of your jacket over your hand and patting your cheeks with it. “Thank you again.”

“No need to thank me, Sweet Cakes.” You could hear her smile through the phone, imagined her lips covered in the prettiest bright red matte lipstick. “You have a good nigh– oh! Before ya go. . . .”

“Yes?” you questioned curiously, eyebrow raising with a little grin on your lips. 

“You mentioned a Jake earlier. Does this Jake happen to be the baby’s daddy?”

You blushed, looking over at him. He glanced over at you at the same time, an eyebrow raising when you caught his eye. Your cheeks heated even more when you looked into his eyes. Your baby’s daddy. 

“He is the baby’s daddy, yeah,” you explained, continuing to watch him as you said the words. He had to keep his eye on the road, but you saw how his lips stretched, the smile showing his pride at the title.

“And he will be comin’?”

“He will be there,” you affirmed, your heart racing in your chest at the idea of him being there with you. It had you equal parts jittery and utterly overjoyed to have him be present at the appointments.

“Wonderful. Sounds like a good daddy already,” she gushed from her end of the phone. 

And when he came to the next light, much nearer to the complex, you watched him and waited until he looked over at you. When his eyes found yours, glowing amber-brown in the nearly-set sun, your heart squeezed inexplicably in your chest. 

“He is a really good daddy,” you answered, tears threatening to clog your throat. 

After you said the words, you watched his eyes become wet with an unnamed emotion. A wide, slightly shaky grin on his pretty lips. With the addition of a pink blush in his cheeks, you wanted to be able to read the exact way he was feeling. 

But. . . at the current moment he suddenly seemed impossible to read. There was something behind his eyes that seemed so familiar and so hazy all at once. . .

Or maybe you were just really, really tired.

-🌼🌼🌼-

“I don’t have to go to this tonight,” Jake offered, pulling into the complex. 

You raised a brow, looking at him. As much as you wanted him to stay with you after today’s session, you knew that sleep was the first priority. He’d end up sitting around most of the night anyway.

If things were different, you would ask him to lay down with you. You’d keep him close. But. . . That wasn’t how things were for the two of you. 

You needed a nap and he needed to be with his girlfriend. As much as it sucked, she took priority over you. He wasn’t yours.

You already felt selfish enough for taking his entire early evening away from him. You didn’t want to steal any more of his night. 

“No, Jake,” you giggled, trying your best to play off the want to have him near. “I’m good. You’ve done everything you can for me tonight. Don’t need you for anything else — you’re free.”

It was silent for a little bit as Jake found his parking space. You were too tired to keep any sort of conversation going, preparing to doze against the window as he went to back into his space. 

Though, when he placed his hand on the headrest behind you to back in, you couldn’t help but turn to glance up at him. 

The way he held his bottom lip between his teeth as he focused on situating the Jeep into the parking space, just right. . . You felt guarded and protected by the placement of his arm above you. It made your tummy flip. 

And the mustache that kept making a reappearance on his pretty face, accentuating his plush lips perfectly. . . 

You licked your lips as you watched him, your eyes lazy as you let your stare wander down his body . . . 

But before you could get too far, Jake’s deep, raspy tone broke through to you.

“Hey.” 

Fuck. Your tiredness was quickly becoming enemy number one, exposing you.

Quickly, you flicked your eyes up to him, swallowing thickly, awaiting him with vulnerability clear on your features. 

For some reason, you expected to see him grinning at you being caught. But his features were unwaveringly straight, studying your face with his eyebrows drawn in concentration.

“Are you sure?” He asked, his eyes soon finding yours to pierce through. Damn, you felt naked under his stare. No two ways about it. 

Your eyes sunk into his, wishing you were naked—.

“You’ve had a long day and I want to be available—.”

“I’m sure,” you cut him off, needing to get out of the car before you made a stupid move. You just needed rest; your tiredness was making you weak. 

“Please. Go have fun,” you encouraged further, looking down to observe your nails, desperate to be repainted. Shaking your head, you continued to solidify your point. “You’ve done enough for me. You have a girlfriend who’s expecting you to be with her tonight.”

And if you stay here tonight, there’s no telling what I’ll try to do with you. . . 

“‘Kay,” he responded. At his short tone, your eyes floated up to check on him. You watched as he quickly grabbed his keys out of the ignition, refusing to look at you until the last second. “I’ve gotta get going pretty soon then.”

“Yeah,” you breathed with a shake of your head, unsure of what else to say. And before he could get your door for you, you were doing it yourself — didn’t want to get in his way. 

Whatever this conversation had become, it was far too much for your brain to wrap around at this moment. 

You needed fucking sleep.

-🌼🌼🌼-

After you’d filled your Stanley and sat it on your bedside table, your next mission was to change into looser, cozier clothes. You stripped your pants and bra, and found a giant t-shirt. And your softest fuzzy socks had been a last minute must have before finding your bed. 

Finally.

Almost as soon as you landed on your bed, your eyes were fluttering closed. The softness of your sheets and duvet, the cleanliness and the comfort of your bed was too incredible for you to resist sleep for long. 

At the same time, Jake was getting ready for his time with Maya, and had apparently decided to shower. When the steady stream of water sounded through the wall, you relaxed even further. You focused on the soothing sound of the shower running and imagined how near he was to you. 

He hadn’t left you yet.

Admittedly, putting your mind on Jake going about his business made you feel quite at home. 

And that thought had been the seemingly final step to finding rest, sleep finding you quite easily with easy thoughts of your handsome roommate. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

But, to your disdain, the nap didn’t last as long as you’d hoped. 

After only a couple of hours, you’d woken up and couldn’t go back to sleep to get any more rest. You tried to fall asleep again. It was all you’d wanted after your emotionally exhausting day. 

The longer you laid in your bed and tried to find more sleep, you realized it was just not going to happen. The small apartment felt too big and empty and your mind raced with the scene you’d witnessed during EMDR. 

To your demise, the little wooden box had somehow cracked open a little while you slept. You figured it was because you’d dreamt of what you’d seen in therapy. Your subconscious was working without your complete consent. 

That man with the thick fingers and clenched fists. . . He’d come floating out of the box first as you laid underneath your fluffy, white, clean bed covers. . . 

Mr. Morgan. . . Who was he? You could not place his role in it all yet. . . While you were able to remember him and his living room now, that was about where it stopped. 

The smell of him had stuck with you most since the memory. The potentness of his body odor in your subconscious had been a severe trigger – a trigger to things you weren’t capable of remembering yet. 

But, you knew that whenever those things did get conjured up again, you wouldn’t be ready. You just knew. The feeling alone that came associated with him and seeing him again. . . made you feel grimy – made your skin crawl like bugs were living underneath your flesh. 

Then there was your mother. You hadn’t been able to recall the distinct features of her face for years. Your grandparents didn’t have pictures of her up in their home – only ones of you and Elsie through the years. It was like she hadn’t ever existed. 

But today? Today she was back. Full force. You felt her. You smelled her. You saw every. single. feature. 

The stringiness of your mom’s hair when she’d been with the man in the recollected vision. . . 

You couldn’t help but compare the hair in the vision to the fullness of it in small memories you cherished. . . There was a certain Christmas memory you kept close, her sweater had been brand new. Her hair, naturally brown and billowing out beautifully behind her. You had a few of those moments in time. A few decent memories you’d never let go completely away. No matter how much time passed or how foggy they became, you held onto them.

What struck you as disheartening was the way the woman transitioned from one version of herself to another in the fragments of time you could grasp. You remembered, it was rare to consistently witness the same mom growing up. You’d been forced at a young age to confront the fact that you never truly knew the woman that gave birth to you.

She’d been very dirty more times than not, you could remember that much now. From what you were beginning to recall, she rarely smelled good. Showers hadn’t seemed to be her forte from the grease that had been constantly caked in her hair if she wasn’t with your grandparents. Her skin had even been oily from her lack of showers, just as greasy as her hair. 

The houses she had you living in, too. . . you could vaguely picture a few of those (besides Mr. Morgan’s). The one you were in within your recollected memory today had been so filthy. The grossness of the environment was coming to you in small bits. There’d been times you’d seen families of cockroaches climb into the pantry. . . Or when an occasional rat would scurry across the stained carpet, right past your feet. . . 

You shivered in your bed at the thought, toes wiggling against your soft socks and covers. The loose sheet and duvet came closer to your chin as you tried to completely envelop yourself in your current reality. Things were safe.

It was just a-fucking-lot to process alone. And the last thing you wanted to do was burden anyone else with it. So, even if Jake had stayed with you rather than Maya after therapy, you knew you’d still be swirling in circles in your mind. 

You were just glad you only had to wait a week for therapy to continue digging through this with the help of your therapist. 

The images of the man and your mother kept flip-flopping in your mind, not leaving you alone — each taking turns in mocking your peace. It was enough that you felt your breath become choppy and your heart begin to race in your chest. Your clammy hands were clenching and unclenching over and over again, trying to find some sort of relief and distraction from the thoughts. The smells were coming back to you, vivid as they’d been during your therapy today. . . 

And the moment you began to hear that distant, haunting chuckle from your past, embedded in the new flashes of memory, you shut your eyes. You squeezed your lids together so tightly. Your fists came to cover your eyes, pushing down on them just a little to see stars alongside the black. 

Yet, the sound continued to get closer and closer to you. Desperately, you thought back on Gia’s advice should this happen. 

One of the small pieces of advice she’d given you, when the session’s time was five-minutes passed.  

“Now, if these things come back or more memories come to you and you would rather not think of them in the moment they do: take a break,” Gia had advised, going to hold your hands in hers between the two of you. “Take a break, wherever you are, and go to your safe place.”

She’d given you a couple of other things to try, but she’d stayed insistent that you try the safe place first. Every time. Get used to the place, make it a habit to run to it in these times. 

So, you tried your damnedest to shut the thoughts out like you would on her soft, camel leather couch. Your eyes closed as you tried, working to focus on the idea of traveling to a field of lavender and Jake. 

Though before you could get any further, your eyes snapped open, knowing you had one more step before you went there. 

You tried to even your breathing, unclenching your fists. Once you’d relaxed enough to loosen your hands, you searched for some meditation music on Spotify. 

And once you’d found a dreamy playlist, you laid back to feel it. Your goal: feel it enough to let go. 

This time when you closed your eyes, you did it with less force and breathed in and out, in and out. Once again, everything was black. . . but just for the first minute or so. 

It didn’t take long for you to hear the birds chirping and to feel the solid chest breathing beneath you. He breathed deeply – in and out, in and out, just as you did.

Almost as soon as you felt your body settle into him and the soft ground of the earth, you heard him speak, too. It was like you were hearing him through a rush of warm wind, a breeze drifting across your face. “You’re doing great, baby,” he soothed you in his velvety tone, running a sure hand through your hair, fingers tracing your scalp. You shivered, enjoying the wonderful feeling it gave you, all the way to the tips of your toes. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Further, you pushed into him, wanting to be as close to him as you could be. You wrapped your arms around him the best you could while laying down, needing to feel his body tightly against your own. When you did this, he wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you into him. Your round belly, pressed between the two of you, made your heart settle into a soothing thrum in your chest. 

No other words were said as you laid there, the sky blue when you finally opened your eyes to the new place. The field of lavender, so lucious and smelling heavenly around you. The purple flower surrounding you smelled clean, peaceful, and a lot like. . . love. It was a strange idea that a flower would smell like love, but you’d come to associate it with someone who–.

Knock, knock, knock, knock. 

Your eyes opened at a moment’s notice when you heard a knock on the front door. Somehow, the sound against the door managed to break you from your hypnotic-like reverie. The knocks weren’t small or soft thuds by any means, but it was odd that you’d heard them all the way through to your sacred place. All the way through your bedroom door. . . 

Though, thankfully, after having a bit of time to visit the safest place your mind could conjure up, you were on the path to feeling fine again. So after laying in bed for a few more seconds, you got up and padded to the door in your fluffy socks.

Before you opened the door, you peeked through the peephole. 

When you did, your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. Your breathing evened out significantly for the first time since waking from your nap. And without any hesitancy, you unlatched the chain and unlocked the knob and deadbolt. 

As soon as you opened the door, you were greeted by Jake, a very apologetic smile on his face. One of his hands covered his eyes in feigned embarrassment, making a slit in his fingers to look at you through them. His other hand was tucked in the front pocket of his black slacks. 

He’d changed clothes after dropping you off. 

Duh, he’d showered, y/n. He wouldn’t be wearing the same dirty clothes afterwards . . . 

He was now dressed very nicely, his hair looking so healthy and full. A few strands were still damp here and there, from the shower you’d heard him start as you’d fallen asleep for your nap.

And goddamn. He smelled so fucking delicious – you could’ve melted into him. 

Rather than focusing on the way the hints of sandalwood and vanilla in his cologne made you feel airy, you asked the question you couldn’t help but wonder. “Where is your key?” 

A hint of a laugh was present in your tone as you crossed your arms over your boobs – which you noticed were slightly less sore than normal. 

Pleasant surprise. 

Oh, fuck. Your boobs. No bra. Only wearing a giant t-shirt and fuzzy socks. The thong you were wearing was a poor excuse at covering your ass. 

Glancing down briefly, you were reassured by the length. It was long enough to fully cover your backside, went down your thighs a bit. . . but you still felt very bare. 

When you looked up, you found that Jake had noticed your lack of clothing at the same time as you. His stare burned through your t-shirt, all the way down to your blushing skin. Your chest was heaving of its own accord, nipples hardening at the attention from him. . . 

His gaze soon dropped down to your lips, his own parting as his tongue went to wet his mouth.

No. You had to be the responsible one here. You could do it. 

So, you forced a subtle short cough, toes wiggling in your fuzzy socks. And, thankfully, it brought him back to the current situation. 

His wide, brown eyes snapped to yours, staying there momentarily. It made your cheeks pink — the way he was unashamedly sharing this moment with you. He didn’t seem embarrassed at all as he bit his lip with a grin stretched over his lips. 

Fuck.

“Your key?” You tried again with a squeak. Rolling your eyes, your short cough was real this time as you had to clear your throat. Ridiculous.

Not saying anything, he responded like nothing had occurred before. He motioned with his head towards the kitchen bar behind you. Your head turned to follow his eyes. And, you found his keys, still laying on the counter, not having been touched since before he left. 

“Did Maya pick you up?” You asked him, arching a brow at the keys. 

“Yes.”

“How’d you get back?” Okay, y/n, now’s not the time for twenty questions. 

“Uber,” he simply answered, a little hiccup following the word.

“Well. . . did you come back for them to drive yourself?” You asked, turning back around to face him, hoping he wouldn’t say ‘yes’. You selfishly wanted him to stay. 

For the first time since you’d woken up, your body felt light. . . . And, you’d noticed it had happened the exact moment you saw him outside your door. 

Shaking his head, he finally looked at you head-on, and you could see his eyes were the slightest bit unfocused. 

Oh. . . A smirk rested on your lips as you crossed your arms once more.

He had a goofy, carefree smile on his lips. And then you smelled it — the slightest tinge of alcohol on him as he swayed a bit towards you. 

Raising a brow, your lips continued to match his grin. Giggling, you pondered aloud, “Did you have a drink or two, babe?” 

You didn’t say that last word. Nope. 

“Maaaaybe,” he said, shrugging with both hands in his pockets now, the silly smile still plastered to his lips. “It was a party, after all,” he tagged on to the end, a bit of a British lilt falling over his words. 

A party. Hm. For some reason, you hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility. Why did the fact that it’d been a party make your stomach turn a little bit? 

“A party?” You inquired, tucking your arms a little closer against your chest. And there was the tenderness again. 

“Maya’s baby sister— eight years younger than Maya,” he over-explained, tripping over himself a little as he made his way through the door without any warning. “Turned twenty one today.”

Oh, that explains the excessive drinking, you gathered mentally. 

But, as you stood there connecting the dots, you didn’t focus enough on the fact that he was falling into you through the door frame. Thankfully, you put your arms out in time to stop him from bumping into you to the point of knocking you over. But when you put your arms out to stop his fall, he got the wrong idea and put his arms out as well, crashing into you a bit as he wrapped them around you in a secure embrace. 

It took a bit for you to register what was happening as you stood in shock at the gentle gesture amidst his drunkenness. And while you were registering it all, he must’ve gotten the idea that you didn’t want him so close to you. So, very slowly, he pulled away. 

Rather awkwardly, you just stood there, arms still held out in shock from the sudden hug. 

Why were you surprised at all? He’d been like this recently – just today at counseling, he’d been extremely attentive, holding you when you’d needed him. . . 

Was this time different? Was it because now he was doing it for virtually no reason at all? You weren’t in need of his help or his comfort (that he knew of) at the moment. And, he still wanted to hug you – that was what caught you completely off guard. 

He’s drunk, y/n, a voice reminded you. Don’t overthink it. It’s just because he’s inebriated. 

And while you stood in the doorway, he continued to traipse past you, body lopsided and shaky. He was being very careful to not bump into you again, turning his body in odd ways. 

When you turned to observe him, as he made it past you, you noticed that in the process of trying to steer clear of you, he was losing his balance – quite quickly. 

So, you did the only thing you could think to do and followed behind him to help however you could. 

He wouldn’t remember it anyway.

When he started putting too much weight on one foot and started tilting a bit too far to the side, you acted on instinct. 

You wrapped your arms around his midsection. 

It proved to be a bit of a feat to keep him upright and on his feet, but you tried your hardest. The man was wonderfully built. . . but solid as a rock.

Has he been working out? You couldn’t help but wonder this as your arms pressed a bit more into his strong abdomen.

You realized that thought process could become a distraction to the task at hand in no time, so you put it to the back of your mind. Instead, you just put all of your concentration into helping him stay on the track he desired. . . . Which happened to be his bedroom. 

While trying to keep him stable, you felt your belly press further into his back. The baby felt safer there, between the two of you. It felt right to be so close. . .

But, again, you focused on the important goal of getting Jake in bed. You just kept him pressed to you the best you could with a baby in the way. Matching his footing from behind, you walked in even step with him. 

Once you were officially at his door, you reached around him to open his door for him. When your hand met the knob and twisted it, he reached forward, placing his hand over yours to open it with you. The gentle action made your skin flame. 

Though, it didn’t last long. You didn’t pause, instead continuing into the room. And the moment you walked into the room, he tapped your arm, presumably to let you know he was okay on his own. So, you tentatively let go. 

Your arms suddenly felt empty, but you didn’t want to overstay your welcome. 

He seemed to be a little better now, sitting down on his bed. He did it with more effort than normally necessary, but he still seemed more capable than he’d been a few minutes ago. 

So, without a word, you went to head out of his room. Right before you could walk out the door, though, you heard him from behind you. 

“Where you going?” He asked sadly, sounding more like a neglected child than a grown man. 

Turning around with a brow raised, you asked the question with your eyes before saying it aloud. “Why? You’re good now, right?”

His eyes zoned out momentarily on your face. You just blamed it on the alcohol, feeling woozy. When he came back to Earth, his eyes met yours. His eyes suddenly seemed much clearer than before. All of the air in your lungs evaporated at the look he was giving you. Desperation was the most fitting word for it. 

“I’m not good without you,” he offered, his eyes darting to his feet almost directly after saying the words. He leaned down to sloppily take off his boots, but still neatly placed them next to his bed after taking them off. 

It was honestly pretty funny to watch. You would’ve been more amused if your mind wasn’t still reeling a bit from his words. You zoned out on his guitar, placed neatly on its stand.

He. is. drunk, y/n, your internal heckler reminded you. Stop overthinking.

But. . . drunk words are honest –.

“Can you help?” Jake asked, sounding desperate while trying to achieve a task.

You looked over at him, finding him standing now and struggling to take off a necklace. Without argument, you left where you’d been standing, dejected and confused, by the doorway, to help him. 

When you made it over to him, you tapped his hands where they struggled with the latch at the nape of his neck. 

“Let me,” you insisted, replacing his hands with yours when he moved them. 

Once the necklace was taken off, you made your way around him to place the jewelry on his bedside table, whose lamp bathed the room in golden light. 

You glanced down at the necklace, running a finger down the face of the medallion. Medusa. That was who was etched into the gold metal. 

“You into Greek mythology right now?” You questioned, peeking over your shoulder at him.

When you did, the sight that beheld you took you by total surprise. Shirtless. Shirt gone. No shirt. Jake, halfway naked. 

“Oh,” you uttered the word in a moan more than anything else. You even felt your jaw drop the slightest bit. You didn’t really think anything of it. You didn’t really care to control your reactions. He wouldn’t remember any of this. You just kept telling yourself that.

And with the way the heat flooded from your head all the way to your chest, blossoming to the pit of your tummy – you didn’t think you could control your reactions. Then, when he absentmindedly adjusted himself in his pants. . . Yep. 

You bit your lip, tucking hair behind your ear. Suddenly, you felt completely out of control of your body. . . Your hormones were calling the shots – they (and Jake) were making you feel unsteady in the best possible way. 

The only downside was: there wasn’t anything you could do about it. Morals stood in the way of your bodies colliding and fucking it out. 

You understood that the Jeep incident had happened. Of-fucking-course — there was no forgetting that shit. But a big part of you also thought it would be best to leave the other night in the Jeep in the past.

It wasn’t fair to anyone involved. Right? 

So. . . You just focused on the present moment. No sex. Just Jake in front of you. Tried to ignore the surge of want for him at seeing half of him bare. 

But goddamn — what a beautifully welcome sight. . . 

His body had changed in the handsomest of ways. His thighs, as you’d noticed recently, were thicker than before. And he was. . . just broader than before. It started at the width of his shoulders, and worked down his abdomen to fill out with toned, tight muscle — his new addition of muscle was thick beneath the surface. There was just more of him altogether. The perfect amount of body for you to touch, kiss, lick. . . . . goddammit.

He still wasn’t looking at you, instead making his way to the laundry hamper across the room. You observed the way the muscle in his back flexed as he walked. The expanse of skin under his shoulder blades — his back was thick with new strength. . .What in the sweet hell? 

When he carefully swiveled on his heel to make his way back to you, after tossing the shirt in the basket, you still didn’t take your eyes from him. Just admired the sight and the fact that watching him could be your own little secret. . . 

A secret not even for Jake to know.

Though, as if on cue, his line of sight connected with yours. And when it did – damn. Your heart hammered hard in your chest. Your breath was trapped in your throat, all of it stolen from you. 

His chocolate eyes, although hazy from alcohol, were so fucking dark. Dark in the same way they’d been in his Jeep last week. 

He looked the same as he had right before you’d bent over his lap. The same way he’d eyed you as you’d been on top of him – licking him, sucking him, touching him. . . 

So, instead of holding his eyes, you decided you had to look away before you made matters any worse than they were at the present moment. 

Awkwardly, you started your next sentence without taking time to think about it. “You good now, Ja–?”

“What was your question?” 

When he interrupted you, you wanted to look back at him. But you didn’t. Not with the way his voice was suddenly much fuller – deeper, raspier. . . 

Coughing to mask any sort of embarrassing action, you tried your best to think back to what you’d asked. You couldn’t even remember. . . oh. Medusa. Pointless question. Didn’t matter.

“It was noth–.”

“I don’t care. Still wanna know.”

“Jake, it seriously doesn’t matt–.”

“Look at me, y/n,” he demanded, daring to be argued with. “Quit acting like we’re strangers.”

God. Your teeth found your lip, biting harder with a deep inhale. You let the plumpness of your bottom lip fall from your teeth with a tight exhale. Your tongue pressed into your cheek, eyebrows knit with frustration, when you peered up at him. 

Fuck it all. This was why you hadn’t let yourself look at him. 

His hungry eyes scanned your body when he got his way. He stood there admiring all of you, but his eyes were zeroed in on your ass, not leaving it.

You looked down to get an idea of what he was looking at. 

And, to your horror, you noticed that the t-shirt had ridden up, completely exposing the bottom curve of your ass cheeks. 

But, you didn’t move to change it. Instead, you decided to just stand there. Let him look. You wanted him to. This wouldn’t even count in the morning when he forgot it all.

You definitely weren’t offended by his staring. Not in the slightest. Just sort of made you nervous where things would lead if he didn’t stop observing the exposed skin.

Diversion. 

“Jake,” you purposefully spoke his name, vying for his attention up top, rather than having his eyes on your ass. 

You got your wish. Sort of. His eyes dragged from your ass to your thighs. . . Only to stop at your tits. Your skin was flushed and your skin was tingling. Your breasts, heavy under his stare and nipples tightly peaked against your oversized shirt. 

Fuck. Your body really was your worst enemy — constantly gave you away. Pregnancy hormones were a pain in the ass. 

So, you did the only thing you could think to do: you watched him watch you. The idea of his eyes burning into you without the ability to control it. . . It was almost too much for you to handle. 

Then, he wet his lips, afterwards biting into his plump bottom lip. You might as well have been naked under his stare, completely at his mercy. 

His gaze stayed consistent on your chest, residing long enough to have you feeling so desperately needy for him. . . but, eventually, his eyes moved up to your face. 

You missed his stare on your body as soon as it was gone.

“You’re so fucking—goddamn,” he breathed, his expression still dazed. But, now it was from more than alcohol. Maybe not from alcohol at all. “Do you know how good you look carrying my baby?”

Your head became a flurried mess at his words, the feeling carrying all the way down to your toes. 

“Jake,” you tried, not sure what else to say besides his name. 

But he didn’t respond with words. No, all he did was walk closer to you, still half-dressed. Seeing so much of his body made you feel so utterly pathetic for him. 

In a split second, before you could even wrap your mind around it, his hands found your waist. A soft, yet firm hold of your body. His eyes were locked on your parted lips, his face slowly leaning in and coming dangerously close to your own. 

And just as he was with you, your eyes found his lips, plush and wet from his tongue gliding over them. So kissable. All you wanted, all you needed, was to feel them collide with yours. To taste him again, to savor the sweetness that you knew to be Jake. 

He was so close that you could smell the bitter remnants of alcohol on his breath. His breath, that felt so warm against your flushed skin. You couldn’t help it as you slowly let yourself lean into him. All too well, you knew how wrong it was. . . Yet, you were having the worst time finding it within yourself to care any longer. 

Amber-brown eyes flicked up to yours, golden flecks glowing from the dim yellow lamp lighting. Your own eyes were wide under your fluttering lashes. 

The drunkenness wasn’t as prevalent in his stare as it had been before. This felt so eerily intimate — like it had happened before. You couldn’t fucking shake the feeling this moment was giving you. The dim lighting. Him so close to you—tempting you. . . 

For some reason, your eyes fluttered down between the two of you to your small, rounded tummy. 

Jake’s lips brushed your forehead with the action, his hand coming to tuck hair behind your ear. 

Your belly—it was nestled so well in the middle of your bodies, brushing up against his firm stomach. Protected.

And then a memory, clear now, came rushing back to you. It was coming out of the shadows, having been foggy and faded, but not anymore. 

The only place to go was your room, your door ajar just enough that it opened easily on its own. Jake had reached a hand behind him to close it gently– not wanting to wake anyone. 

Your lamp, still left on, just as it had been earlier in the evening, shed the perfect amount of golden glow. 

You’d grabbed his face, pulling him away from you momentarily to appreciate his features. Finally out of the dark you could look at him. 

And, God, you loved his face. Everything about it, having been so intricately and delicately created — making the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on.

A quiet smirk had graced Jake’s perfect lips, his eyes tightly locked with yours. 

“What’s the matter?” He’d asked, his hushed, now-sultry voice making your need for him that much more heightened. 

You thought a moment before you answered. 

With all of your feelings for him finally becoming realized in your own mind, there was just so much you felt you needed to say. So much you needed him to know. 

As you’d stared in his sparkling eyes, pupils pure black from the weed and his need for you, the only word your mind could conjure up was love. Over and over again. Not just the word, but the feeling; the new desire for him that went far beyond the purely physical one that you’d tried so hard to convince yourself of. 

But it wasn’t new; it had been clear all along. You’d just shoved it down to the deepest trenches of your mind, only to be discovered by the most skilled explorer. 

There was so much you had wanted to say, but you just couldn’t conjure the proper words. 

You decided your body could do all the talking. It could say more than your voice ever could.

“Nothing,” you’d whispered against his lips as you pulled him in for the deepest kiss you were certain the two of you had ever shared with one another.

You gasped as you looked up at him. The night you’d conceived—.

“Y/n, sweet girl,” Jake’s smoky voice brought your attention back to the situation. You let your body melt into his even more, needing him near. 

The reality of it all suddenly began to set in when his hands, slow and steady in their pace, moved up your waist. Strong hands now moving under your shirt, set in their direction of ascension. They came to a steady stop just beneath the curve of your tender breasts. 

“You know,” he breathed, breath washing over your lips. You blinked up at him, at his mercy. “I wanna do so much more than just hold your pretty tits,” he whispered, his lips brushing ever so lightly against yours. “How do they feel?”

“H-heavy,” you stuttered, shivering against his touch while his thumbs met at your sternum, tracing delicate patterns. 

His palms suddenly dropped from beneath your shirt. You sucked in a breath, whining as your breasts pushed out for more. Your skin begged for his touch, on fire for him. 

Before long, though, his hands came back to their spot over the fabric of the t-shirt this time. 

And, over your shirt, he cupped as much of your chest as he could, keeping you in his hold as he gently massaged. 

Stars. You saw so many stars. 

“But, not—not as sore tonight,” you sighed, settling into his grasp. There were no worries evident to you right now. 

All that mattered was Jake and his searing hot touch.

You felt him smile as close as he was, his lips almost connecting with yours as you fought back every desire to kiss him. “Yeah?”  He whispered again, raspier, while his thumbs lightly grazed your hardened nipples through your shirt, your breath catching in your throat. “What do you need right now, baby?”

The moan that escaped your lips should have been embarrassing. But it wasn’t. Not at all. It fit quite well with the way his fingers continued in their path over your nipples, circling them. He was stealing every bit of air left in your lungs, making your eyes roll back in your head.

“Tell me, baby,” he growled, lips touching yours with each word. 

Closing your eyes and biting your bottom lip, you answered silently. You, Jake. I fucking need you. 

He returned to his grip underneath your breasts, over the shirt still, cradling them so well. . . Your body just fit with his. The touch of his hands cured even the most uncomfortable changes in your body. 

You whined, not able to help the effect he was having on you and your aching body. “Jake, I need–.” Fuck. 

No. This was wrong. He was drunk. Odds were, he wouldn’t remember this. You were the one letting it happen, letting it get much further than it should have. 

“Tell me, y/n,” he repeated, brushing his thumbs once again over your taut nipples with more intent this time as your body began to tremble. “Tell me what I can do for you–.”

“I’m hungry,” you muttered out of nowhere, shaking your head as you effectively interrupted him. You pulled away, getting yourself out of another situation that could turn sticky real fast. (Yes, pun intended.) 

And you really were very hungry. Hadn’t eaten for hours. So, it was the perfect mood killer. 

“O-oh, yeah,” he breathily spoke, eyebrows dipping in just a bit as he dropped his stare. His long hair waved out around his shoulders when he shook his head. The sound of inebriated haziness was evident in his tone still, but you could tell he was quickly coming back to himself. 

And that also terrified you. The moment just now. . . Had that brought him back? You’d seen his eyes brighten when you’d leaned into him. 

He went to move past you, his body nearly meeting yours. You put out a hand, millimeters away from his heaving chest. But you couldn’t touch him yet. Not yet. Had to clear your mind. 

“Want me to make something for you?” He wondered, sounding ready to help even amidst his tipsy state. 

“I can do it,” you assured him with a small sigh and grin. “I’m capable.”

“You sure?”

“More than.” 

Your eyes held one another’s for a heavy minute. He was trying to make sure you were being honest, you could tell. 

You just encouraged him to believe your statement with a little pat to his warm, bare chest. Shit. 

You had to go. Get out of the room. Make some damn food. 

But he was right there. . . 

No. 

You quickly took your hand away before he could do something like hold it there. He didn’t get the chance, thanks to your reflexes. 

Your hands interlocked under your belly as you peeked up at him through your lashes. “I promise. I do things for myself all the time. Please let me.”

“You don’t have to ask for–,” hiccup, the sobriety still not fully present. He held a fist over his mouth, trying to be polite. Your smile met your eyes, so gone for him. . . “For my permission, y/n. Seriously. I just want to help you however I–,” hiccup, his eyes bugged a little. The giggle that came from you couldn’t be stopped. “ I can. Jesus.”

“Go to sleep,” you tried, wracking your brain for the best possible plan for him to feel better. “I’ll be okay.”

“Nah. Not yet. Wanna take a shower first,” he iterated, eyebrows drawn together with the sureness of his plan. “It’ll help.”

“Okay,” you smiled, inhaling a breath before shaking your head and moving to open his door. 

Rather than letting you get it, he raised his arm above your head, holding the door to do the job himself. You watched as he opened it wider, seeing his bicep flex with the action above your head. He’d opened it just enough for you to exit. 

You connected eyes with his, looking at him over your shoulder. 

The grin that lifted your features occurred on its own. Everything he did was making you swoon. The fucker.  

He snickered a bit at you, his teeth coming to show past his pretty lips. Dimples fully present with his knowing smile. “Go eat,” he motioned with his other hand before stepping towards you, planning to exit behind you. “My baby momma needs sustenance.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

About forty-five minutes passed. 

You’d eaten an entire box of macaroni and cheese. The noodles and yellow-y, plastic cheese weren’t making you want to gag anymore. Thank god, because it really was quite delicious. 

Now, to wash your dishes and go to bed.

You’d just heard the shower shut off about ten minutes prior to the moment you heard footsteps approach in the doorway to the kitchen.

Jake. 

“Will you come sleep with me?”

You spun to give him a questioning look from over your shoulder that held a million questions.

“Wh-what?” You stilled your task of washing the bowl you’d had your quick meal of macaroni and cheese in.

But, now, you weren’t thinking of mac and cheese. No, now you were thinking of what he just said.

When you’d looked over your shoulder at him, your eyes stuck naturally on the man standing at the doorway of the kitchen. The gesture that was meant to be quick, definitely turning into a whole-ass Jake Appreciation Fest.  

Just like earlier that evening, there he was. Shocking every nerve in your system. 

Pajama pants, slung low on his hips. . . his handsomely tanned and toned chest, still bare. His wet hair, laying on his pecs, dripping water onto each muscle. The drops of water made their way down his hard nipples, probably chilly from his shower, down his sculpted obliques and solid abdomen. . .

. . . And down, past the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. Your favorite ones. 

The pursuit you took with your line of sight was unstoppable. You had to know if he was wearing them. . . And, to your complete gladness, you saw just enough of an outline of him as he leaned his weight on one foot. . . That was all it took to know. . .

“No, I’m not wearing underwear,” he smugly remarked. 

His tone and words made your heart flutter and your cheeks become the deepest shade of crimson. Fuck. He’d caught you.

Deciding to ignore his little remark, you went back to washing the dish, still being held over the sink. In a much looser grip thanks to his comment. Gripping the dish tighter, you put all of your spinning nerves into washing it properly. You fumbled a little, but hoped he didn’t notice. 

“What did you mean before? About sleeping together?” You tried, working to maintain enough attention on the dish that you wouldn’t drop it against the sink and break the thin Corelle. 

“Just sleep,” he emphasized with a chuckle, sounding more and more like himself the longer he stood there. “Nothing more. Cross my heart.”

“Oh,” you offered lamely, heart thumping a hundred miles an hour in your chest, boobs suddenly aching for. . . Fuck. 

Why was he asking you to simply sleep with him? What the hell? 

God. . .

Should you? Was it a good idea? Well, no. You could answer that. It wasn’t a good idea. At all. 

But. . . should you go lay with him? Maybe fall asleep in his arms. . . Would it help you sleep easier after your short, uneasy rest from earlier in the evening?

Shit.

You knew the answer. Knew the answer very well. Even before EMDR, when the bad dreams would occur, they were always better – tamed, happy, or gone completely – when you slept in the same bed as Jake. 

“Yeah,” you said, not taking any more time to contemplate. “I will.”

“Alright,” he replied, sounding relieved behind you. Why did he sound so happy? Surely it wasn’t that big of a deal to him. He still had alcohol in his system. That explained it. 

 You rinsed the rest of the bubbles from the bowl when you heard him speak up again. 

“Want me to wash it?”

“N-no,” you stuttered nervously and shook your head, focusing on the sudsy dish. “I’ve got it.”

“Okay. You full? Get enough to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he answered, the smile evident in his tone. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t,” you reassured, willing your pulse to return to normal. 

And, seconds later, you were hearing his footfalls against the carpet as he made his way back to his room. 

Well. 

Finishing the job of the bowl, – taking much longer than needed – you contemplated. 

You guessed his tone was still a little wavy, but you knew better than to think he was still drunk. 

He definitely wasn’t.

Had the shower helped that much? Had it been the moment in his room? Both combined? 

After the equally clean saucepan was put away in the drawer below the oven, you dragged your feet a bit more as you went to check on Stevie and put some more food in her dish. When her tail swished across your calves, you felt a bit of calmness return to you. 

Your heart was still thrumming in your chest. But you were able to slow your thoughts down enough to feel more at peace as you took notice of yourself in your full-body mirror.

Damn. . .oooo-kay, y/n. . . 

Why did you suddenly feel completely confident in your body? You turned, getting every angle. 

It just felt so great to not doubt your appearance. It was just like last Monday. You could get used to this feeling. 

Your boobs looked fantastic and big under your gray t-shirt, nipples peaked as they most-often were these days. Your ass looked perfectly rounded out from the way it peeked out of your soft shirt. . . And, lifting your t-shirt, you looked at the little bump of your tummy. 

The best addition to the entire look. Your grin was natural as you admired your baby. . .

Your tummy was growing steadily as you still sat on the bigger side of pregnant bellies. Your bump wasn’t a little subtle thing. No, it was an obviously pregnant belly. 

Small, but definitely still noticeable. And it was just cute as hell. 

After rubbing a gentle hand over the expanse of skin on your belly, you pulled your shirt back down over it. 

And with a final fluff of your hair, you grabbed your Stanley from the nightstand before making your way to where you’d find sleep tonight. 

You were just going to get good rest for your baby. It was for the baby. 

That was what you worked to convince yourself of as you walked with quiet purpose to his bedroom. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

“Why did you come home?”

You were laying in his bed. Just like old times. 

Except, in the past, where you would’ve most likely been naked, you were not tonight. 

Everything else though? Same as always.

Your legs were tied into his, looped around his just right, playing footsie with him beneath the covers. Your head rested on his bare chest, your hand underneath your cheek as it laid so perfectly well on his exquisitely strapped pecs.

Oh, also. . . One more thing different than before: the bump. The baby, tucked snugly against his side where you were turned into him. 

It was heaven. That was what it was. 

A yawn emitted from deep in his chest. You knew sleep was finding him faster than you would’ve liked. Naturally, a little yawn found you as well.

Sighing heavily to follow the yawn, you felt his hand that laid above you come to comb through the strands of your hair.  “I don’t like being away from you.”

Your heartbeat was heavy in your ears – did your best to ignore it.

“Was Maya mad?”

“Yeah.”

“Jake,” you scolded, for no reason. You didn’t give two shits about how she felt. But. . . you did care about his happiness – didn’t want to ruin his relationship when it made him feel happy and whole.

“She’ll get over it,” he reassured with another yawn that lifted your cheek with his rising chest. “She was drunker than I was.”

“Are you still drunk?” You pondered aloud with a yawn and a giggle, naturally emitting in his presence. 

But. . . you knew better. Didn’t even have to ask. It just made all of this more understandable if he were to still be drunk. It made this easier to submit to. 

You didn’t know why the prospect of simply laying beside him was harder to come to terms with than having his dick in your mouth. Just like it’d been a week ago. 

Your cheeks heated at the thought. Of its own volition, your thigh came to momentarily graze past his crotch.

“Not really,” he answered, sounding a touch offended that you’d even asked. “Pretty sober now, honestly.”

The more coherent he sounded, the more intimidated you became. . . 

Best to let him find sleep. You’d answer to this in the morning. . . For now, your eyelids were getting heavier and heavier by the moment. 

“I believe you,” you settled with a contented yawn of your own, nestling into his chest. Couldn’t help it. Had to be closer.

You blinked, slower and slower. So sleepy — just felt so right in his arms. His hand came to hold the base of your skull as a thumb traced your head so lightly. 

Goosebumps rose on your skin from his precious gesture. . . It felt so damn incredible. 

“You should,” he iterated, his lips coming to meet the crown of your head, giving you a feather-light kiss. 

And, within a minute, he was lightly snoring. 

It took almost no time at all for you to follow him to slumber. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Just like you would’ve guessed, the bad dreams didn’t come that night. 

. . .Because Jake made everything better. That was just it. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

December 16, 2022 

As you sat in the waiting room, you surveyed him and noticed he wasn’t wearing the Medusa medallion. The newer one you’d noticed on Monday. 

“No Medusa?” You questioned, at a decent enough volume to not disturb the few other mothers and fathers in the waiting room. He flicked his amber-brown gaze over to you, caught in a trance by the beautiful, light decor of the clinic. 

Once he looked at you, his eyebrows only dipped at your words, not understanding. You motioned to his neck with a slight flick of your wrist. “Your Medusa medallion. I noticed it the other night.”

He snorted, lips quirking in a small grin with a shake of his head. “That was a stupid gift I got from Maya’s little sister,” he explained, scratching the back of his head. 

“Jake,” you disciplined his words, but you couldn’t help the tiny giggle that slipped past your lips. It was kind of funny that he found it stupid. 

“What?!” He turned to you, a full smile on his face. You raised a faux disappointed brow at him and he contended that with his next remark, “Okay, yes, I know I shouldn’t call it stupid. Maya said it’s because of her sister’s little crush on me. . . But it was kind of funny that she showed up with it at her birthday party, for one,” he explained, crossing his legs at the knee. “And for two, Medusa? A Greek goddess? Since when is that my primary interest?”

You shrugged at that, a small smile stuck to your features. He was adorable.

He continued on, “For some reason, Maya struggles to differentiate between pirates and mythology. . . and no matter how many times I explain they’re different, she doesn’t catch on to it.” 

He shook his head, tousling a hand through his long, wavy hair as he placed the other hand on his knee. His rings weren’t present today, so you got to truly appreciate the curvatures of his tanned, masculine hands. 

“You should still acknowledge that Maya’s sister’s–what’s her name?”

“Kaia. K-a-i-a. . . Different from Maya’s by two letters. Sound the same, though,” he snickered.

Kaia and Maya. . . so they’re a rhyming name family. For some reason, the thought made you snort a laugh, a grin claiming your lips. 

“I know,” Jake said, a little humorous in his own tone. “Kaia and Maya. Can we agree to not name our kids rhyming names?”

Our kids? As in, more than the one in your belly?

You took note of him and his reaction to his mistake, watched the way his eyes continued scanning the walls of the white and blush waiting room. 

He seemed to not notice his mess up, still going about his business as usual. His foot tapped against the bamboo flooring to the beat of the classic rock radio station playing. 

You decided to ignore his words. It had been a slip up. Just like your own slip up in the car the other day. 

You, speaking of love. 

Jake, mentioning multiple kids. 

You both were just in a state of stress with the life change. . . it wasn’t anything. Just a couple mis-worded moments.

You continued on, looking down at your belly briefly, smoothing your hands down your sweater to flatten any weird lines. “. . .Kaia’s sentiment was kind. Her little crush is sweet,” you iterated, sounding more like a mom everyday. “I hope you told her thank you.”

He chuckled, raspy and light, at you. Switching your line of sight up to him, you saw his eyes read a sense of fondness as he cast his gaze on you. 

“I did,” he smirked, winking at you. Your tummy fluttered with butterflies. “You are going to be a fantastic mom, y/n. I’ve known it for a long time and I know it more and more with your little coaching moments.”

Your heart went crazy at the thought of him imagining you as a fantastic mother. And he’d known it for a long time? How long? What did that mean? 

“Thanks, Jake,” you blushed a light pink, matching the colors of the crepe walls. There was one more thing you wanted to say though. 

“However,” you cleared your throat, glancing at him momentarily from the corner of your eye. He was heeding you, brow arched as he waited for your next words. 

“I can’t say anything to excuse Maya’s non-acknowledgment at the obvious contrasts of pirates and mythology. They are two completely different beasts,” you emphasized, turning your full attention to him. He was still watching you. The flush was back in your cheeks. “I’ve seen enough of your documentaries about pirates and I’m an English major, for God’s sake. . . so I know these things.”

The way his features brightened was precious – like he was being seen. 

And he was seen. He would always be seen if you had anything to say about it. 

Also, you did know the difference, you weren’t lying. None of what you said was a lie. You’d said what you did because you needed him to know that you understood. His interests mattered to you and they should to Maya as well. They should matter to her more-so. 

The moment was cut off quite quickly, though, as you were hearing your name being called to the back for your appointment. 

You were about to see your baby again. With Jake. And you’d know by the end of the hour if it was a boy or girl. . . 

The blood was pumping in your ears as Jake fell in step beside you on the way to the back. You smiled up at him, where you were met with his sparkling eyes. Both of you were obviously giddy with eagerness and excitement. 

Your thoughts were filled with everything that was to come. All sunshine and pale colors – so much love.

Here we go. . .

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: ...i wonder if you can guess the name/gender after this chapter part... ;) see you soon (next part is almost finished, my loves) :) feel free to always come to my ask box or message box! i'm always down to talk when my adhd/anxiety doesn't attack me <3

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts! love youuuu <3

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Fill this form out if you'd like to join my taglist! <3

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[utilitycaster]

Hi! Because I genuinely do love your take on things and every time I read through them, a new perspective that I had never even considered before makes itself known to me. So, I wanted to ask! Since Twitter (unsurprisingly) already got its hands on this discussion:

What are your feelings on the Mighty Nein being the ones to handle the Weave Mind over Bells Hells? Because for me, I always sort of knew that BH were going to be the ones to defeat Ludinus no matter what. It’s what they’ve been building up for.

However, some people say the M9 aren’t deserving of handling the Weave Mind because that was an antagonist made specifically for the Bells Hells. So, I was interested in seeing your thoughts about this (strange) discussion.

Hi anon, thanks!

I think it's great to have the Nein go after the Weave Mind, and I think, like most takes from the Twitter CR fandom, this is fucking stupid.

Given that Matt is the DM, and he's like "hey, I'm going to have a Trusted NPC call in the Mighty Nein to deal with the Weave Mind" I think the argument that the Weave Mind was made specifically for Bells Hells is not, in fact, true. The Weave Mind is an antagonist who was introduced with Bells Hells' campaign, rather like how Ludinus Da'leth is an antagonist who was introduced with the Mighty Nein's campaign and who has been the nemesis of Beau and Caleb in particular, and yet Bells Hells will be going after him in this scenario (and, to be clear, I think this is fine; I've expected Bells Hells to face off against Ludinus in the end).

I would be interested in understanding if the motivation here is "I wish the Nein were going after Ludinus and Bells Hells were going after the Weave Mind" which I think is far less interesting given that Ludinus has been such a consistent enemy of Bells Hells as well but at least I can puzzle out a not terribly intelligent but consistent sort of logic in it; or if this is a "I wish the past two parties weren't involved in this campaign at all" argument in which case, far too late for that; or if this is someone who specifically doesn't like the Mighty Nein throwing yet another tiresome and embarrassing temper tantrum on Twitter. But my opinion doesn't change; I think it's far more satisfying to see Bells Hells take on Ludinus than the Weave Mind, whom half of them haven't even met.

More generally, the idea of "doesn't deserve to fight the Weave Mind" is stupid on another level. I understand why people talk about which actual play character they wish to get the final blow on a particular enemy, even though dice will ultimately decide this. When it lines up - Vax with Thordak, Yasha with Obann - it's immensely satisfying. But you do not need to be the most wronged person to make meaning of a How Do You Want To Do This (FCG and Otohan being an obvious case here). Technically, the Volition deserves to fight the Weave Mind more! Half of Bells Hells hasn't even encountered the Weave Mind in any capacity! Braius and Dorian haven't been to the moon! Sometimes, you're fighting because it's part of, for example, a three-pronged plan that needs three separate simultaneous strike forces. Bells Hells can't do all three at once despite having claims to each of the targets unless they split up. Would you rather the parties split up in a mix of each? Because I'm not opposed per se but that could get pretty confusing all around. And if we're going to step out of the Watsonian argument that in-world, they can't do all three at once, see my next paragraph to address the Doylist "but Matt didn't need to set it up this way" one.

I am on the record as loathing the whole "it's their table and you can't criticize it because it's their game" bullshit. You can do so. You can do so even if there are very good reasons for their choices. You're always entitled to your own opinion and as long as you're not harassing people, it is morally neutral to say "this piece of fiction/art/whatever didn't do it for me," end of sentence. With that said. It's fine if people wish Campaign 3, like Campaigns 1 and 2, were more exclusively focused on one party's adventures rather than the all-hands-on-deck story that it is. But it is that story, and pretending this wasn't the result of a number of intentional choices by Matt and the cast and various collaborators is profoundly stupid at this point. I had my complaints as well, early on, but the time to get over this was episode 1, when Orym and Fearne and Dorian and Bertrand showed up with their ties to EXU and C1. Or it was episode 6, when Laudna revealed her connection to Delilah. Or episode 35, when that connection to Keyleth was leveraged. Or episode 50, when Beau and Caleb appeared; or Episode 51, when multiple past PCs were present at the solstice; or Episode 66, when we further met with Keyleth; or Episode 86, when Sending came back on and both Caleb and Jester spoke to the party; or Episode 92, when we cut back to the Crown Keepers; or Episode 94, when Essek showed up; or Episode 99, when Downfall began. If you're still holding on hope now in the endgame, I think it's too late. That's not the campaign this is, and it never was, and you can wish that you had something more self-contained like Campaign 1 or 2 but with Bells Hells, but that's all it is - a wish, unfulfilled.

[ghostalservice]

Tagged by @xoxoemynn and @spirker (and @soupbtch literally while I was writing this!!) to share my favorite fics I've written! What a lovely meme!!!

I have sixty OFMD fics published for a total of over 700k words in this fandom (with another 100k at least dropping for AUgust....) and if I listed every one I loved I would be here for hours SO. Let's do a few per category??

THE BIG BOYS

Wanna Fly Away, my collab with Petrichorca, is my most beloved work and the most complex, personal, and honest thing I've written. It's an alien!Stede AU based on the Animorphs universe, and it explores gender and identity and community and what we owe each other and ourselves and. I love it. 180k, E.

The Squssyverse, my collab with @zombee, is 70k of tentacles, worldbuilding, mythology, ocean shit and gender fuckery, and it's one of the richest worlds I've ever been a part of building. Also.... it's INCREDIBLY SEXY. 70k, E

2. THE WEIRD BOYS

I write a lot of monsterfucking and monsterloving because of queer reasons and also it's FUN and it's HOT, so. Here's my favorites of those!

The First Wave, my mer!Stede/Selkie!Ed collab with @nonplayer-character, is full of sweetness and weird bits and my favorite OC i have ever met! 10k, E

A Latent Spring, my tree!Ed collab with @swashbuckling-sweethearts, is weird and wonderful and about what it means to change and grow and also fuck a tree. THE ART IS SO GOOD AND THE MAGIC IS SO FUN. 31k, E

The Curse of Iphigenia, my giant sea god!Ed/mer!Stede fic, was written in 30 wild hours, many of which were at work, and is one of the silliest, most fun universes I've written and i LOVE IT. Featuring a really fun cameo, too. 8.5k, E

Come Hither Gleam is perhaps my most ridiculous fic—Yeti!Stede and Sandman!Ed who also happen to be X-Files style investigators. Also, there's sex pollen. Sort of. 6.7k, E

(if you like these, subscribe to me on ao3 because there is MORE COMING YOUR WAY FOR AU-GUST)

3. HUMAN AUS

Checking it Twice, my learn-to-fuck fic, is my most traditionally kinky fics. Sweet, hot, featuring a list and some lace. 14k, E

Mighty Real, my pride fic, is all about the many different ways pride hits—and how it can kind of hit in all of them at once. Also, dildo parachutes and dick bubble wrap. I contain multitudes. The sequel is also a HUGE FAVE OF MINE. 15.5k, E

Man is a Giddy Thing, a post-apocalyptic radio theatre AU, is one that I love and that some of my favorite people in this fandom say they love best of my work. It's a strange one, but I've very proud of it. 10k, E

4. MULTI-PERSON COLLABS

Choose Your Own Adventure: Reunion! was maybe the coolest project I've been part of in fandom, ever? over forty scenes, 17 authors, SO MANY ART PIECES, and over a hundred ways the story could go. If you haven't checked this out, DO IT. 44k, E

5. CANONVERSE

Take It Slow (Hold Me Close) is a sweet little coda to 2.05, and I think it's one of the best things I've written, actually? 1.6k, T

Um. That's like. only 18% of my fics. I tag @trans-top-stede @swashbuckling-sweethearts @thetardigrape @gaypiratebrainrot @morethanslightly @dracothelizard and @mxmollusca!

[mask131]

So many lasting Greek mythology misinterpretation today could be avoided so simply if people just thought about what they are saying and doing. Really, it's just a question of thinking in a logical way.

Like Medusa, you know? There are so many people who literaly didn't notice that there was a slight problem when you said on one side "Medusa was the daughter of primordial two gods, and the sister of many monsters and dragons of Greek mythology" and on the other "She was a regular human priestess turned into a monster by the gods". For them it was just... normal, I guess? When the answer to this incoherence is just quite simple: Medusa started out, in Greek mythology, as a divine monster born out of the primordial forces of the world ; the story of Medusa as a human priestess comes from Roman literature when they reinvented the Greek myths. People just confused the two: as simple as that.

But people don't want to look at the incoherences of the "popular culture" version of mythology, apparently. I was doing this post initially upon seeing yet again depictions of Zeus and Poseidon as old men with white beards. Which is something that always bugs me for one simple reason: Everybody agrees and says the Greek gods are eternally young and cannot age. Why then are Zeus and Poseidon, THE gods by default, always depicted as old men?

For many people it's simple and clear-cut, somehow, but it is such a massive incoherence, especially since all the other gods are shown as young. And the answer is so simple if people just bothered looking for it: Zeus and Poseidon, were bearded men in Ancient Greek art, but had BLACK beards (or "blue" depending on if you understand literaly the Homeric names). They were adult men, but not OLD men (as opposed to the "beardless youth", who were basically in their 20s whereas the "bearded gods" are like... in their 30s or something).

The whole "old thing" is just resulting on the HUGE reinvention Europe made of Greek mythology from the Renaissance onward, mixing the "All Greek statues are white, so the gods were white-like" misunderstanding with the old, "acceptable" concept that god-rulers had to be like the Biblical or Christian patriarchs, elderly men with white or grey beards.

I don't mind per se the idea of Zeus or Poseidon being an older guy, because it is indeed now part of popular culture and it has been around for too many centuries to ignore or reject. Plus, it can be a good way to fight the ageism inherent to Greek mythology by depicting gods as elderly but still beautiful and "perfect" (which is what Renaissance art onward actually did). But it doesn't change the fact that it is not accurate to Greek mythology, and that it is HUGE and ancient misunderstanding.

Like Dionysos or Aphrodite being fat - it is something acceptable and understandable today, and it is justifiable in many ways (from cultural precedent to positive evolutions of our modern era)... But it is still a reinvention of Greek mythology, and not a faithful reproduction or an accurate depiction of how the Greek gods were. Because Ancient Greeks were fatphobic as fuck, to use modern terms. But beyond that, we enter into the whole debate of the artistic freedom, and the importance of reinventing and playing with myths and legends to keep them "alive", and that's an entirely different topic.

(Funnily enough, since I am bringing the Aphrodite business: yes, making her fat or middle-aged is not accurate to how the Greeks saw her, and is bringing modern era ideals, if Renaissance can be considered "modern", to Ancient matters. At least with the Romans, there's something justifiable because they had a "mother-goddess" thing going on with Venus, but for the Greeks Aphrodite was young and fat was ugliness, that's for certain. HOWEVER! The funny thing is that all those comics and movies depicting Aphrodite as a literal pin-up with a tiny waist but a huge butt and enormous boobs is just as inaccurate and "wrong" compared to the Ancient Greeks beauty canon. Because while Ancient Greeks hated people being too fat or too skinny, considering this "ugly", they also disliked people being too "developed". When a guy was too muscular, or had too large of a dick, he was considered ugly and visually "vulgar" (which is why grotesque figure like the satyrs had these huge sexual organs, and statues of the gods had tiny ones ; and Herakles doesn't look as much of a bodybuilder as super-hero comics depict him). So to have Aphrodite as just big boobs and butt on a stick is basically also making a goddess that the Ancient Greeks would have deemed ugly and "vulgar"/"grotesque", if not repulsive.

So you know... We can criticize the mainstream media alongside the new reinventions of today, because EVERYBODY'S WRONG and that's the fun of it Xp)

[factual-fantasy]

23 ASKS! THANK YOU! :DD 🐟

@timestorm04

1: Captain Barnacles! :DD

2: One of the reasons why I redrew them suddenly was because I was thinking of re-writing my Octonauts Sea dwellers AU :0 But I'm going back on that now tbh.. :///

They didn't figure it out and they did end up booking it. I mean,, can you really blame them?

We know Papyrus, and all of us would absolutely give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was innocent. But Seam and Jevil don't know the Papyrus we know.

All Seam sees is an absolute mountain of bodies and an state of utter decay all around him.. with suspiciously the last man standing being a very clearly mentally unstable skeleton.. would you assume he was innocent?

Add onto that all the stress Seam was under, how unstable he was as well. Seam couldn't see the situation any other way and he was not taking any chances.

AAA THANK YOU!! IM SO GLAD TO HEAR THAT YOU LIKE THEM!! :DDDD

@foxythefox711

I don't watch Adventure time currently and I don't know all the nitty gritty of the shows lore.. but my favorite characters from what I've seen is Simon! With Jake as a close second. :} Also Prismo is 3rd I think-

f...fank youu!!

(Also the protons joke got a laugh outa me XDD )

:DD Thank you so much! I'm glad you like how I draw them!! :}}

@couchwow

oh ok

Wait are the characters from the game actually baked in an oven to be "born"?? I didn't know that--

@taizarack

:DD I'm glad you like them! And although I don't have either game, I hope to learn a little more about the games lore :0

@chickenheadguy (Link in question)

Oh! Thank you! Lemme just take a look an--

170 VIDEOS??

GORL THEY WEREN'T LYING THOSE COOKIES GOT LORE-

(Also thank you for the compliments and the link! :DD )

@luna-purple454

NO HE DOESN'T GET KILLED-- Seam and Jevil just jump to another AU as soon as Jevil had the strength to. Leaving Papyrus behind in the process..

(Also thank you!! :DD )

@torriderrelic44

I don't have any plans to draw any art like that, no.. sorry! <:/

YES. YES IT DOES. But its not the people who go "ohmygosh I LOVE this (AU/thing) you made! Its wonderful! Do you have any plans to continue it someday.? If not that's ok! Just wondering!" Those guys are fine and I take it as a compliment actually!

Its the people who say things like "When are you gonna finish this" "Why did you stop drawing this" "How long until you draw this again" "I don't like what you're drawing, now go back to this it was better" comments like THOSE, suck. And its always about the same comics/subjects that I stopped drawing months ago. Looking at you Octonauts crab comic

As for my AUs, its not too hard for me to remember all of them. I never have more than 5-6 per fandom. I can usually list them off by memory! :0

Tbh the animatronics would probably just register that as a mess/hazard and would notify an employee about the issue. In which the employee would dispatch a mop bot to go clean it up. I imagine it unfortunately happens often enough that the bots aren't really fazed. Kids amirite-

I have drawn her at least twice from recent memory! Once in this horror post, and she makes an appearance in part 1 of my FNAF AU recap/repair! :00

The reason why I rarely draw her is becuase of the plans I have for her in my AU. She is meant to be very mysterious and I want the changes I made to her in my re-write to be a surprise-

Also thank you! I'm glad you like my cookie run creatures! :}}}

WAAAA THAK YOU SO MUCH!!!😭😭💖😭

I'm not sure actually.. idk if the characters from the games are aware that they are "cookies" in the sense that they are meant to be eaten- So I'm not sure how my characters would react either-

Its related to the names of the drivers, I cant share anything else! :x

@mumble-jumble-gallery (Post in question)

Magic candy..? Huh- well I'm glad it isn't world shattering at least-- <XDD

@ravenslog

THANK YIU!! :DDD

:DD Thank you so much! I'll be sure to draw them again sometime XD

@beryl-shade

Sorry for the late reply! This ask got buried-

If you look to this post for reference, I was thinking that Fredbear would be as tall as Bonnie. Maybe a little taller.? And Spring Bonnie would be about as tall as Foxy :00

[cvrnelians]

black sheep

dark!eddie brock AU - After years of struggling with your mental health, you are relieved to be diagnosed with and treated for bipolar disorder. You finally feel strong enough to move to New York and pursue your dream as an artist.

When you respond to an ad for a newspaper interview for World Mental Health Day, you meet Eddie Brock, a reporter that you instantly take a liking to. You write it off as a silly, one sided crush, and continue to focus on yourself and your career. But not long after your interview, you start to feel like someone is watching you.

Perhaps Eddie Brock likes you a little more than you think…

warnings: stalking, manipulation.

You were not sure why it caught your eye.

Interviewees Needed for Article - Pay $50 per interview

We at The Daily Bugle are looking for individuals with various mental health diagnoses for an editorial as a tribute to World Mental Health Day. Pseudonyms allowed if preferred. Participants of any age are welcome.

Having just moved to Brooklyn, you figured you would download the app for the local newspaper, The Daily Bugle. You sifted through the upcoming events, remaining optimistic that you would at least attempt to be social. Being a freelance artist, you mainly wanted to keep an eye out for any potential job leads. You considered posting an ad of your own to promote your small business, but you weren’t sure you could call it a business quite yet. At times, you weren’t even sure that you could confidently call yourself an artist. Even so, you had managed to sell enough commissions to land yourself a tiny apartment in the city.

The ad was simple and straightforward. You probably wouldn’t have even found it if you hadn’t scrolled all the way down. It wasn’t the paid gig you were looking for, but fifty dollars was fifty dollars. If there was one thing you were completely sure of, it was that you were a qualified candidate for this article.

Your official diagnosis, courtesy of your psychiatrist, had been an unexpected relief. Bipolar II. You routinely beat yourself up for not coming to that conclusion on your own, for not realizing it sooner. You had been on and off various SSRIs for years, ever since you were a teenager, and they had either not worked at all or made your symptoms worse. You learned a lot about yourself in hindsight. Your mother always referred to you as a “night owl.” Little did you realize, all of those late nights spent creating more paintings than you knew what to do with were the product of hypomania. Your depressive episodes were always far worse than your hypomanic episodes, the last being your most severe. It nearly landed you in the hospital.

Finally—finally—after years of trial and error, you decided to start seeing a new psychiatrist about six months prior. You credited her for changing your life, for helping you find a medication that not only helped you function on a basic level, but helped you to thrive. You had wanted to move to the city ever since you graduated high school. With the way your mental health had been deteriorating, you never thought you would actually do it.

But you did, and you did it all on your own. As lonely as you felt and as broke as you were, the thought made you smile. It gave you hope.

After a few minutes of staring at your phone, you figured you would give it a shot. If you wanted to protect your privacy, you could just use a pseudonym. Or maybe, just maybe, the article would provide you with an opportunity to promote your art. Startled, you heard a raspy and exhaustion laden “Yeah?” on the first ring. Whoever this man was, it sounded like he had just woken up.

“Um…hi,” you said awkwardly. “I’m inquiring about an ad that I found in The Daily Bugle, the one about World Mental Health Day? Do I have the right number?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Hey.”

You could hear the person grumble on the end of the line, almost as if he was stretching.

“Are you still conducting interviews? I tried checking on the app, but it didn’t say when the ad was posted.”

The man chuckled. “Yeah, that stupid thing. They just launched it recently. They’ve been trying to get it up and running for ages. They’ve had some kid who’s not even qualified working on it.”

“Ah,” you said. “That explains a lot actually. It kept, like, zooming in and out as I was scrolling through?”

“Hah, figures. I deleted the thing from my phone two minutes after I downloaded it. It crashes pretty much every day. The website sucks, too. Honestly, you’re better off just buying the actual paper, but no one does that anymore.”

The man cleared his throat.

“But yeah, I’m still doing interviews,” he said. “Where in the city are you located?”

You agreed to meet at a hole-in-the wall cafe nearby. You had never been there before.

“It’s quiet enough that we’ll be able to actually hear each other speak, and secluded enough that no one will hear what we’re discussing. I, uh…I know this stuff is really personal and hard for people to talk about, so I want to give you that respect. We can go to a more popular place if you’d be more comfortable with that. Or we could meet up at the park. If you need proof that I’m a real reporter, my name’s Eddie Brock. You can google me…or search for my articles on that app we love so much.”

You smiled to yourself. You liked Eddie Brock.

“No,” you said. “The place you suggested should be just fine.”

Luckily, you didn’t live too far from one another. The coffee shop was only a ten minute walk for you. You got there before he did, ordering yourself a large coffee. The place was kind of shabby, but the old woman at the counter had a kind face. She made you feel seen, like you weren’t just a number in the vast metropolis that was New York. She reminded you of home.

You shoved some cash into the tip jar and walked over to an open booth. As Eddie had stated, the place wasn’t very crowded. You had quite a few spots to choose from. You sat there for a few minutes, your fingers fidgeting as you took large sips of your coffee and scrolled through Instagram. As rundown as the place was, you had to admit that the coffee was pretty spectacular.

Fifteen minutes after you were supposed to meet up, a man in a worn out leather jacket stumbled through the doorway. He seemed to have some trouble opening the door, pulling at the handle despite it being a push door. You couldn’t help but smirk, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. As he walked in, the woman at the counter shook her head.

“Eddie, I’ve told you ten times now!” she said.

They both spoke in unison. “You have to push the door open.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, May,” Eddie said. He suddenly dropped what appeared to be a motorcycle helmet on the floor, causing you both to jump.

“Jesus Christ…” he grumbled.

“The usual?” May asked, already turning towards the cappuccino machine.

“Yup,” he said, placing some crumpled up bills and a bunch of coins on the counter. He peered around the cafe at the very few patrons, his brows furrowed. You gave him a little wave.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, barreling towards you. It was quickly becoming clear to you that Eddie was not the most graceful person in the world.

“Hi,” you said timidly. The prospect of talking about your mental health issues with someone you didn’t know suddenly felt very intimidating. You stood up from your spot as he reached out to shake your hand.

“Eddie Brock,” he said, giving you a smile that instantly put you at ease. It wasn’t one of those polite, surface level smiles that acquaintances typically doled out. It seemed genuine, like he was actually happy to see you. “Nice to meet you.”

He sat down and placed his helmet on his side of the booth.

“You rode your motorcycle here?” you asked. Ugh. Obviously. Why were you so awkward?

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry I’m late. I try to be on time for my interviews, but it’s rare that I’m ever on time for anything. I did run into some heavy traffic today, though. I swear.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “I’ve got all day.”

“Day off?” he asked, smiling warmly at you.

“Um…” Every day was a day off for you lately. “Yes…?”

May slammed his drink on the counter. “If you want your drink, you better come over and get it, Eddie. I’m not a waitress.”

Eddie playfully rolled his eyes. “Hold on, hold on,” he said in mock exasperation. May stood with her hands on her hips. He picked up the mug and tipped it up at her. “Thanks, darlin’.”

May smiled and shook her head again, redirecting her focus on cleaning off the counter.

You took a sip of your drinks at the same time as he sat back down. You shot him a knowing look.

“Good, right?” he asked. “This place is a real gem. I’ve been coming here for a while now. May takes up a big chunk of my paycheck.”

“No joke, this is probably the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had,” you conceded.

“Right?!” As you eyed him more closely, it was plain to see that he was both freshly showered and a bit hungover. He smelled like mint and aftershave, and his hair was still slightly wet.

“Alright,” he said, rubbing beneath his eye with his knuckle. “I’m not going to ask you to tell me a little bit about yourself. As a reporter, I hate that question. I really, truly do. The answers are almost never honest or authentic—not completely, anyway. I like the complete story, the real one. Besides, this isn’t a job interview, and I’m not going to put you on the spot like that.”

Okay. You really liked Eddie Brock.

“If anything I’m asking makes you uncomfortable, though, tell me and I’ll scrap it. It’s an editorial. It’s meant to empower people with mental illness, so you control the narrative. If we finish up this interview and you start feeling remorse, tell me and I’ll scrap it, as long as you tell me before the first of the month. Once I submit it, there’s nothing I can do. But you’re getting your fifty bucks either way.”

You nodded. “Got it.”

“Alright. You ready?”

You nodded.

“Let’s get down to business, then,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Is it okay if I record this? I won’t post it anywhere. I’ll delete it after I finish the article, I just need to transcribe it.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem.”

The conversation was really fluid and natural for what it was. It felt like a normal, everyday discussion. Initially, he just asked you a lot about your job and your life before moving to the city. He would occasionally interject and tell you about himself, providing the right amount of give-and-take to make you feel at ease. He was originally from San Francisco. He moved to New York for college and wound up staying after he graduated. He had been a reporter at The Daily Bugle for a few years, and preferred to delve into some serious investigative journalism whenever the opportunity presented itself. He dabbled in photography, too.

It was around ten minutes in that he started asking you about your mental health. It was bizarre just how comfortable you felt with Eddie, more comfortable than you had felt with anyone in a very long time. It was like a dam had broken. The words came out of you before you could stop them, perhaps because you had spent so much time alone since moving to the city, without anyone to talk to. More likely, though, it was because you knew you wouldn’t be at risk of oversharing. He actually wanted the whole scoop. That was what he was paying you for.

More than that, though, it seemed like he was truly listening—like he actually cared. There was something about the way he looked at you.

“I don’t think I’ll even need that audio file,” he chuckled. “I don’t know if you could tell, but I feel really…invested, I guess is the right word, in your story.”

“Sorry…” you said. You weren’t sure why you were even apologizing. You swore it was just a natural reflex for you. It was something for you to work on.

“I just want you to know, it means something to me that you told me all this.”

You let out a nervous laugh, averting your eyes towards your coffee. You ran your pointer finger over the edge of the mug.

“No,” he said, placing his hand over yours. “I’m serious. Look at me. Look up at me.”

When you looked up, you were caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze, the unwavering sincerity there. The color of his eyes was interesting; not quite blue, not quite green. Hazel. Kind of pretty, really.

“This isn’t just another story for me. The fact that you trusted me enough to be so honest…I don’t take that for granted. Thank you.”

You gave him a small smile. He grabbed your hands and enclosed them with his, squeezing a tiny bit before letting them go. “I’ll do right by you with this article. I meant what I said about you controlling the narrative. You have any regrets, you call me and it’s gone.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you said. “It’s been really nice talking to you. And thank you for the money. I almost feel tempted to give it back to you.”

He waved his hand flippantly at you, as if the gesture would wipe that thought away completely.

“Oh, by the way. Did you want to use a pseudonym? I’m totally fine with that. But—and this is not to sound patronizing—I think using your real name would be a great opportunity for you to promote your business, and I would like to give you that opportunity.”

You were somewhat hesitant to do so given the personal nature of the article. You had initially replied to it because the offer of a pseudonym meant that you had nothing to lose. But when you thought about it, you needed more than just this fifty dollars to tie you over, and you could really use that kind of exposure. Not to mention, you were tired of being made to feel ashamed of your diagnosis. As scary as it was, being open about it was consistent with your values. It helped set a precedent. You quickly gave him your social media handle, along with the name of your website.

You both sat in silence for a while. Your drinks were finished. You had already thanked each other for your time. There was no reason to stick around. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to get up and leave. You felt a little drained from releasing all of that pent up energy, and you assumed Eddie felt tired from listening to all of it. How long had it been—an hour? Two? That was a lot of talking.

“Can I ask you something?” you probed, the words escaping before you could stop them.

“Ah, now it’s my turn to be in the hot seat,” he mused. “Maybe I should order another coffee.”

“Why did you want to write about this?” you asked. “Was it something your boss assigned to you, or were you just interested…?”

Eddie paused for a long moment, thinking to himself.

“Well,” he said wistfully. “I would be lying to you if I told you that I didn’t have my own issues. I think we all do. Some people—” he gestured towards you. “—are just more honest about it than others. I wanted to take on this project because I have a personal connection to it, and I think it’s important for people to talk about. To tell you the truth, I got fired from my job a few months ago. Not for long, but long enough for me to sink into a pretty deep depression. I didn’t get out of bed for a while. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t checking my mail, I wasn’t paying my bills, I wasn’t even showering. It was really dark for a while. I know there are other jobs out there, but I felt crushed. I was lucky that they decided to bring me back on. I pretty much had to beg for my spot back, but I’m here now nonetheless.”

“I’m really sorry, Eddie.”

He shrugged. “It could’ve been much worse, but thank you.“

“Can I ask why you got fired?”

Another sigh. “I was writing a piece about this serial killer that was terrorizing the city for a good six months or so. That story became my whole life. I ate, slept, and breathed that case. It meant that much to me. I wanted to be the one to catch and expose the killer. I genuinely felt like I had the capacity to do it, like I was on the edge of finding the truth.

“I ended up finding out who the killer was. At least, I thought I did. I told the police, and they ended up conducting an investigation. They turned up with nothing, but I was just so sure of myself. I ended up publishing the story in The Daily Bugle. I didn’t ask my boss or any of the editors for permission. I did it entirely on my own, which you’re never supposed to do. I sort of…snuck it onto the front page. It took a lot of finagling, but I was desperate. I really wanted people to know who this guy was. It wasn’t even about my ego as a reporter at that point. I didn’t care about breaking the big story anymore. No one at work believes me when I tell them that, but really I just wanted to protect people. That was all I wanted.”

“It wasn’t the guy, was it?” you asked.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

“That kid that I mentioned, the one that created the app? He was the one that caught the guy. My boss wrote an article exposing me for doing what I did after talking to him. He was the one who got me fired. Peter Parker.”

Even though you agreed with what Peter did, you liked Eddie enough to want to make him feel better about the situation. He was only human, after all. His intentions had been good, but the way he went about it had been godawful.

“That’s a stupid name,” you blurted out.

He chuckled wryly. “Yeah, I thought so, too. But he helped protect the city. I didn’t. Not to mention, I accused an innocent man of something he didn’t do. I tried to have him incarcerated. What if he had been? I feel terrible about that every day. I’ve tried reaching out to him to apologize, but he hates me. I can’t say I blame him.

“Even though the story itself wasn’t about my ego, the fact that I screwed up so royally and lost my job bruised my ego quite a bit. It was just so humiliating. I’m lucky my family doesn’t give a shit about what I’m up to, because if they found out what happened, they would torture me about it until the end of time.”

You suddenly felt lost for words. All you could come up with was, “I’m sorry, Eddie.”

He gave you a light smile and turned to look out the window.

“I always say that I came to this city because I wanted to try something new. I wanted to live in New York; see the sights, become a real journalist, carve out a path of my own. Now that’s all true, but the real story is that I probably would have gone anywhere to escape where I grew up. Ask anyone in my family, and they’d be happy to inform you that I’m the undisputed black sheep.”

In spite of his wrongs, the look on his face tugged on something within you. You loved your family, but you could relate to feeling like an outsider. It was glaringly obvious that your parents would always like your older sister more than they liked you. And why wouldn’t they? She was smart, hardworking, beautiful. She had a well-paying job and a perfect little family of her own.

And she wasn’t bipolar.

“It’s embarrassing to admit, but I was nasty towards that Parker kid long before he broke that story about me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not in my nature to be a bully. I used to beat up kids like that in school,” he emphasized, raising his hands defensively. “But something about that boy reminds me so much of my little brother, and I hate my brother.”

“Why?” you asked. “Was he a jerk?”

“No,” he said. “Not at all, actually. That’s the worst part. When I was much younger, I loved my brother. He was a nerd, and I was always very protective of him. But when I got to be around—I don’t know, thirteen or fourteen—things changed. My parents saw him as the golden child. They practically worshipped the ground he walked on. I kind of understand it now. He was a good kid. He was smart, he did well in school, and he was just so nice. Good-natured, eager to help out. Like that Parker kid. I was a bit of a rebel, so…”

He took a large gulp of his coffee. “He’s a doctor now, the little prick.”

You laughed. “Probably a very good doctor, I’m guessing?”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he said. “Neither do my parents. I don’t really speak to him if I can avoid it. He used to try and reach out to me, but he doesn’t anymore unless it’s around the holidays. Whenever I’m caught up in an episode of self-loathing, I’ll unblock him on Facebook so I can see what he’s up to. I’m sorry to bore you with all this, though. I know this ain’t about me.”

“Y’know, I could definitely picture you being a little rebel,” you said, a grin spreading across your face. “Did you have a motorcycle as a teenager, too?”

He shot you a look. “Oh, I had a motorcycle alright…if you could call it that. It was seriously a deathtrap. I bought it off Craigslist for five hundred bucks, long before I got my motorcycle license. I would ride around the neighborhood without a helmet on and rev the engine to try and impress girls. I still have the tattoo I got illegally, too.”

He turned his head downwards and lifted up his jeans to show you his ankle. On it was a faded red anarchy symbol with very shaky line work.

You laughed.

“Wow. Badass.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “I was so embarrassing. No wonder why my parents didn’t like me.”

He gave you the money he promised and even bought you a coffee for the road. He informed you that the story would be published the following month, the morning of World Mental Health Day. You parted ways with a friendly hug. Part of you was hoping that he would ask if you wanted to hang out sometime, but you quickly shoved the thought from your mind. He was a writer doing a story. Just because he was nice to you one time didn’t mean that he owed you his attention. Even if you would never see him again, you felt grateful to know at least one person in the city. Actually two now, having met May.

The following week was a strange one, to say the least.

It started off promisingly enough. On Monday morning, you received an order on your website for some small prints you had done a while ago. It was all from the same person. They wanted the prints shipped to a P.O. box, and they had listed their name as ‘Alien Symbiote.’ You had to laugh. If there was anyone out there that you wanted as a customer, it was someone that referred to themselves as ‘Alien Symbiote.’

You swiftly mailed the prints out and decided to stop by that cafe Eddie had introduced you to. You wanted to start off your week seeing a familiar face, and May did not disappoint. She gave you your drink to-go with a smile and a “Hope to see you back here soon!”

"Don’t worry,” you reassured her. You will.”

You made your trip to the cafe quick. A part of you secretly hoped you might see Eddie there, but that made you feel like a massive creep. If he was going to show up any time soon—which you highly doubted, given how hectic his job probably was—you skedaddled before he could. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. You just really, really wanted that coffee.

You took a stroll through the park for half an hour or so before sitting down on a nearby bench. You put your headphones in and set to work on some random illustrations in your sketchbook. You must have listened to the same song thirty times—as you were prone to do when you found a new song you liked—before you finally got sick of it and changed it to something else. Hours passed as you scribbled, shaded, outlined and erased anything and everything that crossed your mind. Lately you were on a wildlife kick. The cornfields and pastures you drew made you feel a little homesick. You stopped yourself before you would inevitably cry, and focused on running errands instead. Walking around with music playing in your ears made grocery store runs much more enticing.

When you got home, you collapsed onto your bed to take a late afternoon nap. Just as you were about to fall asleep, you felt a nice breeze circulating throughout your room. You opened your eyes slowly, your gaze shifting towards your window—which had been left wide open. You couldn’t remember opening it; not that morning, not last night. You typically kept all of your windows closed and locked, but you had woken up feeling pretty exhausted. In fact, you were waking up pretty exhausted most mornings. You wrote it off as a side effect of your medication. Maybe you had opened it while you were getting ready and left it ajar without being fully aware of what you were doing. You left it as it was during your nap. You would make sure to shut and lock it when you woke up. The breeze was just so nice.

The next few days were when things got weird.

Your psychiatrist from your hometown had referred you to a new psychiatrist a few blocks from where you lived. You knew you could trust her referral. Your new psychiatrist had a very warm presence. He exceeded your expectations. When you brought up the tiredness you experienced from your medication, he said there was likely an easy fix. He suggested that you try a new medication. If it didn’t work out, you could always switch back to the old one. You were a bit wary at first, but he reassured you that a large number of his Bipolar II patients recounted positive experiences with this particular drug.

It all started on your late night walk home from the pharmacy. You took out your headphones for a brief moment to untangle the wires, and that was when you heard it. There was a set of footsteps walking directly behind you, almost like they were trying to keep pace with you. You whipped your head around, spotting some typical passerby. A family, two women laughing, a guy walking his dog. You figured that maybe a cat had skittered by right next to you or something.

But it happened again the next night. And the night after that. And in the afternoon, and in the morning. You kept hearing those footsteps right behind you. Sometimes when you turned around, you could see another shadow in addition to yours, only for it to quickly disappear. It felt like someone was watching you, like someone was following you. You tried to reason with yourself that this paranoia was due to your new medication, but you remembered hearing those footsteps the night prior to even starting it.

There was other stuff, too.

You kept forgetting to lock your window at night, which was strange, because you could never remember unlocking it. You woke up on Friday to find that you had misplaced a few of your drawings. After scouring your entire apartment to find them, you realized they may have fallen out of your sketchbook during one of your many walks through the park.

It didn’t help that your new medication was making you nauseous. Your psychiatrist had reassured you that this was a typical side effect within the first two weeks, and that it would most likely pass after that point. If it didn’t, you could always try something else (as frustrating as that idea was). In spite of the nausea, you were starting to feel less tired in the mornings, and you hadn’t been experiencing any racing thoughts or depressive symptoms.

You lost your headphones at some point in the midst of this, which was disappointing. Although you received a few commissions via Instagram that week, you didn’t want to factor a new pair of headphones into your budget this month. You figured you would wait for another online order or commission until splurging on yourself.

Your concerns about money and issues with nausea seemed to have no effect on your coffee intake, however. You stopped by to see May every few days, more than willing to spend as much as you needed to in order to get your fix. On Friday afternoon, May stopped you before you could head out the door.

“Eddie was here this morning,” she said. “I think he’s been looking for you. He asked if I had seen you at all this week.”

You felt a rush of gaiety at her words.

“Really?”

May nodded. “I told him it was none of his business until he bought something. And then when he bought something, I told him it was still none of his business,” she chuckled. “But then he tipped me, and I relented.”

You wondered if the number you called him with was a landline at work or something. But it couldn’t have been. When you first spoke to him, it sounded like he had literally just woken up, unless he had fallen asleep at his desk. Maybe he received a lot of phone calls due to the ad, and wasn’t sure which number was yours in his call log.

May leaned towards you and gestured for you to come closer to the counter. When you leaned in, she whispered, “I think that man is a little sweet on you, to tell you the truth.”

You felt your stomach flip, and you suddenly felt flustered. You really wanted to believe that. It was hard not to like Eddie. He was kind and perceptive and real. But it was more likely that he wanted to speak with you about the story. As disappointed as that made you feel, you were happy to help him out in any way you could.

“Thanks, May,” you said, clearing your throat. “I’ll get in touch with him.”

🕷

You laid in bed, scrolling through your phone as a Hulu documentary blared at you from your tv. It didn’t take long to find Eddie’s number. The only other people in your call log since moving to Brooklyn were your mom, your sister, and a few telemarketers. You typed in his number like you were about to text him, then deleted it. You did this several times. You wanted to contact him, but you also didn’t want to seem like some clingy weirdo that lacked boundaries.

But he had been looking for you…

You set your phone down on the dresser next to your bed and restarted the documentary. You hadn’t been paying much attention to it, and it seemed fairly interesting. Maybe you would text him in the morning.

When you were just on the verge of sleep, your phone startled you awake. Someone was calling you. You scrambled to turn down the volume on your tv. With blurry vision, you reached to grab it, your fingers fumbling as you got ahold of your phone. You moved your finger across the touch screen and held it up it to your ear without even really looking at the number that was calling you.

“Hello?” you said with a yawn.

“Hi. This is Eddie Brock, the writer from The Daily Bugle? I conducted an interview with you about a week ago.”

You immediately sat up. “Yeah! Eddie. Hey.”

If you weren’t mistaken, it was like you could hear him smile through the phone.

“I’m sorry to be calling so late,” he lamented. “If you want, I can call you back sometime tomorrow at a more reasonable time. You sound a little tired.”

You looked at the clock. 9:15pm. Wow. Given all the naps you so enjoyed, it wasn’t like you to fall asleep so early in the evening.

“Nonono, it’s totally fine. It’s really not that late. How are you?”

“Ah, well. Overworked. Underpaid. You know the deal,” he said. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad. May told me you were looking for me?”

“Yeah,” he said with a breathy laugh.

Did he sound…embarrassed?

“I’m so sorry to bother you with this, but I was hoping I could see you again sometime soon. I have a few more questions I wanted to ask for the article. Also—if this makes you uncomfortable, stop me now—the bossman suggested that we get some photos to go along with it.”

“Photos?”

“Yeah, a few pictures of the people I interviewed; only the ones that were okay with sharing their identities, obviously. They won’t be printed in the actual paper, but they’ll be posted online when the story comes out.”

You mulled that over for a second. It was scary thinking of people seeing what you looked like and knowing so much information about you. But if you wanted to promote your business and be seen as a legitimate artist, you figured there had to be some price to pay. Besides, if anyone decided to take a peek at your social media after reading the article, they would end up seeing your face, anyway.

“You can say no,” he said, his words adamant. “We can just finish up some more questions for the interview, or we can forgo those altogether. I know this is a lot to ask from you, and I have more than enough material t—”

“No,” you interrupted. “No, Eddie, it’s fine. I’m totally okay with that. If I’m willing to fully reveal my identity, I think it’ll help normalize my diagnosis in some small way. It shows people they shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

“That’s what my boss said, and I mostly agreed. I just don’t want to risk it being exploitative on any level. But are you really sure? The last thing I want to do is waste your time.”

“I appreciate that. I’m sure.”

“There’s just one little thing,” he said.

“…Okay?”

“I’m going to be the one taking the photos. I actually started off as a photographer at The Bugle before I landed my writing gig. We can shoot them literally anywhere you want. The sidewalk, the park, your apartment, wherever. But I can find you a female photographer if you’d be more comfortable with that.”

“No, I trust you. But if the photos turn out bad—which won’t be your fault, I assure you—I’m not above begging you to throw your camera into the ocean.”

“Don’t get it twisted,” he said with a laugh. “I think you’re gonna make my job very easy…”

Then, more quietly, “…being such a beautiful subject and all.”

He was just being nice, you told yourself. He didn’t really mean it. He just needed to get photos for his article, and he was probably schmoozing you to persuade you to do it.

Even so, it was nice to hear, especially coming from him.

🕷

Okay. So you didn’t know Eddie super well. It was probably not the best idea to invite this virtual stranger to your apartment. But there was something about him that made you feel safe, as ridiculous as that sounded. Maybe it was because he told you about his dynamic with his family, a dynamic that you were all too familiar with. Or maybe it was just your new medication, which you were developing a few concerns about.

You could feel yourself becoming increasingly scatterbrained as of late. You kept losing things; paintbrushes, your favorite shirt, the sketchbook from your freshman year of college. Once every few days, you would arrive home to find something out of place. Your window was unlocked, the cabinet drawers in your kitchen were left open, your blankets were all over the place when you thought you made your bed that morning. You even started to wonder if your apartment was haunted, but you were experiencing that same uneasiness every time you went out.

Wherever you went, you could swear you heard a set of footsteps trailing behind you, especially at night. But whenever you turned around to see who it was, no one was there. The worst part was the heavy feeling of eyes on you at all times. You weren’t sure why, but you could feel this energy in the air like someone was watching you. One night while you were attempting to cook, you spotted someone out of the corner of your eye. They were across the street, a shadow staring up into your window. When you looked outside, however, all you saw was the normal rush of people walking along the sidewalks. You started keeping your curtains closed at all times and bought a few cheap lamps to try and create an illusion of natural light. Even though you knew you were just being paranoid, your blackout curtains made you feel just a tiny bit more comfortable.

A teeny, tiny bit.

But you wanted to give this new medication a chance. Apart from the paranoia, you felt pretty stable. You weren’t buying anything impulsively or lying in bed for days on end. You woke up most mornings feeling refreshed and energetic, and kept yourself on a routine as you worked from home.

When the day came that Eddie visited you, you were really happy to see him. It was borderline pathetic. You stood up from the couch as soon as you heard his motorcycle pull up outside. You peered out the window to find him struggling to open the front doors, pushing instead of pulling. You chuckled as you watched him curse at himself and lean his head back in defeat, finally jarring them open.

When he knocked on your apartment door, you waited a few seconds before opening it. You didn’t want to appear as eager to see him as you felt. You pulled all the curtains open and turned off the lamps. It was a sunny day out, and you didn’t want him to think you were weird. As soon as you swung the door open, he smiled brightly at you.

“Hey,” you greeted him shyly.

“Hey you,” he said, as if you were old friends reuniting after a long time apart. He dropped his helmet onto the floor and pulled you into a tight hug, twisting and lifting you up slightly as he did. That same smell of mint and aftershave wafted through the air. Your feelings of paranoia and uncertainty felt like a distant memory.

He shifted his focus to your marginally messy living space. Although clean, you had paintings on canvases of various sizes stacked up all along the floor. Your charcoal pencils and oil pastels were strewn across your desk, along with a pile of unfinished commissions.

“Holy shit,” he muttered.

“I know it’s complete and utter chaos in here. I meant to clean up before you got here, but I’ve been kind of bus—”

“No,” he said, approaching one of your paintings on a larger canvas. You had completed it a while ago, a still life of the house you grew up in. He lifted it up and examined it carefully. He turned towards the other canvases and rifled through them.

He turned back towards you and raised his eyebrows. “You made these?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Not my best work, but—”

“If this isn’t your best work, then your best work has to be, like…godly.”

You snorted. “Eddie.”

“I’m serious!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I’ll admit it. I’ve creeped on your social media, and you were as talented as I thought you would be. But these are on another level.”

You figured you would spend the day walking around the park—which you did—but only after Eddie took you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You talked for hours, so much so that you hadn’t realized how few questions he had asked that were pertinent to the interview. You mostly just chit chatted about your daily lives, and thoughts and feelings on various topics. Your favorite movies, books, music, places. Your dream vacation, your favorite stores. He didn’t ask to voice record any of it. The only Daily Bugle related thing you did was pose for a few photos in the park, which you refused to even look at.

“I’m going to tear myself to shreds if I see them,” you said over your second cup of May’s coffee. “I’m serious. Don’t show them to me. I want you to have photos for your article and I don’t want to be annoying and ask you to retake a bunch of them.”

“We can retake as many photos as you want,” he said sympathetically. “But you really do look great in these. No surprise there.”

You could seriously get used to being complimented by Eddie Brock.

It was dark by the time you decided to call it quits. You couldn’t believe how quickly the day flew by. Eddie couldn’t, either.

“The article will be published in a few weeks. If by any chance you want to see the photos, you can take a look at the website. They should all be there.”

“Or, y’know. The app,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes. “No, not the app. Never the app.”

True to his word, the article came out the morning of World Mental Health Day. It was beautifully written. He had inserted well-researched facts and figures throughout, and paid respect to the subjects he interviewed, maintaining and promoting their dignity. The photos he posted were really good quality, edited in black and white. Apart from you, he had photographed around five other people. Yours was at the very bottom of the page, a candid photo of you laughing. You were pleasantly surprised. You actually looked kind of nice. He had even printed your website and social media handle in bold.

You shot him a text, opting not to call him during the workday.

Eddie, oh my god! It’s amazing!!!! Thank you so much!

You received a reply just a few seconds later.

Like I said, you made my job easy.

In the hours that followed, you received an overflow of commission requests and hits to your website. You were beaming as you replied to the incoming messages. Not much later, you received another text from Eddie.

Bold question for you. Would you want to grab a celebratory drink sometime?

Um…YES. Was that even a question? You let out a happy sigh as you texted him back.

As long as I’m buying. I owe you big time.

Later that night after finishing a few commissions, you set to work on a sketch for Eddie. It was risky, but you wanted to help him see his hometown through new eyes, just as you had been doing lately. You wanted to recreate San Francisco as something beautiful and safe for him to take the edge off of some of his crappy memories. He told you he always enjoyed visiting the Wave Organ when he felt bummed out. You took that tidbit of information and ran with it.

In contrast to the elation you felt, you were startled from a deep sleep the following morning by a jarring nightmare. As you were sitting in bed working away on your Wave Organ illustration, a gel-like string came through your open window and curled itself around the walls. Your eyes widened as more and more of these long, black strings came through the window. You sat there stunned, unable to move as they took up larger and larger amounts of space within your tiny room. Suddenly, a head poked its way through your window. It was the most terrifying thing you had ever seen. It looked like some kind of alien you had only ever seen in movies, with giant white eyes and sharp teeth. It was massive and looked insanely strong. It moved closer and closer towards you, clutching onto the edge of your bed with its claws. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. You couldn’t cry, couldn’t scream. You could barely breathe. After staring at you for a few seconds, twisting its head to the side, it poked its tongue out at you and let out this awful roaring, screaming noise.

Without even thinking, you flipped to a blank page in your sketchbook as soon as you woke up. You picked up a charcoal pencil and etched the creature onto the page in under an hour. You weren’t sure why you felt so compelled to recreate what you saw. It was like something else was controlling your hands as you drew. When you finally finished, you threw your pen down on the page and let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

🕷

“Bold question,” Eddie said, clinking his beer against yours. You hated beer, but he was adamant that the hole in the wall bar you met up at had a beer selection that even you would enjoy.

“Oh no. Not another one,” you joked, taking a sip of your drink.

Huh. He wasn’t wrong. Your beer (which he refused to allow you to pay for) was actually pretty good.

He leaned his cheek against his fist, sliding his elbow across the counter.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

You raised your eyebrows. “I don’t. Why do you ask?”

He smiled, taking a swig of his drink. “You would think I’d have asked you before. I really should have. I mean, I’m pretty invested at this point…but yeah, no. It’s good that you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “I would have to agree. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to those.”

“No?” he asked. He placed both his elbows on the counter and draped his wrists along the edge, leaning closer towards you. He was looking at you like that was some kind of challenge, like he knew something you didn’t. “I think I can change that.”

You felt an inkling of courage at his words, reaching into your bag to pull out the Wave Organ drawing in its silly little dollar store frame. You were slowly starting to accept that Eddie Brock had a crush on you, maybe an even bigger crush on you than you had on him, if that was possible. You really, really hoped he wouldn’t think your thankful gesture wasn’t cringeworthy.

He craned his head around you to peer at the drawing. “What’s that?”

“Well…” you said, taking a deep breath. “I’m not sure if I can ever properly repay you for what you’ve done, but this is my attempt.” You held it out to him abruptly, resisting the urge to clamp your eyes shut.

He gently picked it up, pulling it closer to his face to get a good look.

“Is this…”

“The Wave Organ. I felt really sad when you told me about all the bad memories you had growing up. You mentioned that this was one of the places you liked to escape to when you were feeling low. I know this in no way erases those memories, but I wanted to give you something that could help you see San Francisco from your own, untainted point of view. I hope one day the city won’t be as ruined for you as it is now. It’s not just your family’s home. It’s yours, too. No one gets to take that away from you.”

He stared at the drawing for a long time before squinting his eyes shut and clearing his throat. He twisted his head to the side to crack his neck and cleared his throat before opening them again.

“Man…you’re getting me a little choked up over here,” he said, his voice gravelly. He set the frame down on the counter and wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye. Maybe it hadn’t been the best move to give him such a personal gift in such a dingy bar. It wasn’t your intention to make him upset or bring the mood down. You placed your hand over his, scrambling to come up with a good apology.

“Eddie, I—”

“This just might be the best gift anyone has ever given me,” he said, brushing his thumb along the side of your hand.

He looked like he actually meant it.

And then he leaned in and kissed you. It seemed like it was simultaneously the shortest and longest kiss in the world. You got totally lost kissing him, forgetting that you were in a public place, forgetting everything.

Yup. You really, really liked Eddie Brock.

After a couple of hours, you decided to call it a night. Neither of you even really drank that much. You had one beer to his two, with lots of water and some stale chips in between. Before you could start on your walk home, Eddie stopped you.

“Hey, would you, um…would you want to come back to my place for a little bit?”

You raised your eyebrows and smirked.

“It doesn’t have to mean what you think it means, ya little goofball. I would be happy to just hang out and watch a movie with you. Like, actually watch a movie. If there’s anything I have an excess of, it’s popcorn. The good kind, too. Not that microwave shit.”

“Huh,” you mused, pretending to exaggeratedly think it over. “The good kind of popcorn, no microwave shit. A tempting prospect.”

You had to admit, you were kind of curious about what his apartment looked like. Eddie had somewhat of a messy vibe to him. Being just as engaged with his work as you were (if not more so), you figured he probably had a ton of paper and pens and post-its all over the place.

“And you’d get a free ride out of the deal with a very safe driver. I’ll even let you wear my helmet.”

You had never been on a motorcycle before.

“Well, no. I’m not letting you wear my helmet. I’m making you wear my helmet.” Before you could say anything, he pushed your hair back and slid the heavy black helmet down over your head. Once it was fully on, he lightly knocked on the side. “Gotta protect that beautiful little noggin.”

“But what about you?” you asked.

“What about me?” he asked, motioning for you to come closer as he got on the bike.

“Don’t you need a helmet?”

“Like I said, I’m a very safe driver.”

He wasn’t, but you didn’t mind.

🕷

Eddie Brock’s apartment was just what you had expected. It was very him, with brick accent walls and hardwood floors and a massive leather couch. There was a large bookshelf in the corner of the living room next to the kitchen, which was pretty clean if you ignored all the mugs and portable coffee cups in the sink. The space was dimly lit in spite of the vast quantity of light fixtures he had positioned everywhere. The living room was cluttered with random pieces of furniture he didn’t seem to know what to do with, and the coffee table had piles of papers stacked up on top of it.

“Well, this is it,” he said, tossing his keys onto the counter haphazardly. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess. Honestly I hadn’t been expecting any visitors tonight, so…”

“No?” you asked, leaning back against the fridge.

“You would think I’d have a hunch about these things, right?” he asked, pouring you a glass of water. “But no. I don’t know, I really was hoping you would want to come over here sometime, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous. When I really like someone, I try not to build my expectations up too high. I’m kind of surprised you’re here with me right now, actually. When I texted you this afternoon, I figured it was kind of a longshot.”

“Really?” you asked. “I thought it was pretty obvious that I had a massive crush on you.”

His face lit up as he shrugged his jacket off. “You had a crush on me?” he asked incredulously. “For how long?”

“I did. I do. Like, from the first time I met you.”

“Really?” he asked. “From when we did the interview at May’s? Are you sure?”

“I mean, that’s not something I’m typically uncertain about,” you chuckled. “I honestly thought you might have picked up on it.”

“No. Not at all! I wish I would have picked up on it. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so nervous sending you that text today if I had an inkling that I had a shot with you.”

“Why did you send it if you felt like you didn’t have a chance?” you asked playfully.

He shrugged. “I mean…can you really blame me for trying?”

He encouraged you to get comfortable on the couch as he set to work on the popcorn, none other than Jiffy Pop. You were surprised to find that he had a ton of DVDs in addition to being subscribed to a variety of streaming services.

“What are you in the mood for?” you asked.

“Hmm…” He turned his head towards you as he moved the pan over the stove. “Would it be weird to say horror?”

“Say no more.”

You settled on John Carpenter’s Halloween.

“Oh, where’s your bathroom?” you asked.

“Just down the hallway to the left. The lock doesn’t work, so…yeah. I won’t come bursting in on you.”

You laughed. “Good to know.”

After fixing your smudged eyeliner, straightening out your shirt, and taming a few stray hairs, you started heading back towards the living room.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw it.

In the crack of a doorway was a familiar assortment of colors and lines. You pushed the door open just a tad bit more. There it was, just as you suspected: a collection of prints you had sold from your website the month prior. Your heart warmed at the thought. Eddie was the one that bought them. Eddie was ‘Alien Symbiote.’ He wanted to support your business without you knowing. He meant what he said. He really had liked your work.

You had no clue why he picked such a hilarious pseudonym, though.

You peeked down the hallway to see if Eddie had caught you snooping into his bedroom, but his back was turned to you as he worked on the popcorn. You weren’t sure why, but you pushed the door open just a tiny bit more.

You weren’t quite sure what you were seeing at first. What you were looking at was so overwhelming, so completely and utterly destabilizing that your mind couldn’t process it right away. There was just too much to take in. Eddie’s bedroom was much like the rest of the apartment, homey and cluttered and warm. But this type of clutter was…different.

Along his desk were piles of papers in complete disarray. But even through the mess, it was unmistakable.

Those were your drawings. Those were your headphones. Those were your paintbrushes. And that was your sketchbook from freshman year of college.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Your mind was spinning. There had to be some rational explanation as to why Eddie had those things. Your things. Things you thought you had lost or misplaced. Maybe you left them at May’s and he just so happened to find them and pick them up for you. That was a possibility, wasn’t it? That was a perfectly viable, reasonable explanation. Eddie wasn’t some kind of freak. Surely he wasn’t stalking you.

But you knew better.

Most damning of all was the bulletin board hung up above his desk. You could barely count the number of photos that were pinned up along that wall. There were photos of you walking to the post office, photos of you drawing in the park, at May’s, in your apartment. There were photos of you laughing, photos of you texting, photos of you watering the plants along your windowsill, even photos of you sleeping.

You felt like doing several things simultaneously as your nausea kicked into overdrive. You wanted to scream, cry, hide, jump out the window. You wanted to melt through the walls and avoid having to see him ever again as you bolted out of the building. You looked to the window to check for a fire escape, to no avail. It had to have been just outside the living room. You wondered if you could make it out there without him noticing, but that would be impossible. Eddie was super perceptive, and apparently hyper aware of your every move.

Almost every move. You had discovered his little…whatever this was without him knowing.

Not only was Eddie Brock a stalker, he was also a reporter. It was as if he was following you with the same fervor that he would a corrupt politician or a local hero or anyone else he was writing some in-depth exposé about. It was just so jarring. Only a few seconds ago, you felt lucky and hopeful about getting to know him better. Now all you wanted to do was erase yourself from his memory entirely.

If you lingered there any longer, you knew he would start to suspect something was up. You took a few deep breaths, trying your best not to hyperventilate. You crept down the hallway into the living room as quietly as you could. You looked back and forth from the kitchen to the living room a few times, making sure he wasn’t looking your way. Just when you were about to open the window, you heard his voice.

“Looks like we’re in business!” he exclaimed, walking towards you with a large bowl in his hands. “Now I know I talk a big game, but I’m like 99% certain that this will be the best popcorn you’ve ever had in your life.”

You whipped around instantly. Every muscle in your body felt tense and rigid. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You just stared at him.

A look of concern flashed across his face. His gaze shifted towards your hands, which were visibly shaking. “You alright?”

“Um…yeah, no. I’m fine, Eddie. I’m just not feeling very well…”

You could feel the pinpricks of tears in your eyes. Shit.

“I think I need to go home. It’s late and I think I should get some s-sleep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, setting the bowl down on the coffee table. “C’mere, I’ll give you a ride h—”

“No!” you cut him off, your voice louder than intended. Then, more quietly, “No, no, that’s okay, Eddie. I can walk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s late. I need to know that you got home safe.”

His words made your stomach turn. He didn’t need to know anything.

“No, Eddie. No.” You pushed past him as you walked towards the kitchen counter, where you had left your phone. “I’m just gonna head out.”

“No, wait,” he said, jutting out in front of you. His hands hovered over your elbows. He was really close to you. Way too close. He smiled at you; a nervous, cloying, shifty smile. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You could feel warm tears rolling down your cheeks. Your breath became labored as you struggled to speak. “Please just let m—”

His face fell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You reached to grab your phone, but he was quicker. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he ripped your phone out of your hands, but you let out a little gasp when he did. You attempted to claw it away from him, but he pulled it out of reach every time you tried. His other hand was held out defensively, lightly pressing against your sternum as you lunged at him.

“Give me my phone!” you yelled. “Eddie, give me my phone!”

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked. Baby. That stupid, sickly sweet concerned look was still plastered on his face. You felt a rush of anger burn through your chest. He really had the audacity to act like he meant you no harm, like he was exactly the person you thought he was, to call you baby. But you weren’t just angry at him. You were also angry at yourself. How did you not see the signs sooner? Were there even any signs?

“Give it back to me now! You can’t just take my phone from me like that. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Calm down. Just calm down! I’ll give it back when you tell me what’s going on,” he said. It was clear that he was slightly panicked, too, trying his best to keep his voice even. “I…I thought tonight was going so well.”

“Yeah?” you mocked. “Yeah? Me, too!”

After one final attempt at reaching for your phone, you gave up and darted past him towards the door. He tossed your phone onto the couch and jumped out in front of you once again, gripping onto your upper arms.

“Let go of me!”

You were hoping if you screamed loud enough that the neighbors would notice, but you couldn’t hear anything outside of the apartment.

“Did I do something?” he asked.

“Oh no, we’re not gonna do this,” you sobbed, backing up against the door. He followed, caging you in.

“What are y—”

“Stop acting like you don’t know what’s going on!”

“Baby, I don’t know what y—”

“I found your room. I saw it. The pictures, the drawings. That’s probably not even all of it,” you said. Your voice didn’t sound like you. It was rough, raspy. “For the last month I thought I had been going crazy, that I was losing things. But you had them all along. All that weird stuff in my apartment—the window, the cabinets. All those pictures…you’ve been following me. Why?”

He stared at you with a look akin to a deer in headlights. Panicked and confused.

“WHY?” you repeated, making him wince.

He let out a breathy sigh, giving you that same nervous smile as before. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You pushed him only for him to shove you back against the door. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was examining you carefully, his brow furrowed. It wasn’t a judgmental look so much as a contemplative one.

“When you’ve been manic, have you ever had any hallucinations?” he asked.

“What?” you asked. “No. I don’t have full blown mania, I have hypomanic episodes. You know that. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’ve read up on this,” he said, as if he was trying to level with you. “After I interviewed you, I did a bunch of research on bipolar disorder.”

Oh, I’m sure you did.

“And I read that if you’re having a really bad manic episode or if you’re sleep deprived, it’s possible for people with bipolar disorder to experience psychosis. Sometimes you don’t even have to be manic or sleep deprived to have hallucinations or delusions.”

Oh my god.

You let out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious with this right now? Are you hearing yourself? You’re really trying to tell me that what I just saw was all in my head?”

“Baby, please just listen t—”

“I thought you were disgusting, but this is fucking vile,” you snapped.

“Come on. It’s me! You know me. Do you seriously think I’m some kind of creep? Do you seriously think I would hurt you, or violate your privacy like that?”

“I know what I saw!”

“Have I ever once made you feel unsafe?”

“YES!” you yelled. “You’re making me feel unsafe right now!”

“Just LISTEN to me!” he yelled, shoving you against the door once again.

You almost screamed when you heard it. A separate voice was yelling in unison with Eddie’s; a louder, deeper, distorted voice. An otherworldly voice. It conjured up an image in your mind of that thing you saw in your nightmare—tangling its way along the walls, tilting its head at you, roaring so loud that it startled you awake.

Maybe you were hallucinating.

“No!” you yelled, pushing him as hard as you could. You ran down the hallway and he followed, grabbing you from behind. You hit and kicked at him, escaping his grasp every few seconds before being trapped once again. You were stumbling and clawing at one another as you moved closer and closer to his bedroom door. “You want to prove this is a hallucination? Let me see your room!”

“Wait!” Eddie yelled, blocking you from elbowing him in the nose. “Nonono, wait. Hold on. We’re not going to my room. I’m not going to entertain this delusion. Okay? You shouldn’t have gone into my room in the first place. Are you listening to me? If you’re having a psychotic break right now, you shouldn’t—”

You kicked him in the stomach as forcefully as you could, catapulting yourself onto the bedroom floor. You landed hard, but you couldn’t focus on the pain in your elbows. All you could see was the window in front of you. It was wide open. You could have sworn that it was closed when you first entered the room. Most alarming, though, was the inky black shadow crawling its way from the corner of the wall, out of the window. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Wh…what…?”

When you turned your head to look at the bulletin board, there was nothing pinned to it. No photos. Not a single one. Even the desk was free of clutter. No papers, no headphones, no paintbrushes, no sketchbook. The only remaining item of yours were those prints he had purchased, propped up along the wall just as they had been a few minutes ago.

You sat in stunned silence.

Eddie caught his breath, curled up in a ball just outside the doorway. He was cradling his stomach, looking just as stunned as you were. He didn’t make a single move towards you. “Are you seeing anything right now?” he asked breathlessly.

“I…”

You had never cried so hard in your life.

🕷

“I don’t understand. I’ve never experienced psychosis before.”

You were lying on Eddie’s couch with wet hair and puffy eyes. You had asked if you could shower at his apartment to try and calm down, and he was polite enough to let you. He even sat outside the door to make sure you didn’t fall, and offered you one of his t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts when you got out.

You really didn’t deserve his kindness.

You were lying against his chest, your hands lightly gripping onto his flannel. He had one arm wrapped around your torso while the other lazily played with your hair and massaged your scalp. You were still shaking pretty badly, but his warmth was helping to soothe you.

“Didn’t you switch medications recently?” he asked.

“Yeah. Do you think that could have caused it?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“Maybe. I had a weird feeling about it. It was making me really paranoid.”

You were both quiet for a few minutes as Halloween provided the space with background noise. Eddie had asked you if you wanted to turn on something more lighthearted considering the circumstances, but you refused. There was something about horror movies that made you feel safe—like those things were just fiction, the product of a writer’s imagination. Those things weren’t happening now, and they would never happen to you.

The silence between you took your mind to some dark places. You felt absolutely mortified that you had put Eddie through whatever the hell that was. He had been nothing but kind to you and this was how you repaid him?

“You must think I’m insane,” you mumbled, burying your face in his chest.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “No. I would never think that. You’re a lot of things. Insane isn’t one of them.”

“It was like I was hearing two voices at once,” you said, your stomach twisting. “Your voice, and this…other one. It didn’t sound human. I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

He wrapped both arms around you, burying his chin into the crook of your neck.

“Tomorrow morning I think you should call your psychiatrist,” he said.

“It’s a Saturday. They’re not open,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Well,” he chuckled. “I think you should call and leave a message.”

“I definitely don’t want another issue like this one. I’m just so tired of all the trial and error. It’s been such a long road for me with this.”

As the credits rolled, you turned and looked up at him. You were about to ask if he was up for Halloween 2, but when you saw the look on his face, you decided against it. He looked a little irritated. How could he not be? You had just accused him of being a stalker and gotten into a full-blown physical altercation.

“Do you want me to go?” you asked. “I can go.”

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t want you to go. I really, really don’t. It’s just…do you ever feel like your life is one monumental screwup?”

“Um. What?” you asked.

“It’s just…it upsets me a little bit, y’know? This is in no way your fault, and I know you couldn’t help it. Hallucinations can be really vivid. But it’s damaging to know that you would think so badly of me to immediately conclude I would hurt you like that.”

Your heart sunk as he continued working his fingers through your scalp.

“Eddie, I don’t think badly of you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, giving your hair a light tug. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“That’s not fair. If you could see what I saw…it looked so real. It was all there when I first walked into your room, I’m telling you. And then it was gone, just like that.”

“What did you see when you were in there?” he asked.

“Pretty much what I told you. Some stuff that had gone missing from my apartment, pictures of me all over the place. It looked like some twisted shrine or something. It was really terrifying. If you saw a shrine of yourself in my room, wouldn’t you be scared, too?”

“Like what, if you were stalking me, you mean?”

You nodded.

“Hah. Well…I can’t say I would be too upset about that.”

“Stop,” you chuckled.

“Kidding, kidding,” he said. “I’m being an idiot. I’m sorry. I don’t expect any kind of apology from you or anything. That wasn’t your fault and you were just as scared as I was. It’s just that all this time I feel like you’ve gotten the chance to see me for what I am, you know? The actual me. Not this horrible person that everybody seems to think I am. It’s been so rare for me to find people that are truly willing to get to know me, and things had been going so well with you. I didn’t want that to change. I’ve been terrified that I’m going to mess it up somehow, and it hurts that, even for a split second, you saw me just like everybody else in my life does.

“This is going to sound awful, and maybe it’s an ego thing, but I kind of…I don’t want you to look up to me, that’s not what I’m trying to say. But I do want you to know that you can trust me. Like, I want to be the one that you call when you need something. Or even just for no reason at all. I want you to feel like you can call me whenever you want.”

“If I called you whenever I wanted, you would probably block my number,” you said.

“No, I definitely wouldn’t,” he laughed, smiling softly. “I just want you to feel safe with me, that’s all. And I want to help you figure this medication thing out.”

You sighed. “I just want to be normal. I’m so tired of this, Eddie.”

“I know. And I know you can do it on your own, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to go through any of this alone anymore.”

You had a sinking feeling that Eddie didn’t know what he was signing up for. You already felt terrible about what had happened tonight. You weren’t sure if you or he could handle any even remotely similar reoccurrences.

“Eddie—”

“No, I mean it. As long as you want me around, I’m not going anywhere.”

A state of calm overtook you as Eddie shut the tv off. In spite of all that happened, you were overcome with a sense of ease and weightlessness you hadn’t experienced in years. He was just so warm, and he made you feel accepted in the wake of your most embarrassing moment. You were just about to drift off to sleep when your eyes snapped open.

You had never told Eddie that you switched medications.

🕷

shoutout to all my fellow bipolar girlies lol <3 love u, stay safe <3

[druidshollow]

Am I allowed to ask who Dune is? Or is that a secret for later, love your art and your storys are super cool!

DUNE POST TIME DUNE POST TIME

im the "hahaha yes.... yes" sicko guy rn

dune is a character for a self indulgent iterators but the puppets can leave their bodies au and is entirely irrelevant to the actual corners group story, so shes not at all a secret and ill post everything about her lmao. ive actually only had her for *checks watch* three days so anything i say here is subject to possible change

as per usual, first its fast fact time

"The Gift" was a heavily encrypted data file that was sent en masse across the world to some iterators, almost entirely group seniors. it included two things; how to make mobile puppets, and how to create micro rarefaction cells (necessary to power these puppets). the information on building the puppets is widely understood and the only real requirements (besides raw material) are the iterator receiving the new body's blueprints (getting these can sometimes serve a real problem depending on the iterator's past relationship with the ancients), and a functional iterator can capable of powerful purposing and processing. (the host's body can work for this so long as the iterator with the Gift is there to help).

creating the micro rarefaction cells is a much better kept secret. the information is encrypted in a way so that the iterators who received the Gift cant speak about it (this functions similarly to taboo buffers), presumably because they could easily be used to make devastating weapons. but these cells are necessary for a mobile puppet to live, so the first piece of information is nearly useless without the second.

dune received a single cell for freeing herself with as well as the blueprints for mobile puppets from an iterator from a different group that she knew well. after freeing herself she stole cells from wandering iterators and freed some members of her group. this is her group when rivers and phrases run by them;

meet space, whimsy, forks and compass! space is the only one with real relevance i think

anyhow, there are still quite a few nearby iterators from dune's local group who need rescuing in her eyes, so her and her group intercept strangers and steal their cells and neuron flies, hoping to one day catch a developer (devs are the ones who received the Gift). unfortunately for phrases and rivers, phrases iiiiiis a developer!

dune had to have killded atleast four guys before she met phrases . thats some bad karma man arent you like an iterator or

she has fun with violence, part as a genuine cruel part of her personality, but i think mostly (at least at first) as a coping mechanism for the horrid things she was doing. her bloodlust was a front, and she adopted this violent personality she forged for herself the more time went by, until she had mostly lost herself and become encompassed by it.

(( thanks @nickeeree and @zarithial for letting me kill your kids!!! you guys submitted yr refs at like the exact same time so i was like eh fuck it dune can axe them both LMAO ))

dune's little group lives in an old city complex near a still in-tact iterator named vibrant sound. (sound is uninterested in being freed; instead he helps dune track down mobile iterators travelling through their territory)

thats basically all ive got, dune still has some development to go through but for a quick tldr she's an old group senior whos kidnapping and stealing people's hearts so she can give her family legs. amidst the heart stealing she began to enjoy the heart stealing and now violence is kind of her thing. if you support womens wrongs then you have to support adamant dune. sorry

[shephar]

Saw a Genshin x Persona 5 post and thought of what Joe Ker would be like as a Genshin character.

Can be read as related to my Yusuke post or standalone, or even related to my Cyno post :3

Under the cut, as usual, duh.

About: Introduction.

"Oh! They call me Joker, sometimes, but my friends call me Akira, and I think we'll be great friends."

He's an Anemo character, surprising or unsurprisingly. I chose this because of how the Anemo Traveler and other Anemo characters can use the swirl mechanic to semi-manipulate other elements.

About: Vision.

"Mondstat's the city of Freedom, under the Anemo Archon of Freedom... Hmm. I suppose it's not too surprising I got an Anemo vision, then..."

For a weapon he uses a catalyst, due to his affinity for magic, which is abnormally high for a regular citizen of Teyvat, at least to those not from Khaenri'ah. He is from Khaenri'ah, of course, because he's just That Guy.

Aside from that, his skill has a chance to add an element to his attacks, which most people assume comes from his magic affinity, when in reality he just uses matches, ice-cubes, bottled water, dirt, or leaves. It's unknown how he does Electro-swirl...

These can be seen if you pay attention to his skill activations, but not for the Electro.

About: Swirl.

"You wanna know how I add elements to my attacks? Don't you know, a magician never reveals his secrets. Maybe I'll tell you later?"

His burst is an AoE targeting skill, which works by having each subsequent attack from any party member (even co-op) gaining 30% of their damage per hit.

If he's on a solo-run, however, his skill changes to a Hermanubis/Persona-like phantasm attacking enemies while Joker does as well. This is because, unlike Yusuke, where it's up to choice if he's from the Persona-verse, Joker definitely is.

About: Family/Home.

"My family? Hmm, well, it's just me and my sister, really, but it's been a while since I've been back to Fontaine. I wonder how she is, being called Father must be strange, huh..."

Akira is, much like Arlecchino, from Khaenri'ah and then lived in the House of the Hearth as a child. Their childhoods are this similar because they are twins. However, Akira chose to explore Teyvat after the Mother was defeated, wanting to see what the world has to offer.

He earned his Vision in an unknown way, when asking, Arlecchino only has this to say:

"My brother's Vision? Hmm, I suppose he's always had it, even when we were younger."

About: Archons.

"They're just... Regular people, or people adjacent. I don't really care all that much about them. I feel bad, really."

He's a five star character, of course, but his splash art is unnaturally bland for a five star, instead seeming more like a four star.

Of course, this is because of his affinity for not trying to stand out in Persona 5, which carried over to Genshin Impact.

About: Furina.

"I know people are readily accepting Neuvilette to be our new Archon, he's the hydro sovereign. But, I don't know, I think Furina, or Foccalors, was more... Relatable, I suppose is the term."

As with most other five stars, he also has a Character Story. It's the shortest one, really, should barely even count as a Story, it's a simple conversation with the Traveler. It changes based on friendship rankings.

After the Hangout, he just gives the Traveler a gun. A fake one, albeit a lot more advanced and realistic.

About: Stars (Unlocks at friendship rank 8)

"These stars... Oh, didn't see you there. What was I saying? Oh, it's just... These stars don't seem quite right, as if a painting. They reminded me of a friend, don't worry."

Akira's friendship rankings actually affect his combat potential. At Friendship 8, he has a chance to restore an ally's HP when lower than 10% when he's switched with them.

At Friendship 10, there's a chance he has to revive a downed ally, but this can only happen once per battle and it has only a small chance.

About: Origin (Friendship 10)

"Hmm, my origins? I guess you've ascertained that I'm not from Teyvat... Truth be told, I died. Then, I came back. It wasn't back to where I was from, sadly, but. What can you do? I've made the most of my life here. I do miss my friends, though."

And extras that may or may not be part of this AU, depending on your thoughts. Both unlock after Friendship 10.

About: Yusuke.

"I don't know how he got to Teyvat, but it's nice to know it's not just me in this world, I don't know if he has Gorokichi, but I can still hear my Personal. I hope he wasn't alone until we met again."

About: The General Mahamatra.

"He's a lot more... Intense than from when we were teammates, but it seems he remembers me, at least. He's still got Hermanubis with him. He's even the General Mahamatra."

About: You.

"Why do you want to hear my opinion? You're... you, it doesn't matter what I think, or that's how it should be. You help people, despite them leading to dead ends about your sibling, and that's a lot more selfless than I could act."

About: Relationships.

"I could never bring myself to date back in my world, and it would feel weird now. Arlecchino and I's bloodline is going to end with us, it seems, unless she finds someone. Unlikely, though."

About: Furina.

"She's cool, I can relate to pretending to be someone else to please others. *Uncomfortable laugh*. Except she was faking God, I was faking being a good friend."

That's it. Thanks for reading this garbage.

[lovebvni]

literally making a dr based off a fucking dream i had… again

so this may literallt replace my royale high dr bc this is very VERY similar to that one.

LONG BLOG AHEAD!! IM TRYING TO INCLUDE VISUALS!!!

im not going to explain the dream, per say, but i will explain the dr.

there is a school where fairies, witches, and mermaids of all kinds go — royalty or not — royalty academy. (sometimes informally called royale high by the students) **the name will probs change bc i don’t like it much** royalty academy teaches students from grades 8-12 in their high school campus, to grades 13-16 in their university campus. students attending royalty academy will be expected to excel in all subjects, from mathematics to literature. all students also have the opportunity for 3 electives — ranging from creative and performative arts to participating in “real world” human activities. all future career paths are welcome here at royalty academy! we hope that this is the place for you! go valkaries!

lmfao so that’s like their website shit or smth.

in order to attend, all mythical beings must have been

born a mythical being

been a mythical being for over two years

or have been practicing some sort of witchcraft for four years prior (as witches count as mystical beings here)

fairies, witches, and mermaids from all occults (light, dark, nature, etc) are welcome at royale high! but an evaluation of their magic must be taken in order to ensure there will be no harmful beings at royalty academy.

all students are sworn in at a ceremonial meeting before the school year.

all students will be assigned a dorm with at least one (1) other magical creature. the maximum is four (4) to a dorm.

(i, a dark, music fairy) share a dorm with a light fairy (who is royalty, named lisa) and an animal fairy (i forgot her name 🫶🫶)

all dormitories are equipped with a bathroom (more depending on how many students are in there), a kitchenette, and a mini laundry room. the main laundry room is located downstairs, where there are professional cleaners that will hand clean your items

animals are allowed at royalty academy! only 2 per student is asked, unless a service animal or other accommodations apply.

i personally have a black german shepard and a blue phython <3

mermaid dorms will be equipped with a pool way down to the outdoor pool and indoor pool depending on where they prefer to sleep!

anyways!! that’s it for like the outside looking in, i’m going to ACTUALTLY make a motion script when i get on my laptop bc i rlly need to bc this is SUCH a fun idea!! i am thinking abt making this a group dr, so feel free to comment ideas n such!

there is also lore to this school, and that will be in my next post !!!

i also think i should do a sort of explainaation of the powers and “races” of each mythical being, as i think that would be fun!!!

alright yall, that’s it fr now,

byeeee!! :)

ALSO LISA IS DATING A MERMAID MMFOAOSKDKDN 💀💀 they r both irl friends who dont know abt shifting so !!!

[keruukat]

My CJVerse Masterpost

Hey! With the recent breaching of containment of the CJVerse upon Tumblr I figured I’d finally get a blog and subject my brainrot over my silly little guys upon the world. Anyway! This’ll be my masterpost for brief descriptions of all of my characters as of 11/8/23. Including Bad End and guys who have yet to hit the chatroom!

First off, my first and favorite: my “canon” guys! In quotes as, as all writers know, removing a character from isolation causes character growth. These guys have already formed Whole and split once, and are currently attempting to break the loop and live Whole-free, as per his request.

To kick it off, Whole himself! His chatroom nickname is Tempo, as these four have music themed nicknames. He’s generally kind, if self-sacrificing. Believes his Thirds deserve to live more than he does. Not necessarily suicidal per se, but would rather be split. Still, he rides the high of being Alive when he’s here. Enjoys the time he’s here but isn’t afraid of splitting. Has been looping for around 7 years, so he’s used to it. Has been looking for ways to make it easier on his Thirds but nothing he does changes anything of the loop. Art by @disruptivevoib !!!!

Here’s his Soul. His nickname is Amp but he considers such his actual name, as it was relayed back to him through Tempo when he split. Mistakenly convincing him it was a gift from him for the longest time. He used to knit, hence the knitting project in his profile picture, but after an incident with a certain cognitohazardous twizzler he can’t stand the sight of yarn, particularly red. Has extreme self-sacrificing tendencies, and will shamelessly attempt to carry other’s burdens for them despite being crushed by his own. He’s healing, and is doing better, but still struggles. Is also struggling g with apathy and finding a new hobby, but uses a notebook gifted to him to try to pick up songwriting again. Art by @starryhologram !

Heart Tiem! His name is Tune and he is FIRMLY in japathy, and has been since the start of this loop. He locked himself away at his Mind’s antagonizing and attempts to incapacitate him, alongside his verbal beratement. Hasn’t done much beyond run away from their Psyche recently, but that’s another long story. Art by @squeak-4657 :D

Last but not least, Static! He’s the Mind, and he is Wonderful. A lot of character development went a long way w him. He used to be extremely antagonistic towards Tune to the point of an attempted poisoning, however, since Tune shut himself in his room for a depression coma and Amp secluded himself away due to Mental Illness^tm he’s since seen the error of his ways. He leans hard into the morality aspect of Mind, and believes Hearts are important to the function of the Psyche. Two of his closest friends are Hearts, in fact. He uses a regulator/modulator for his voice which cracks horribly. This has led into him building prosthetics and mobility aids for some other people in chat including his best friend, Storm, who is a Mind played by Q-ott. Can’t not mention him, as these two are in a HELL of an unhealthy codependent friendship. Trainwreck level. It’s awful. Anyway. Static also bakes as a hobby, and distributes his baked goods to chat on a regular. He’s great, I love him. Art by @pathos-p ! And bonus, my pfp, which is Static drawn by @agent-8449 (not shown in this post tho)

Now, that’s the only “AU” played solely by me, but I’m in several shared AUs. I’ll list the canonical guys here, and later Bad End and FFA!

Kicking off with the Mind of the Aside AU, The Sound of Deep Waters, the Maestro in Blue, or as some may call him, Wawer. Eldritch god who lives in Europa where he’s built a laboratory to study and observe whatever life-forms sprung up on Earth this go-around of the universe. Hears the Dreamers, who are Us. The creators of the AUs. That’s to say he (and his counterparts) can hear all of the non-canon discussion and chatter (though there are limits.) I’ve taken a bit of a step back from him partially due to mental health but I still love the concept!

Pfp by and Heart played by @agent-8449

AU created and Soul played by @nitroish

Next, not to go from an over the top eldritch god to The Most Boring Man In Existence but actually doing exactly that- meet Robert. It’s Robert. Ignore what William tells you, it is Robert, and nothing else. Much less anything unprofessional like Billybob or Bert. Eughk. Robert’s the Mind of The Stanley Parable AU! Haven’t done much with him, but there’s a running joke he’s a bootlicker because he’s So prim and proper and would do anything for a raise, or even better, a promotion.

Heart of the AU played by Q-ott

Soul of the AU played by @shadywoods

Whole played by and Robert’s pfp done by @disruptivevoib

…

Heehoo. He’s awaiting canon, so I can’t say much of anything about this mf. Only thing I can say is that his name’s Tenor, he’s a Heart, and the pfp was done by the talented @squeak-4657! >:)c

Azzurro’s an interesting one. Mind, displaced. Taking the role of a Soul this loop. He also hasn’t hit chat yet, so there’s not much to say. He’s shared custody between me and Q-ott, Q’s got em this loop. Pfp done by Q, too!

Heart/Mind played by @jesterberries

Soul/Heart played by the mastermind of this AU, @shadywoods !

YIPPEE!!! That’s all for canon! Now onto the OOC chats.

Starting with someone I can’t say much about, but he’s still my scrungly beloved birdboy supreme, Trill! Trill’s a [REDACTED] for the [REDACTED] AU, and he makes bird noises near 24/7 and will go feral over a bowl of sunflower seeds (despite not liking them too much). He’s a silly little guy, if you ignore The Horrors like he does! @squeak-4657 and I share custody for him, sowing havoc and confusion in FFA when we both rped him at the same time haha. :> hroooo!

Next up is Bass, similarly a [REDACTED] for an AU I can’t share. He hasn’t hit chat yet, but he’s an all around chill guy. Me and @starryhologram will be sharing custody of him! Unfortunately I’ve run out of image attachments I can add, but it works out because he’s still p secret. Shhh.

Lastly! Tachycardia. Oh, Tachycardia… He certainly puts the “bad” into the “bad end” timelines. He was once called Static, but he’ll insist you call him Cardia. He’s the once-Mind, now-Heart-but-not-quite of the SELF AU. Twisted beyond recognition due to forces from an unknown Psyche he’s landed himself as well as his best friends, Sisyphus and Midas (similarly twisted versions of Willow and Storm, who belong to Q-ott) in due to a grevious mistake, he’s left stricken in horror as Sisyphus grows chains and shackles, Midas begins freezing everything he touches solid, and Cardia himself? He watched as his blood turns from blue to red. He has to eat and drink to survive when he didn’t before. He goes blind, like a Heart. Eyes changing color between blue and purple. His regulator melds into his neck, becoming half assimilated by frozen, scarred flesh. His voice splits in two, a Mind’s with a Heart’s underlaying it. Hell of a body horror moment. And he’s stuck like this. Falling into Heartlike tendencies despite being a Mind (at least in part. Not fully, anymore.). Falling into apathy. Also, becoming even more unhealthily attached to Midas/Storm and to Willow/Sisyphus.

Heart and Mind of this AU played by Q-ott!

Pfp by @tnovanadir

So yeah! That’s my currently comprehensive full list of Guys across all chats! May y’all enjoy, feel free to ask questions bc I’m always happy to infodump further. :D

[maaarine]

Technofeudalism: What Killed Capitalism (Yanis Varoufakis, 2023)

"Half an hour or so earlier, the people of Britain had woken up to the news that the pandemic had caused the worst recession in history.

Apparently, the UK’s national income had fallen by a whopping 20.4 per cent, far worse than any comparable figures in America or continental Europe.

Wretched news it certainly was, though not of the sort that undermines one’s world view.

It was what followed fifteen minutes later, just before you woke up, that changed the way I saw the world.

Instead of plummeting in response to the data, the London Stock Exchange jumped up by 2.3 per cent! (…)

Share markets do rise in response to bad news, but only when the news, however awful, turns out at least somewhat better than anticipated.

Had stockbrokers predicted, say, a 22 per cent fall in the UK’s national income, markets would have had good cause to rise if the actual fall on the day was ‘only’ 20.4 per cent.

Except that, on that Wednesday, the markets were expecting a drop of no more than 15 per cent.

That’s what made 12 August 2020 so bizarre: news far worse than anticipated had caused the share market to rise.

Nothing like it had happened before.

So, what had happened?

The news, it turns out, was so bad that traders in the City of London had the following realisation:

‘When things are this dismal, the Bank of England panics. And what have panicky central banks been doing since the crash of 2008? They print money and give it to us.

And what do we do with all the freshly minted dough from the central bank? We buy shares, sending their price up.

And if prices are destined to go up, only a fool would miss out on the action. A wall of printed money is surely on its way to us. Time to buy!’

And buy they did, causing the City of London to defy the gravitational laws of capitalism. (…)

Naturally you will take the free billion but as we’ve established you would be mad to invest it in new production lines.

So what are you going to do with the free cash? You could buy real estate or art or, better still, shares in your own company.

That way, the shares in your company appreciate in value and, if you are the CEO running it, your stature and share-linked bonuses rise too.

No new investment, in other words, but a lot more power in the hands of the powerful."

[marshmallowprotection]

i need Lila, Minji, Judas, and Lucy bonding 😤😤😤

See, I've already told you a little bit about Lila bonding with Lucy! She calls V's daughter Lucy, "Little Lucy!" You know, because Lila's sister is also named Lucy. I still can't believe I named her sister that back in the day and then Cheritz smacked me in the face by also using that name in canon. But, Lila did, in fact, make sure it was okay to call her that, though.

Just like calling somebody "[name] Jr", she doesn't want Lucy to feel like she's second banana to her sister Lucy. Lila knows what it feels like to be in somebody's shadow, after all, her mom tried to make her live in her big sister's shadow her entire life. Fortunately, her sister never let that break their relationship, but it's something that bothers her sometimes even after these years.

Lila video calls her sister to show Lucy the dog sanctuary she runs back home in America. Lucy loves to see all the different dogs, and it's kind of sweet to know there's a Big Lucy out there who helps all kinds of animals in need, just like how her Uncle Jumin takes care of different kitty cats.

Fun fact, this is the first time I'm telling anybody this, but my take on Jihyun’s new career post-VAE is as a painter, but he has a hobby on the side. He offers art classes to all ages, but he focuses mainly on teaching young children. Do you know who his assistant is? That’s right! Lila is his assistant. She’s also a painter, you know, she and V have that in common, and the one good thing about the VAE is that they actually get to build a friendship. 

But, working with V is a lot of fun for Lila, believe it or not. Lucy goes to those art classes all the time because her Dad runs them, but she loves whenever Lila's in the class, because she always has stickers to give out the kids and Lucy is sticker fiend. She has a collection that's growing by the day.

Minji, on the other hand, loves to dote on Lucy whenever she comes over with Saeyoung and Judas. Lucy gets to learn how bake things hands-on, and it doesn't matter what she wants, Minji helps her find a way to make it. That's the fun thing, Saeyoung sits down with Lucy and helps her draw something silly, and Minji helps them turn it into a feasible project.

That means even if it's a nine-layer longcat ice cream cake, Minji will find a way.

She's just that kind of person. I don't know what to tell you, you just shouldn't doubt her ability in the kitchen. Lucy also gets free treats whenever she visits the cafe Minji and Jaehee operate. Of course, it helps that those samples are to help them figure out the next item of to go on the seasonal menu, but hey, Lucy isn’t complaining about being a guinea pig. She gets to have as many treats as she wants and nobody tells her to stop!

Okay, granted, Jihyun makes them limit it to two treats per visit, but that's because his partner scolded him a little bit for letting her sneak treats.

Judas is a sweetheart, at least, when he wants to be. Contrary to popular belief, he's great with kids. He may not always know what to say to them in certain situations, but he’s a good listener and that’s what benefits him. A lot of kids want to be heard, especially kids who haven't had the opportunity to be heard by other people, and he sees that Lucy needs that. 

He doesn't know what her life was like before she was adopted, but he knows that when he ended up on the streets, all he wanted was for somebody to hear him. It's not even that he wanted to be seen, he wanted to be heard. He knows people might always overlook him no matter how old he gets and how much visible he seems to the world, but if his voice is loud enough, they can't ignore him. 

Lucy gets to talk about anything that's on her mind whenever he comes over to visit. The funny thing is, he learns how to hold the conversations with her about whatever she's deeply invested in at the moment. Being that she's a kid, that can change day from day, but it also means he may now know the lore of the My Little Pony universe far more now than he did yesterday. 

When he was with his parents, the only thing he was allowed to do was what his mother deemed acceptable. He wasn't allowed to be interested in anything that didn't benefit the family, and he never wants a kid to go unheard. Even if that means he needs to learn why friendship is magic. By God, he'll listen to her, and his favorite pony is Rarity, by the way.

[idrewacow]

One of the things I really enjoy (and respect!) about your negitoro fics is how different Miku and Luka are with every fic. It embodies the spirit of vocaloid, I think, that they can be anything if put into the right setting and given to someone who knows how to use them.

There's no question that 'Tale of Survival' Miku is worlds away from 'Stray Cat' Miku, and 'The Reason' Luka is... quite different from 'Panthera' Luka, to say the least. And yet, I find myself immersed in the world of each fic so quickly that I wouldn't even think to doubt that this is them, without question. Within each universe, they've got spot-on, consistent characterization that just blows me away.

So my question is, if you don't mind sharing, what goes into the character planning process for your stories? How do you decide who they are for each new story?

Thank you!

That's quite a tough question, actually. A little bit of a chicken and the egg situation in this case, because it begs the question: what comes first, the story or the characters within?

It honestly varies immensely per project. Going into Tale of Survival, or Stray Cat, I knew exactly who I was writing because those were based off of prompts. So I went in going knowing who it would all be about, so crafting the story became an art of finding an interesting place to put these people. Then, once you put them there, you realize that their environment has an impact on these characters, and they change and evolve into someone new.

The Reason is the opposite: I wanted a very particular setting, a mood, a set of circumstances. I wanted a story to go exactly the way I wanted it to so I crafted a set of characters that would make the story move accordingly. But then the characters grow and you learn who they are and boom, their decisions go against yours and the story veers slightly out of control towards the end.

So as you can see, regardless of what I start with, whether it be characters or story, the other half of the equation inevitably ends up imposing itself. And as many authors know, it ends up working out anyway because stories are organic things. As long as things move forward and evolve, they're usually interesting by nature.

To answer on a more technical level, actual character crafting and planning isn't something I get very involved with. There are tons of guides out there, sheets to fill, advice for creating a consistent character, and they can all be helpful. But most of the time, when I put the pin down in what kind of character I want (whether I start with a character, or whether I need one for a particular story) I just kind of...go by gut feeling. I know exactly who I start with, and for this sometimes I do use these characters sheets and such. Plus, generally, I can guess how they'll fare and grow throughout the story. A character arc is always a must-have, after all. I knew that Luka in Space Shanty would go through a major transformation character-wise, otherwise she would just be deeply unsympathetic until the end.

But when it comes to the details, I just trust my gut to tell me how they'll reply, how they'll reason, what they'll think, how they'll prioritize, depending on their situation and who they are right then and there. If I need a reminder of who they are, I re-read the text I've written so far, placing special attention to their growth, what they've witnessed and learned, and what kind of flaws are still holding them back. Sometimes I'll make little notes: "Remember Miku doesn't know about xyz yet," or "Luka shouldn't accept xyz until abc," stuff like that. And always, upon re-reading after the first draft is done, I fix the pacing, tweak dialogue, because you never know exactly who they are and what they've been through exactly until it's all been written down and committed to the page. Kind of like writing the introduction of a paper only after writing the rest: it's best to write the introduction only after you know exactly what you're introducing. In my first draft, I didn't know that Luka from Stray Cat would make the move until she kind of just did, again, due to environment, interactions, and unanticipated growth. And once she did, I had to go back and make sure that it made sense for her character, and when it did, I solidified that.

Long story short, it's an incredibly vague and imprecise art for me. Which makes it a bit of a relief to hear that my characterizations are as solid as they are! But no character exists in a vacuum, spending time to carve one into stone has never helped me, and vibes are apparently just enough to get the job done. Write, re-write, read it again, write it all over again, all the while getting to know who you're working with and exactly what they're going through. Don't insult their intelligence, don't make light of their pain, don't skip on the happiness, know exactly what they stand to lose and what they want to gain. Make them wonder what they'd rather do: lose and keep what they have, or win at the cost of all they had. Even victory has a cost (at the very least, the sacrifice of the status quo), and you're never left with the same person you started with.

I hope that answered the question! Thanks again for the kind words. :)

[etes-secrecy-post]

Hi, before I explain my post, I want to say something important.

• What you see my blog has become a major overhaul. And despite the changes, I decided that my 2nd account will be now my artwork blog with a secret twist.

⚠️NEW RULE! (W/ BIGGER TEXT!)⚠️

⚠️ SO PLEASE DO NOT SHARE MY 2nd ACCOUNT TO EVERYONE! THIS SECRECY BLOG OF MINE IS FOR CLOSES FRIENDS ONLY!⚠️

• AND FOR MY CLOSES FRIENDS, DON’T REBLOG IT. INSTEAD, JUST COPY MY LINK AND PASTE IT ON YOUR TUMBLR POST! JUST BE SURE THE IMAGE WILL BE REMOVED AND THE ONLY LEFT WAS THE TEXT.

⚠️ SHARING LINKS, LIKE POSTS, REBLOG POSTS, STEALING MY SNAPSHOT PHOTOS/RECORDED VIDEOS/ARTWORKS (a.k.a. ART THIEVES) OR PLAGIARIZING FROM UNKNOWN TUMBLR STRANGERS WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED, RIGHT AWAY!⚠️

😡 WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT EVER LIKED & REBLOG MY SECRET POST! THIS IS FOR MY SECRET FRIENDS ONLY, NOT YOU! 😡

○○○○○○ STRICTLY PROHIBITED ○○○○○○

Okay? Capiche? Make sense? Good, now back to the post…↓

Staycation at the SMDC Jazz Residences (w/ my paper dolls) [Recorded: May 18th to 19th, 2024] - Part 3

Hello, May! 🌏☀️ Last Sat and Sun, we're at the SMDC Jazz Residence with my family for celebrating my little brother's birthday, and not to mention ME as a belated birthday! 😊🎁🎂🥳🎊 And I can't take snapshots without my two beloved paper dolls (that we all know)! 📸📲😊

IMPORTANT NOTE: No #OnThisDay throwback post for this date.

If you haven't seen my "Part 1" and "Part 2", then I'll provide some links down below: ↓ • Part 1 [May 18th, 2024] • Part 2 [May 18th, 2024]

So, without further ado, here's "Part 3" of our experience! 😊

56th to 61st Image(s) 📷📲: ↑

• Check out how high the condo building was. It might not be the tallest in the world, but it's love to see it, especially at night, which you'll see it in my next photos. 🙂🏢

62nd to 67th Image(s) 📷📲: ↑

• Before we go back to our condo room, we could at least sit on these chairs in the lounge near the pool. 💺😌 If only we brought something to eat, then it's going to be a nice appetite. 🥗🍷🍴😋

68th to 85th Image(s) 📷📲: ↑

• At 7:44 PM, nighttime falls 🌃🌙 and you can see the lights around the pool and the cityscape. Okay, that first one didn't light up the entire pool because it was still dark. Don't know why? 🤔🤷‍♀️ On the bright side, at least the lights from the pool we're pretty calm to dip in, especially when we go outside once more for a relief of fresh air. 😊💡💧

I have so many snapshots, that won't fit in owing to the limitation of 30 photos per post. So, If you want to proceed, then please → [CLICK ME!]. 🙂

Well, that's all for now! 😊