#i think a playlist is a journey ^w^

[teamisc]

trying to not put the same songs I always put on every playlist on this one

[macfrog]

birth of venus sex on fire chapter twelve

these two mean the world to me. thank you for coming on this journey with them. i hope you enjoy.

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: if you love something, you let it go.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, lurve, fingering, masturbation, cum eating, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, size kink, daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, some angst, soft!joel, cocky!joel (we missed him!)

word count: 12.6k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

“Alright, let’s get into it.”

He sits on the other side of the table, legs crossed and balancing the notebook on his knee. Twirls a pen around his thumb, catching it without looking. He’s too busy scanning the page in front of him, the list of questions he’s about to drill you on.

Let’s get into it, he says, and then stares silently at the scribbled lines.

Your shadow splits a shard of sunlight across the office. Knee jerking, palms clammy and fingers twisting around each other. You glance down at your outfit – the pointed heels Martha swore went with your dress, the jewelry she promised didn’t look tacky – and straighten your skirt.

Let’s get fucking into it.

“What are your responsibilities in your current role?” he asks.

You swallow. It feels like sandpaper. “Well, uh…”

He doesn’t look up. Not to ask the question, not to wait for your answer. Just stares down, spins the pen, bites his lip until it turns white.

Focused. Razor sharp. You’re not even in the same room.

You turn on your heel and begin pacing. “I manage my boss’s schedule, from nine a.m. Monday to nine p.m. Sunday. I get everything in order, plan out his days, make any bookings. I take calls, I answer emails, I…”

He’s still not looking. He bounces his foot, leather shoes catching the sun. His watch face leers back at you. There’s not a mark of ink on the paper in front of him.

“Hey,” you click your fingers, “Are you even listening to me?”

Joel shakes the frown from his face. “Huh? Oh,” he clears his throat, straightens in his creaky chair, “Yeah, I’m listenin’. I’m…I’m here.”

“Come on, man,” you huff, “You said you’d help me out.”

“And I am. I’m helping you out.”

You glower. “What did I just say?”

His shoulders wriggle. “You know…paperwork, and…Is this –? Is this really what they’re going to ask?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, collapsing into the couch opposite. Your arms cross, like some crumpled tantrum of a woman. “I found it online. They’re all art director questions, supposedly.”

He turns the notebook around. The first sheet flops over.

“Describe yourself in three words,” Joel recites.

“I was gonna go creative,” you count on your fingers, “driven, and then I couldn’t decide between perceptive or observant.”

He squints, tongue clicking against his teeth. He stares at your raised fingers. Thoroughly unimpressed.

“Right,” he stands, “Yeah, I don’t know, kid. A company like this, taking on a new art director, and this is what you think they got waitin’ for you? I mean, what’d I ask you?”

You scoff, twisting to watch him cross over to the window.

Between the sun and your deflated spirit, he stands like some kind of god. High up on the top floor of his skyscraper, towering over the streets. Towering over you.

He’s haloed by the blazing sun. Light arrowing from behind, spilling all over his wide shoulders and dipping in every fold and crease of cashmere. The northern compass point, the magnetic pull turning everything towards him.

Joel’s fingers snap, a hair away from your nose. “Tip number one: don’t stare at the interviewer like that. Asked you a question.”

“Wasn’t staring,” you mumble, shifting when he sinks down at your side. “You really don’t remember what you asked me?”

“Of course I do. I’m asking if you do.” He fiddles with a thread on the couch at your back.

You straighten as though his hand might be iron hot. “I remember…remember you asking what success looked like to me.”

Joel nods once.

“Remember you asking why I wanted out of my old job.”

“Yep.”

You flick a finger around the office. “I remember you asking what I’d change in here. How I’d make the office better. But I don’t know what interior design has to do with being an art director, Joel.”

He smiles. “This,” he shakes the pad, “is generic bullshit.”

“Generic bullshit,” you echo, pinching it from his grasp. You read over the bullet points – your strengths, your weaknesses, how you do under pressure.

“Yes,” Joel says. “Doesn’t tell ‘em a thing about you. Well,” his eyes widen, “I guess it tells them you tried searching their damn questions, the morning of the interview.”

A small, tired sigh falls from your lips. You melt back into the couch, horizontal under Joel’s extended arm. “I just want to be prepared,” you whisper. “I want to be the best person they meet.”

“What makes you think you ain’t already?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t even know which three words describe me.”

He chuckles. “How about more than capable? Hm? The dream assistant. Future art director.”

“Cheesy,” you mutter, batting him away. “I just…I really want it. I want something that feels like mine, you know? And I know I’d be fucking good at it.”

He falls quiet. He thumbs the corner of the pages, knuckles brushing against yours in a way that feels deliberate. Feels familiar.

It’s as though he might turn his hand, open his palm for yours to slip safely into. Lock his fingers through yours, squeeze once for good luck, twice to double it – and a third time, to tell you something he knows would make you flee.

But you don’t flinch, and neither does he.

Instead, he pulls himself up – a mighty groan as he straightens.

You bite back a snark about his age. Stupid fifty-year-old boss, stupid old bones. Stupid smartass.

Joel whips open the bottom drawer of his desk – the one you’d come to know as his junk drawer – and heaps diary after diary on the mahogany surface. Their leatherbound covers and splintered spines, the warped pages packed between.

With a tiny ha (and a click in his joints that you notice even from across the room), he pushes himself back up.

“September, September…” the pages flutter between his thumbs, “…September second, right?”

“What are you –?”

“Here,” he says, and reclines back beside you. He slides the diary into your lap. “September second, two o’clock.”

Your eyes narrow, following an inky trail linking geometric sketches and games of tic-tac-toe; the words college and assistant, a crude drawing of a house.

“So…” your lips purse, “…on September second, you were doing no work and doodling in your planner. What about it, Joel?”

He taps the top of the page, finger settling right below a name.

Penned in his neat handwriting – the trademark font that, after three years, you’re used to finding on sticky notes and signed with the letter J. It’s underlined, then boxed in by more scribbled lines. So familiar, you barely even take it in at first.

You blink twice.

It’s your name. Your full name.

“This is the day of my interview?” you ask.

Joel dares one fleeting glance at your lips. “Mhm. These are the notes I took, the day we met.”

You look down to the diary and back again. Almost an entire page of nonsense scribbles, hieroglyphic trains of thought bleeding from one drawing into another.

You frown. “You really didn’t listen to a fucking word I said, did you?”

He chokes on a laugh, shaking his head. “You had the job before your ass hit that chair, genius. All that interview was, was playing ball. Seeing how hard you could swing.”

But you’re more confused than you were before he emptied his desk. You flick through the book, spine dangling loose from the pages.

There are no other notes, no other candidates’ names – only reminders for Lunch with Mom and Massage 10AM. Meetings with past clients, deadlines long gone. One obnoxious, hot pink gel pen autograph in May, marking Martha’s birthday.

Yours is the only name he bothered to jot down. The only interview he thought to memorialize – in a gallery of distracted doodles.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

He plays with his tie as he admits it. Nervous schoolboy, avoiding your eye like he did back on Maple Street. It’s a side to him you didn’t know existed, not until a few weeks ago – and seeing it again, you realize how much you missed it.

“There were four other interviews before yours. Every single one of them sat in that lobby waiting for Martha to call down. You –” he taps your hand, “– you got in the elevator and brought yourself up. You remember how shocked Martha was to see you?”

Sure I do, you think.

She stared you down the entire walk over to her desk. She stuttered and stammered her way through a sentence, once she realized who you were. She kept peering over the top of her monitor to steal glances at you when she thought you weren’t looking.

“I…I just thought I looked a nervous wreck,” you tell Joel.

He hums. “Well, you stood up when I opened my door. You held your hand out first. You were scared shitless – I knew you were – but you never lost your footing. You got no idea just how impressive you are, all by yourself.”

He taps on the sheets in your lap. “Now – find me a question on your list that tells them all that.”

It’s not as if you don’t know how these things go. You’ve sat in on plenty of interviews with Joel before – catching anything each quivering candidate says that might’ve slipped through his net, placing bets with yourself on who he’ll pick.

After a few months, he started asking what you thought.

You came to notice the discarded resumes of men you’d deemed sycophants, ladder-climbing leeches in tight, tawny ties – in piles to be shredded. There wasn’t a suit in the building that you and Martha hadn’t been asked to screen, before they were even considered for hiring.

Joel has the sharpest bullshit detector you’ve ever known. You don’t get to where he is without the radar for it. He knew exactly which guys were assholes of the highest order – he was just making sure you always did, too.

Stupid, stupid smartass.

A polite knock at the door interrupts your thought.

“Joel?” Martha calls, “Joel, your ten o’clock is here.”

He curses under his breath. His eyes shift sideways. “Who the hell is my ten o’clock?” he mumbles.

“Salazar,” you whisper, lips closing around a giggle. “Quarterly, remember?”

“Goddamn it,” he groans. He stands up, holding a hand out to pull you to your feet. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’ll be an hour, tops. We can pick straight back up.”

“It’s okay,” you slot the diary and notepad under your arm, “I should get back to work anyways.”

“Calmed your nerves, at least?”

You smile. “Sure.”

“Liar.”

“Tip number two: don’t ask dumb questions, Miller.”

“Oh,” he scoffs, “We’re starting a list now?”

“Mhm. Three can be: don’t doodle during the interview.”

He elbows you towards the door, leaning close. “Four,” he murmurs, “Don’t get yourself fired.”

You grin as you slip outside.

“You couldn’t handle this place without me.”

Mr. Salazar loves to tell a story.

Joel’s still stuck with him, almost two hours after the guy showed up. With a pointed finger and something that felt as sacred as a blood oath, Martha made you promise you’d leave on time.

Whether we’re still in that office or halfway to Timbuktu, do not wait up. Just go, alright? Or I will hand you your ass, sweetheart.

Thirty minutes out, you’re pacing back and forth. Body humming with jittery nerves, what feels like a glass ball of anxiety rolling around your stomach. A text from Rand weighing down the phone in your blazer pocket: Ready when you are.

You suck in a ticklish breath. “Fuck,” you exhale, jamming your knuckle into the call button for the third time.

The wall rumbles as it delivers the elevator straight ahead. The doors part, and your distorted reflection stares sheepishly back at you.

You blink.

She blinks back.

Your shoulders life with another fractured inhale – and so do hers.

Some tiny, half-there version of yourself. Shrunken and shriveled. She moves when you move, only with half the confidence and double the pressure on her shoulders. She looks like she needs a wine date with Martha.

Scared fucking shitless, you think. Three words to describe me.

The doors close again, swallowing her whole, and –

“Nope,” you decide, spinning on your heel.

The shades are tilted enough to obscure the three figures to shadows: Joel, rocking mindlessly in his chair, Salazar talking with his arms, and Martha hunched at the other end of the couch – losing the will to live.

She’d probably welcome the excuse, to get the hell out of there.

Your knuckles rap against the door.

The investor’s lively cadence never slips – where there’s an audience, there’s a show to be had. He twitters on even over the grounding bass of Joel’s voice, the quick click of Martha’s heels.

Her shadow crosses over to the door and she whips it open. Her voice is a sharp whisper.

“You swore to me, you’d –”

You shake your head and grab her arm. Nervous, you mouth, trying to pull her over the threshold.

She won’t fucking budge. She plants herself in the doorway. Her chin lifts, eyes narrowing to study you down her pointed nose – and then she glances over her shoulder.

One second, she exaggerates the shape of the words, holding a finger up.

“Martha –” you hiss, but the door is already closing, and her shadow is already retreating.

You spin around, dragging yourself over to your desk. Another breathe squeezes past your hammering heart, trembling as you let it go. Your phone buzzes again.

This is pathetic. It’s pitiful. You bulldozed your way this far – against all your good sense. Red wine antidote, all that courage now feels more like a weak-kneed hangover.

You fiddle with a pen holder. Your body feels flimsy like rubber.

The door opens again.

“Hey,” Joel says, turning you to face him. He doesn’t look you in the eye – just slips your purse from your shoulder, squeezes your hand. “Walk with me.”

“No,” you wobble in his grasp, “Your meeting –”

He links his arm through yours, locking elbows. “Martha’s got him talking about some ski trip. We got ten minutes. Walk with me.”

Your breath sputters. “I can’t – I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?”

“I’m flapping, Joel.”

“Flapping,” he repeats, and the word never sounded more ridiculous than it does with his Texan twang. “What are we flapping over?”

He sways as he walks. It’s no different, no less comfortable than it was a few weeks ago. Just you, Joel, and the Parisian sunset. The light swimming in the Seine, the sweet air circling you both.

Your heel scuffs against the carpet. “You know,” you catch yourself, “just this potentially life-changing job interview I have in, like, twenty minutes.”

“Huh,” his brows quirk, “No big deal, then?”

Your eyes roll. “It wouldn’t be, if you hadn’t given me some big speech about not losing my footing. Now look at me. I’m all over the goddamn place.”

“Take it in baby steps,” he says. “Let’s just get you there first. All you gotta do is walk in like you’re already part of the furniture. Like they’ve been wondering what goes at that little desk.”

“You said the CEO is nice?”

“She is,” he reaches for the call button, “Likes red wine and racecars.”

Your brows flinch. “She likes…What?”

Joel smirks. “I didn’t say we talked for long. That’s all I got on her.”

He drags you into the elevator, hitting the button marked P. Your reflection stands a little taller, little straighter next to his. Mimicking his posture; the still stance and level head. The coolness you’re sure wouldn’t slip even if the world ended tonight.

“Look at that,” he mutters. “You made it to the elevator.”

“Shock,” you whisper, hugging yourself.

You face each other, inches apart. Nerves and momentum upsetting your equilibrium. The bones of the building drum up your spine as you plummet, floor numbers blinking down to zero.

Joel rests his ankles either side of yours. He knocks your feet softly, smiling fondly when you lift your head.

“Read over their website on the drive over,” he says, in the same polite voice he uses with clients. “Their values, the way they operate. Names and faces, all that shit. Keep it fresh, okay?”

You force your cheeks into a flat smile. “Okay.”

“Look at that,” he says. “Killer smile. Getcha any job anywhere.”

“Gross,” you giggle. “Did you wonder, before you found me?”

“Did I wonder what?”

You tilt your head. “What went at my little desk.”

He itches his nose, laughing into a closed fist. He’s blushing, though he’s trying hard to hide it. “Sure,” he shrugs, eventually giving in, “Knew it must be somethin’ pretty special. And you were.”

The elevator dings, and the doors rattle open.

Joel taps your heel and you sulk, leading him out into the garage.

Rand catches sight of you instantly. He jumps out of the Rolls, a wide grin on his lips, and balls his fists. “How we feelin’?” he asks, giving them a hearty shake.

“Little nervous, aren’t we?” Joel replies, patting your arm. “But we’re almost there.”

You’re holding onto him again. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“We’re still in the building,” you utter, tracking Rand’s kiddy jog around the car.

Joel turns, lips at your temple. “Closer than you were five minutes ago, baby.”

The driver grabs the door, turning his palm to usher you inside. “Figure we’ll get there with ten minutes to spare. Always good to be early to these things, right?”

If it weren’t for the six-inch heels on your feet and the seven-figure man on your arm, you’d reach to tighten backpack straps that aren’t there. It’s the same feeling: first day of school, walking into the unknown. Pushed off by grownups who know better.

You’re a grownup, too, you remind yourself.

The same feeling, and the same determination, too. The resolve to walk in there – bright-eyed and bushy-tailed – and be the thing they’ve been waiting for. Be the thing you’ve been waiting for. So –

“Fuck it,” you decide, slipping free from your boss’s grasp. “Let’s do this.”

“Attagirl!” Rand claps his hands and dances back to the driver’s side.

Joel helps you into the backseat, passing your purse over when you’re settled. “Okay?” he asks, one arm leaning on the roof.

“Yep,” you chirp – a crack in your voice that you both ignore.

“Call on your way back if you feel like it, let me know how it went.”

The strip lighting in the garage strains your eyes. “What if you’re still hearing about Salazar’s ski trip?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask dumb questions, remember? If you call, I’ll answer.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper.

He clicks his teeth. You’re welcome.

“Next step, little tiger. Go get ‘em.”

After you interviewed with him, Joel took all of twenty-four hours to offer you the job. He said he would’ve called sooner – that afternoon, if he could’ve – but there had been a holdup with the paperwork. His next question was how soon you could start.

He was that sure.

On your first day, you were shown to your new desk. Wiped clean, drawers bare. A bloated water stain in the wood – the mark of a fern plant Martha thought was treated a little too much like an actual child by your predecessor.

She offered to have Joel order a new desk, but you told her you loved it – water stain and all.

You loved the view on each side – the sprawling city, the sun needling between buildings. You loved Martha’s company, and Joel’s daily ritual of strolling over to stretch his legs and, more importantly, gossip.

The job made you feel grown. A little kid in the big city – yes, sir and no, sir, caffeine for breakfast and paperwork for lunch. It was big enough that you wondered whether you’d really fill it – like you wondered if you’d ever fill your desk.

What supplies did a personal assistant need? You spent more time on your feet than sat at your desk. What knickknacks would you collect?

Well, looking at it all now: a jumble of pinched pens and hand-me-down magazines from Martha. A Wonder Woman stationery set your mom bought you; the chipped Kandinsky mug you make coffee in every day.

A plastic ruby ring, from a riverside stroll in Paris.

Looking at it now – you wonder how it ever all fit. Almost three cardboard boxes, plus an oversized Swiss cheese plant. Your desk is empty again, back to the way you found it.

Because you got it.

You got the job.

Junior Art Director. Jesus fucking Christ.

You were in Joel’s office when the call came through. Laying out travel plans for a business trip, organizing documents into the order he’d need them. Busying yourself purely to distract from playing the interview back in your head.

The entire thing was a blur, the interview – film reel already burning in your memory. One second you were traipsing into the building, the next – strolling back out, sun on your face and spring in your step.

It came back in flashing vignettes: the creative director’s cropped bob, her scarlet lips. The rhythmic dunk of her teabag into her mug, her quiet mhms as you spoke.

Her smile grew wider, the longer the meeting went on. Her tea went cold. She asked to see pictures of your artwork – made some passing comment about your skill being of some use for an upcoming project.

She liked you. Better yet, Joel noted – you liked her.

He walked back into his office just in time to hear the tail end of the phone call. Your shaky thank you, the teary goodbye. He waited until you turned, one hand lingering on your shoulder, and gasped when you broke into a giddy grin.

He pulled you into a bear hug, beats of raucous laughter through his chest. You sniffled into his shirt, staining the material with wet mascara.

What’d I tell you? he murmured into your hair, rocking you side to side. What’d I fuckin’ tell you?

A clumsy mash of work blouses and party dresses fills the office.

Glitzy gold and pressed linen, heels and loose ties. A bottle of champagne on a spreadsheet coaster, an overfilled balloon knotted around your chair. The word Congrats swirled in glitter pen.

Martha fills the latecomers in. She orders everyone to drain their glasses and grab their coats. There’s a dive bar not far, she says, with karaoke and a jukebox. Cheap drinks and heavy measures.

A dive bar. The dive bar. AC/DC and all.

You linger over by your desk, alone, swirling the bubbly in your glass. A little more than awkward, what with the gold party hat your coworkers forced over your head – and the heavy heart it’s doing little to soothe.

Your last day as Joel Miller’s personal assistant is over. As of five-thirty, you don’t belong in this office. Come Monday, you’ll have a whole new job, a whole new title behind your name.

It’s as thrilling as it is utterly terrifying.

Martha had your leaving party organized less than an hour after she heard the cheers from Joel’s office. Proof, you told him, that she’ll be just fine on her own.

Proof, he countered, that she has a very selective work ethic.

He’s in good hands, if her current crowd management is anything to go by. She rounds everybody up like cattle, corralling them into a buzzed herd.

“We are leavin’ in five minutes, alright?” she yells over their babble. “Five minutes!”

Rand dips between the bodies, smiling when he catches your eye. He wanders over, tactically dodging Martha’s waving arms.

“Hi, baby,” he says, arms wide.

“Thanks for coming,” you mumble into his suit jacket, wrists crossing at his spine.

He wriggles his tie straight, keeps one arm tight around your shoulders even when you pull away. “Of course,” he says, a dutiful nod. “You were always my favorite. Don’t tell the general over there.”

You smile, feeling it dampen when your eyes slip back over to the sliver of light under Joel’s door. He’s been locked in there all afternoon – the only proof of life the pacing his shadow has done.

Rand cocks his head towards the shuttered office. “He not coming?”

“No idea,” you pick at a hangnail, “Some emergency, apparently. I haven’t seen him since lunch.”

He frowns, watching as you shot what’s left of your champagne. It’s bitter – a sharp sting all the way down.

“I mean,” you gulp, “he’s my boss. He’s at every other party we have. What’s the difference this time around?”

Rand’s eyebrows wiggle. He swallows his first answer. He knows the difference as well as you do.

Still – he says, “He’s a lot of things, is Joel, but he ain’t an ass. He’ll be there.”

Across the room, Martha lassoes the party – leading them over to the elevator. She pauses, beckoning you over their heads. A thin-lipped scowl on her face, before she’s distracted by stragglers.

“Good Lord,” Rand scoffs, a gentlemanly arm through yours, “Bet you ain’t gonna miss that.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “Surprisingly, I think I’ll miss her the most.”

As you hover at the back of the bunch, waiting for your very sternly instructed turn to step into the elevator, you glance back at Joel’s office.

The shades are split, pierced somewhere like six feet up. Sliver of lamplight peering through; silhouette of something – someone – staring back.

Come on, you want to call. We’re heading to the bar. Let’s pretend I never broke your heart and you never broke mine. We can dance and kiss like nobody’s watching. We can be okay, you and me.

Martha claps three times as the elevator announces its arrival.

“We’re up, comrade,” Rand quips, and pulls you out of Joel’s sight.

The bar looks the same as it ever did. All chipped mahogany and distressed leather; secret messages etched in secret corners. Slipping between shadow and tacky neon light to order a drink, feeling it hit the back of your skull before you’ve even swallowed the first sip.

It’s no Oasis Wine Bar, but it’ll do.

You’re crammed into a booth opposite some blotchy intern. Kid doesn’t look a day over twenty-one. Martha nudges you closer and closer to the lacquered panel wall, her elbow knocking into yours and splashing your drink over your knuckles.

The group is already a colorful spectrum of drunk: a couple suits slung over the bar, a handful screaming at some vintage arcade game. Rand cuts a merry figure at the bottom of the table, swaying as he garbles to Martha and Deb.

Like a replica of that first night – a playlist of dusty rock tunes, fingertips salty from picking at peanuts. The buzz of conversation fueled by swigs of bitter vodka.

You don’t remember it feeling this shitty, though. This lonely.

The intern leans over the booth, quickly yanking his tie before it folds into a flickering candle. He forces a relieved laugh, then asks, “Are you having a good night?”

“I guess,” you raise your voice over Martha’s cackling, “It’s a little bittersweet, you know?”

His head bobs in a tipsy nod. He looks from face to face, trying to latch onto any conversation that’ll take him. But they all turn away, distracted by some guy in a tropical shirt and his cryptocurrency conspiracy.

The intern stares down at his drink, thumbs tapping the glass.

Poor kid.

You knock on his beer, trying not to look too pitying. “How’s the internship? Liking it?”

He brightens, straightening in his seat. “Yeah, it’s been good,” he chirps. “I’m learning a lot. Mr. Miller is a great boss.”

It’s like being sucker punched by a toddler. Huge blue eyes and rosy cheeks, an unsteady grip around his Budweiser. If he didn’t look so much like a fucking Disney cartoon, you’d lose your nerve.

The alcohol sours on your tongue. “Yeah,” you mumble, sinking back into your seat. “Yeah, he’s – he’s a good guy.”

“Why isn’t he here tonight?” he asks.

“He’s – uh…” You throw a helpless look to your coworker – but she’s too busy showing off pictures of Henry. “…He’s busy tonight, I guess.”

“I’ll bet,” the kid replies. “He’s an important dude.”

“Uhuh,” you elbow Martha’s waist, “He sure is. Would you excuse me?” you ask, and the intern raises his hands. “I’ll be right back.”

Martha and Deb shuffle out of the booth, drinks in hand. You edge your way through the horde to the back of the bar – stopping to refill on the way.

As the muscleman behind the bar tops off your glass, something catches your eye.

Lit only by a flickering Coors Light sign – the red and blue melding into streaks of violet – an iron staircase lingers in the corner. You didn’t spot it last time – or if you did, you were too busy flirting with your boss to pay it any mind.

You drift over, evading the sloshed stagger of one of Joel’s mailroom guys, and click up the steps towards the glowing red of an EXIT sign. Your hip swings into the push bar. The heavy door groans open.

It’s no cooler out here than inside – but it’s deserted. Beer dripping from the lips of toppled bottles, candles wavering in clear pools of wax. A gentle hum from overhead – the string light canopy.

A kitschy little rooftop. A humble hideaway.

Alone, you cross your arms and amble over to the parapet.

The street snoozes, a story below. Leaves flutter along the curb, crushed by the scuffing soles of strangers. Their footsteps echo as they wander off into the dusky night.

No Rolls, you notice. Nowhere to be seen. Not parked on the road, nor in the lot across the street. Nothing but a couple of guys on bikes, standing in the cold light of a store front.

He’s not here. He didn’t come.

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Whatever emergency he’s dealing with, it’s taken half his day from him. Martha didn’t even bother to ask if he needed coffee, or to fill him in on her neighborhood politics since the new couple moved in next door.

Still – there’s never been anything he couldn’t drag himself away from. Not where you’re concerned. He abandoned an investor for a solid ten minutes last week, just to walk you to the parking garage and tell you shit you already knew.

He could find a way to make it to this, right?

You scoff into your glass, swallow a heavy sip. Swallow back the quiet disappointment, the burden of a broken heart trying desperately to remember the shape it used to be. Before private jets and business trips, before work parties and closed office doors.

Before Joel.

But he swaggered in, didn’t he – suit and tie and that signature smirk. He changed everything, overnight. He fit in all the spaces you thought no one ever would – nestled his way behind your ribcage, kept you warm, kept you safe.

You can’t remember the shape your heart used to be. You don’t fucking want to.

At least, even when you were fighting, he was still in the game. At least he was still sat on the other side of the checkered plain, nudging his king closer to your queen. You never intended on letting him win – but he never intended to in the first place.

He was only ever in it to watch your eyes light, any time he got close.

Now, the board is cleared. Pawns split in two, knights crumbled to dust. And you miss it.

You miss him.

And missing him is – feeling the absence of him in every room. The empty seat next to yours, your empty hand at your side. The weight you know by heart around your waist, the name always on the tip of your tongue.

Missing him is coming up with a million ways that every other man isn’t him. They don’t make you laugh the same, they don’t make you ache. They don’t know your favorite movie; they won’t pull over just to pinch the greasy bacon from your breakfast sandwich.

Missing him is looking for him. Everywhere. Hoping – Jesus, praying you’d walk out of your interview and he’d be stood, arms crossed, leant against the car. Wishing he’d show up again at your door – flowers in hand, kiss on your lips.

Missing him is existing in the negative space he left behind. Flecks of color fluttering in the breeze, fading as though they were never here in the first place.

The door chunks open over your shoulder, and falls closed with a slam. Right on cue. You don’t even flinch when he rolls a chilled beer against your arm.

Missing him is knowing him. Better than anyone ever has, or anyone ever will.

He’s here. He was always going to be here. Because it’s you, and because it’s him.

Joel holds for all of three seconds, then places the beer between your elbows. He leans back against the stone wall.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, taking a sip. His rugged, twelve-hour-day form softens before your eyes.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and he smiles.

“Missed you too, pretty girl.”

You lean in, face smushing into his chest, and snake your arms around his waist.

Joel takes the weight of you like it’s nothing; kisses your head and rests his chin there.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you mumble, feeling the strange chill of tears on your cheeks.

“Are you kidding?” his voice rumbles through your skull. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know that.”

The alcohol lining your gums sweetens. It might just make the initial hit worth the trouble.

“I had a pretty shitty night,” you admit, sneaking a glance at him.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “You ‘n me both. Pretty shitty month.”

His cologne is fresh; woodsy and clean. His rough beard on your skin, his tired collar between your fingers. The landscape of a man you know inside and out.

Joel’s hands lift from your waist, past your ribs and around your shoulders. He lifts the broken heart charm from your chest – so tiny in his large hand, nervously twinkling in the light.

You don’t flinch, this time. Barely even notice his eyes on it.

His expression stiffens. His jaw clenches. His eyes are glassy, lined with tears behind his stone-set snarl.

“I’m sorry for what he did,” he grits, swallowing thickly. “I wanna kill him for it, you know that?”

You lift one shoulder, dropping it with a sigh. “He did what he did,” you hush, “He was a scumbag.”

Joel’s upper lip twitches. Twists, then settles when you trace it with your thumb.

“You didn’t deserve it,” he says. “You didn’t deserve none of what he did to you. You were just a kid, you –”

He lifts his head like coming up for air. Sucks a ragged breath between his teeth, shakes the tears from his vision.

“Hey,” you take his jaw, turning him back to face you, “Look at me. Look.” You flash a cheesy grin, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled. “I’m okay, Joel, look.”

His laughter betrays him, breaking from his chest and shattering the wolfish glare. He cups your head, cradling you against his chest again.

There’s nothing between you, now. No spiteful words or suffocating tension; no hurt and no blame. One heart broken and the other bruised, still beating the rhythm of a language only they know.

Still seeking the other out, through all of it.

“What we had,” Joel says softly, “it can’t have been nothing to you, right? Was it really just…?”

“No,” you shake your head, squeezing him, “It was never – You were never just anything to me. I think…” you sigh, “…I think you just pressed on a bruise I had. A bruise I thought I’d gotten pretty good at hiding. And you just…you twisted your thumb into it.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t know about no bruise,” he says. “It wouldn’t’ve mattered if I had, darlin’, I –”

You take his wrists, following the sleeves of his jacket up to his collar. “I know,” you hold his cheeks, “I know it wouldn’t. But you saw straight through me – and the more you saw, the more you cared. And that scared me.”

He blinks down to your lips. “Why?”

“Because it’s never like that, Joel. No one has ever been like that. I was so scared that I’d fuck it up – that you’d figure me out.”

“You gotta fill me in a little here. Figure you out?”

“All my shit. Blake, my dad. All of it.”

Joel frowns. “You think I don’t got shit I didn’t want you seeing, too? My dad, Avery – that ain’t exactly dating profile material, baby.”

You can’t help but laugh. As raw as an open wound, the most vulnerable conversation you’ve ever had – on the roof of a dive bar, with your boss.

And he’s as fucking breezy as though you just handed him the forecast for the day.

“You’re a better man, Joel, than all of them. You mean more to me than anyone. And before I knew it, you had me wrapped around your finger, and…”

“…And I was pressing on that bruise.”

You wince. “Little bit.”

His tongue prods at the inside of his cheek. He scans the rooftop, glimmers of gold in his eyes, and nods.

“Listen to me,” he says, holding onto you. His thumbs swipe your tears away. “I would not hurt you for the world. I wouldn’t. That goddamn email – I just – I didn’t know what else to do. I panicked, and I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to –”

“Shut up,” he smiles, “I never meant to scare you. I never meant to hurt you. And if we never go back to what we were, then – I guess I gotta live with that. But you? God, baby, I miss you.

“I miss hearing you laugh. I miss being the one to make you do it. I miss talking to you, miss hearing what you think on things. Miss your goddamn Bart Simpson socks ‘n all.”

You turn into his palm, masking your giggle. “Asshole,” you murmur.

“All I want to do is take care of you,” he says. His shoulder jerks, an earnest shrug. “’s all I want. And you don’t make it easy, that’s for sure – fightin’ back at every damn turn. But – I don’t know,” his eyes thin, “Sometimes I reckon it’s what you want, too.”

“Oh,” you wrestle a simper, “You reckon, do you?”

“I reckon,” Joel repeats, bending the word in an exaggerated drawl. “See what I mean?” he tickles your waist, “You’re a pain in my ass.”

Your head tips back with laughter – the first real laugh you’ve heard pass your lips in weeks. Since you were rolling around your bed, poking his ribs for not being able to use chopsticks. A silly, girlish giggle.

The world bursts into color again.

Joel chuckles, too, as you squirm in his grasp. His hands plant on your waist, forehead rolling against yours.

Your lips brush. Your body ignites.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers. “That okay?”

“Shut up,” you echo, letting his lips crash into yours.

He tastes exactly the same as you remember. Strawberry and lemongrass. Sweet, in a way that wakens you. Brightens you, full of life and full of color.

It’s as though only a second has passed since you last felt him like this. Felt his scruff on your cheeks, the warmth of his tongue slipping past yours. Your skin feels like satin on his; your body filling in all the worn gaps that time has taken from his.

Fitting against him like you were carved with him in mind. Chiseled from the same slab of marble, finally found one another through the opaque stone.

He pins you to the parapet; one hand firm on the small of your back, the other at the base of your skull. He leans in, claiming every sense in your body as his own – and you offer them over gladly.

He kisses you like it’s all he’s thought about since that last morning at your place. Like he’s making up for lost time.

Hell, you’re both making up for lost time.

Joel breaks for air, panting against your lips, then instantly kisses you again.

Your hand threads through his hair – the soft salt and pepper, the feathered flicks at the nape of his neck. “Joel,” you kiss him once, twice more, giggling, “We’re like teenagers.”

“I love you,” he replies, kissing down your neck. “So much. So – goddamn – much.”

He trails down to your collarbone, where your chest lifts to meet his hungry lips. He drags teeth and tongue between your cleavage.

There’s a delay in the time the words take to sink into your skin. Like they’re stopping to light every atom of your being first, before they reach your brain. Every bone, every muscle and every cell.

“You…” you breathe, pulling him upright. “…You what?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “That scare you?”

Oh.

“N-no,” you press your finger to his swollen lips, “You…Say it again.”

He pauses. Nods, when he seems to make it up in his mind. His eyes flit from yours down to the mess of your lipstick, and back up.

A man possessed, so it looks, he admits it between labored breaths. “I’m in love with you,” he says. “Have been for a while, I think. You got a terrible habit of driving me fucking insane, pretty girl.”

Oh, shit.

You knew it already. This isn’t news.

He as good as told you in the copy room – and before that, in his office. He told you in Martha’s dining room, told you in your kitchen. He told you every time his lips found yours in Paris, and every time his eyes met yours before that.

If you went back and looked, there’d probably be a trail of clues jotted down in his diary – September second, two o’clock. Great AP score, enthusiastic and friendly. I think I’m in love with her.

He’s always loved you.

It’s just different hearing him say it.

Different to how it felt the last time someone said it to you. Different to how it sounded. There’s no ringing in your ears. There’s no focal shift in your vision.

There’s no…fear.

Joel takes hold of your shoulders. “Don’t run off on me again,” he says, kissing your cheek.

“No, I’m not…I don’t – want to,” you burble, playing with his collar. “You’re just…You might be a couple steps ahead of me.”

“Baby,” he says, a little laugh to it. “That’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m good where I am.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, and leans in again. “I’ll wait, as long as it takes.”

You melt into him; his strong hands and steady chest. Teeth taking his bottom lip, releasing it with a little pop. Your fingers twist around his hair, tugging lightly.

A low growl sounds from Joel’s throat. His hips rut against yours, fly of his jeans catches on the material of your skirt.

It nestles somewhere between your thighs. Solid, swollen. Blood hammering beneath denim, grinding into your body. He’s hard.

“We keep goin’ the way we’re goin’,” Joel hints, “and we’re gonna have a problem that ain’t solved so easily.”

You release him, licking your lips. “You think I can’t feel it already?”

He sucks on the skin over your carotid. “You think I ain’t been dealin’ with it for the last three weeks?”

“Poor Mr. Miller,” you pout, “Let me deal with it.”

His cheeks lift, brows drop. Cocky. The Joel you’re used to. The Joel you want.

The Joel you fucking need, right now.

“C’mon,” you slip a hand down his front, cupping the weight of him, “I miss my daddy.”

He squeezes your ass, catching you in a rough kiss when you writhe forward. His teeth graze your ear. “I wanna touch you, baby. I wanna feel you again. This little cunt,” he slips a hand between your legs, “She’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about.”

Fuck.

It was a feeble attempt, anyway – matching his ego. Utterly futile. The guy makes you lose your fucking mind.

You’ve done things for him that you’d never dream of doing for anyone else – would wring their necks for even asking – and here you are, keening into Joel, grinding your dripping pussy into his palm for all the street to see.

“She’s all yours,” you whine, the words tearing from your throat in a desperate plea. “All yours, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmurs against your temple. “I’m gonna take you home, okay? Fuck you nice ‘n hard, make you feel better.”

You moan against his shirt. “Can we go back to yours, Daddy?”

It throws him for one heavy beat. He pauses, breath hot against your jaw, and then presses a barely-there kiss to your lips.

“Yeah, darlin,’” he whispers. “Let’s go back to mine.”

You push off his chest, cunt throbbing with each step towards the fire door. Fingers locked through his – a siren leading her sailor down the wrought iron stairs of Sam’s Saloon. Swimming through bodies, bathing in neon light, breathing in tobacco and tequila.

Joel eyes the booth where his employees sit – folding spinning tops out of beer caps, wagering bets on who’ll still be hungover come Monday.

He turns to whisper in your ear, when a voice strikes like lightning between you.

“Hey!” Martha yells, waving from the corner booth.

You’ve never wanted her to fuck off so badly.

“Just where the hell do you think you two are goin’?”

Joel stumbles into your side, hiding a teenage sort of glee behind your back. It’s contagious – and it riles Martha even more.

You throw your arms in the air, eyes bulging. Take the fucking hint, Martha. “Home?”

“It ain’t even eleven,” she protests, making to stand. “This is your goddamn leavin’ night – what are you doing?”

But you’re already retreating, following the pull of Joel’s hand around yours. Skin like fire, spattering with every touch. There’s nothing – man, myth, or Martha – that could stop you from following him.

You yell it as you swing through the doors.

“Grabbing a paddle!”

Joel leads you with his hands and with his lips down a neighboring street, where his Lamborghini sits at the side of the road. It blinks to life, headlights blinding.

A bruiser of a car – all bulk and brawn and bullish, like the thing is actually rearing. Something of a sharp smirk to it, the same devilish grin its owner so often wears.

He opens your door, steady hand lifting you into the passenger side, and strides around the car. His hand is back between your legs before he’s even switched the ignition on.

“Get – your damn – seatbelt on,” you giggle, slurring the words against Joel’s lips. “I am not letting you drive me home without one.”

His breath is hot and heady, spilling over your tongue with each punch of laughter from his chest. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, clipping the belt into place. He holds his hands out, awaiting your approval.

When you nod, his fingers slip between your thighs.

“You whore,” you snicker – though the sound scatters when he finds your clit. You grab your own belt, yanking it loose from its holder. “Jesus, Joel –”

“There she is,” he coos, pulling out into the road.

He circles her gently at first, massaging over your panties. Middle finger pulsing over the hood, matching the rhythm of your heartbeat flocking south.

Your back arches; nails dig into his wrist. “Daddy,” you gasp, knees parting. Heat quickly soaking through lace and onto leather. “’m gonna – make a mess,” you croon.

“Make a mess, darlin’, it’s okay,” Joel beckons, knuckles white around the steering wheel. “Driving me crazy, watching you like this. Dirty little girl.”

“Let me…” you reach for his thigh, “…Wanna touch you, Daddy.”

He grunts – a sound of refusal. “Give me one first, baby. Here,” and he hooks the slippery lace to the side, fingers parting your folds, “Let Daddy feel you right here.”

Your knee lifts, leg folding against the door, and Joel pushes inside. Two fingers knuckle-deep in one thrust. You yelp.

“Oh, baby,” he tuts, “She’s so wet. She miss her daddy that bad?”

“Yeah,” you whine, watching the thick shine he draws from your cunt. You lift your hips to open wider – and he slots a third finger in.

“Look at her,” he growls, “desperate little cunt. That feel better, darlin’?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you mewl, though you’re not fucking listening to a word he’s saying.

You watch, boneless and blathering, as your hand lowers – replacing where Joel’s was on your clit. Rubbing little circles while he fucks you with his thick fingers. Your back curls again, tits threatening to spill out of your dress.

“Keep doin’ that,” Joel instructs, wrist jacking faster. “You’re close, ain’t you?”

“Shit,” you gasp, walls clenching around him. “So – close, Joel – fuck.”

The car slows to a stop. A red glow seeps through the windshield, lighting your smirk in a dangerous tinge.

Your pussy drools onto the leather seat, throbbing over Joel’s hand. Syrupy and honey-sweet, coating him in a glistening mess the harder he fucks you. A sticky sound, the slap of skin on skin, the beats of your moaning in between.

“Look at me,” Joel says, and you tear your eyes from between your legs. “Keep playing with it. C’mere.”

He tilts your jaw with his free hand and slips his tongue past your lips – the taste of him more dizzying than any drink from that bar. He kisses you until you’re right there, sucking on his tongue, teetering on the edge of your first climax. Crying into his mouth to stop from screaming at the ceiling.

“Daddy, need –”

Joel’s wrist pounds against your clit. He laughs across your tongue.

“Come on, baby,” he groans. “Let me feel her.”

“Say it,” you beg, your head lolling on his shoulder. The streetlights begin to bleed into the car. The light flicks to yellow. “Need you to – to say it.”

He nuzzles his nose against yours, turning to let you taste the words.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you break wide open.

The car rolls off again as you come with a violent shudder, crying into Joel’s chest. Daddy Daddy Daddy, fuck me fuck me fuck me.

“I know, I know,” Joel says, riding your high out to the horizon. He stares at the road ahead, only daring a glimpse at the sodden mess between your thighs when you start to come around again.

He works your swollen cunt, fingers gleaming with your orgasm. Slips them over his tongue, licks them clean – and then pushes them back between your sensitive lips.

You rock with the moving car, pulse still rattling your lungs. Your eyes drift down, down: Joel’s spread legs, the shape even bolder in his jeans than before.

You got a terrible habit of driving me fucking insane, pretty girl.

Weak and still quivering, you slip your hand over his belt – feeling his stomach jolt the second you touch it. The dark trail of hair from his navel, the thicker it grows – the harder he tenses.

“Easy,” he clips, adjusting in his seat. “Alright, darlin’. We’re…You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“Good,” you shrug, “I bet you have a good lawyer.”

You slump into his lap, the armrest solid against your ribcage. Trembling fingers loosening his belt, picking at the button of his jeans, husking them loose when he lifts his hips.

“Jesus,” he clears his throat, “Won’t let me drive without a seatbelt, but you’re – you’re fine with – fuck.”

He’s heavy and rock solid, so wide you can barely hold him. Big enough that it takes no effort at all to pull him free. Shaft silky smooth, tip flushed red and leaking deliciously.

Fuck, he’s so pretty. He’s so –

“– pretty, Daddy.”

Joel lifts his hand and holds you at the back of your neck, grip tightening when you dab his head along your bottom lip. “Prettier when you’re playin’ with it, angel.”

Your tongue circles his tip – salt and sweat stirring you from your orgasmic haze. You dribble down his cock, spit racing to the twists of thick hair at his base.

The sound he makes is guttural – a roar of a groan from his chest – when you sink down on him. He fills your mouth instantly, nudging the back of your throat in one.

The car swerves some. Joel curses over your head.

You slip back up – slow. Let your tongue trace every ridge, every vein along the way. All of it perfect perfect perfect – all of it him. Chasing streaks of saliva, the pearly shine of precome beading from his slit.

One hand stroking his hilt, lips suckling around his tip. Kneading his weighty balls – massaging them in your palm, dragging your tongue down to kiss the cushiony skin.

“Pretty girl,” Joel rasps, hips canting to meet every lick, every stroke. “You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop.”

Mhm, you mumble, gagging around the intrusion. Tears sear across your waterline, spilling from the corners of your eyes. So big, so pretty, so perfect.

He nuzzles deep, stretching the column of your throat wide. “Baby,” he warns, voice sharper, “Baby, you gotta – you gotta stop now.”

Maple, he’d said – that day in your shower. If you say it, I stop.

Say it, you dare him silently.

“I’m gonna – c-come, darlin’,” instead.

Say. It.

“You want that?” he growls, hand surfing over your hair to cup your skull. “You wanna make your Daddy come?”

Your voice flattens, mutes under the strain of his cock. You moan instead, the sound weak and muffled.

“Shit,” Joel says, stomach tensing tensing tensing. “Shit, angel, just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He twitches deep inside. He’s there. Right there.

You slacken your jaw and lick up his shaft, two hands wrapping around it. They slip around the sticky spit, swirling and squeezing while you kiss his tip.

He holds you steady, slowing the car to watch as he fills your mouth.

Two, three warm spurts across your tongue, dripping down the back of your throat. You lap up every drop, tongue swirling the salt around your lips before you swallow it down.

Joel rasps as he steers the car into a dim lot. He strokes your head, jerks when you play a little too much with him.

“Attagirl,” he sighs, “Careful with it. Tryna fuckin’ kill me.”

You giggle, swiping kitten licks at his tip before you slip him back into his underwear. You bat Joel’s hands away, buttoning his jeans and threading his belt back together. Planting heavy kisses into the plush of his tummy.

When the darkness is pierced by flickering fluorescents, you push yourself up.

“Where are we?” you ask, twisting in your seat.

“Home,” he says simply.

A plain man in a dark suit strides over to the car as soon as it parks up. The click of his shoes bouncing off the walls.

Joel swipes at your chin with his thumb. He slips the digit past your lips and you suck it clean. “Dirty girl,” he utters, stealing another hasty kiss before swinging out of the car.

You hop out the other side, tottering around the Lamborghini to meet him at the back.

The attendant’s name badge reads Owen. “Long day, Mr. Miller?”

Joel pats his shoulder in greeting, reaching for your hand. “Long day,” he agrees, and makes for the elevator.

Your head swivels, taking in each lavish vehicle parked under luminous light. Emblems with horses and bulls and wings – plenty more than you don’t even recognize. Each car polished to perfection, groomed within an inch of its life.

Joel flicks the button at the top of the panel. The doors glide closed – smooth and silent. You barely feel it as it scales the building rapidly.

“Wait a second,” you stare at the dazzling PH, “Do you live on the top fucking floor?”

He bites his lip. “Might do.”

You step back. “So you let me bring you into my – my shitty little apartment, and meanwhile you’re –?”

“Woah, woah,” he cuts in. “Your apartment is not shitty.”

“It’s not a fucking penthouse, Joel.”

“It’s a nice apartment!” he protests, squeezing your shoulder. “Do you always gotta be so goddamn dramatic?”

“I bet you could fit my entire place inside your living room. Right? Am I right?”

He clicks his teeth and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Naw,” he says, like a little kid. Twisting his toe into the marble floor. “Dressing room, more like.”

The doors part just in time for him to escape your drumming fists – his boyish snicker filling the cream hallway.

You spill out after him, pulse fluttering dangerously through your veins.

“You know what my place doesn’t have?” Joel says, fishing for his keys. “A poster of Richard Gere. I could use one of those.”

“Oh,” you feign amusement, “Well, you can have mine. I won’t be able to look at it now, anyways.”

He slots the key in the lock and turns. Drinks in the sight of you – on a comedown from only the second-hottest car ride you’ve ever taken.

“Your apartment,” he lifts a finger, “has you in it. It wins, every time.”

Your jaw clenches. Your heart begins a warning drum in your chest. Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fall.

Too late, you think.

The door sweeps open, and Joel beckons you forward.

“Ladies first.”

You slip by, stepping into a regal hallway. Smooth stone on either side, dark wood under your heels. All marble and mirror, classy, glassy décor. Golden spotlights which glow to life overhead, the deeper your footsteps echo.

It’s dark, and a little moody. Manly. The perfect marriage of masculine and chic. Cold steel and warm wood.

It looks like him. Classy and luxurious – but homey, warm. Everything that draws you to him, and everything that makes you want to stay.

Joel follows silently at your back, much the same as he did in his little white house. Looking to his feet when you turn back, fiddling with the strap of his watch.

You wander to the end of the hall, where the apartment widens. A towering living room – sylvan and rustic, the same muted tones bleeding through. Cityscape backdrop, pristine glass fire. A coffee table homing ornate vases and books on woodworking; a faux fur blanket over the couch and beside it, a worn flannel shirt.

You love it. You love all of it.

And loving his apartment is probably a bit of a copout, right? The easier way, the safer way to admit something much scarier. It’s just fragments of Joel, after all. It’s all the parts you’ve come to like best.

His heart, his soul. The kid with the freckles and scruffy hair, all grown up. Thrown into a big city, thrown into a big job. Thrown into a million-dollar penthouse – and still, he turns everything he touches into…home.

Joel presses his lips along your shoulder, perches his chin on your collarbone. Quiet, a little bashful – hiding from every secret he’s letting you in on just with being here.

Your eyes catch a brushed-gold frame on the sideboard, and you float over.

Faded by the sun and the years in between, there’s a peachy tint to the photo. A dreamy lilac sky, dark cedars fringing the background. A squint mailbox, cherry red with the name MILLER printed on.

Two boys, one as filthy as the other. Matching denim shorts and lanky limbs. Smeared with paint, in the midst of a brawl which nearly blurs their figures into nothing more than one head of dark hair, the other sandy.

You’d recognize him anywhere, though. Even with his arm hooked around his little brother’s neck.

“Tommy started it,” Joel says, elbowing your side. “See that smudge on the mailbox? He pushed me headfirst into the thing.”

Your chest leaps. “Who won the fight?”

He takes the frame and dusts it with the sleeve of his jacket. “Mom did,” he replies. “Threw the camera down ‘n dragged us inside. Grounded us for a week, made us repaint the entire thing.”

“How is your mom?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Good. She’s askin’ after you.”

“She still asks about me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “’cause I still talk about you.”

It prods low in your chest. Aching, stitching itself back together thread by thread. A wound twelve years in the making, the doing and undoing of everything you ever knew. Family and love; hurt and loss.

It’s okay to lose some things, you reckon. It’s okay to let them go. To watch that beat-up Toyota tear off for the horizon. To leave that man and his ring and the promises he’ll never fulfill.

There’s someone better waiting down the line, anyway. It starts with a page of doodles; it ends with your heart in his hands.

The safest place it’s ever going to be.

You cross your arms around Joel’s neck and pull him against your body. Pull him against the wound.

“I want to go see her again, tomorrow.”

“I think she’d like that.”

“Then I want to come back here and spend the whole weekend with you.”

He swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that, too.”

You kiss him softly.

“And I want you to take me to bed right now, and show me how much you love me.”

The twinkling city is the only light left on this side of the apartment.

Half-drunk in a half-dim room, you stumble in backwards – tripping over thin air and collapsing onto the bed, pulling the six-foot shadow of your ex-boss-now-something on top.

The laughter rumbles from Joel’s chest. “I’m too old for this, pretty girl,” he says, sucking a mark into your neck.

“No big deal,” you titter, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “I’ll keep you going.”

He hovers over you, watching as you peel the clothes from his body. The heavy clink of his belt on the floor, the ruffle of slacks down his legs. He shakes the shirt from his arms and your lips connect again in the darkness.

Hips between yours, he drags your dress from the hem up over your arms. A hungry glimpse, tongue dabbing at the corner of his mouth – like it’s Monday morning all over again, and you’re on your knees in front of him for the first time.

Back when flirting was as harmless as delivering coffee and running errands. Back when he was one third of a fuck, marry, kill debate with Martha and Deb. Back when neither of you knew these versions of yourselves even existed.

Joel lowers – taking your nipple in his mouth.

“Shit,” you pant, fingers searching for the elastic around his waist.

He helps you tug his boxers off. His cock sways between his legs, smatter of come and damp saliva across your stomach as he guides you up the mattress. He takes the lace from your hips in his fist and rids you of it in quick motion.

“See what you do to your daddy?” he asks, tapping the weight of his cock against your mound.

You reach down, wrapping your fingers around him. He’s stubbornly solid again – throbbing under your touch. He shudders when you swipe a gentle thumb over his tip.

“Already came once ‘n you got him hard all over again,” Joel adds.

You take your lip under your teeth, stroking his cock. Your clit flutters at the thought of him pushing in. The stretch that feels so impossible, the punch of pain each time he reaches the end of your pussy.

It steals a sob from your lips. “I wanna ride you, Daddy,” you sputter, a solid shove on his shoulders.

He rolls onto his back, hands finding your hips as you mount his waist.

“Let me ride you,” you’re panting, lowering onto the dense muscle of his stomach. Quickly coating the trail of pubic hair with a pearly sheen. You rock back and forth, taking the stalk of him in one small hand.

“Let me ride – just wanna ride –”

“Alright, alright,” Joel hastens, sitting upright. He slips an arm around your back.

You whine. “You never let me, Daddy, I just wanna –”

“Shh,” he holds your jaw, “I’m gonna let you. I’m gonna let you, baby. Just gotta go slow, alright? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it,” you tell him, hands on your hips.

“I know,” Joel replies, “I know you can. Always do, huh?”

He slides his tip through your core, teasing your entrance. So wide that you can already feel your little hole struggling with just his head. He’s covered in you – your slick blending with his, your breath swapping.

“Three weeks, angel,” he fusses, beginning to edge you down. “Too goddamn long,” he adds, “You know how much I missed this pretty cunt?”

Your pussy sucks his length in, blooming for him. Warm and snug, spongey walls pinching every inch as he penetrates her. Like they’re made for each other, the same way you and Joel are.

“She missed you more,” you gasp, head tilted back to the ceiling. “I missed you more.”

Joel’s teeth pluck at the column of your throat, still raw from the memory of his dick. “Doing so good for me,” he hums, “Little more, okay?”

You collapse forward, boneless and weeping against his chest. The pain and the pleasure hammering through your veins – Joel’s thunder and your lightning. Every nerve on fire, every hair on your body standing to attention.

He holds you steady, hands still locked around your waist, cock still filling you up inch by inch. When your clit reaches the coarse hair at his base, Joel kisses from your chest up to your jaw.

“You feel that, baby?” he asks, two fingers lifting your chin. “Feel Daddy inside you? All of him, darlin’, you got all of him in there.”

You wiggle in his lap, hips aching with the effort of holding his full length. “So big, Daddy.”

Joel tenses, teeth gritting. “I ain’t gonna last long,” he admits, grip firm on your hips.

“That’s okay, baby,” you coo, nudging him back into the mattress. His cock slips from your slit, drizzled with slick. You feel so empty without him – electricity fizzling into nothing, walls clamping around nothing.

You brace yourself over his torso – reaching between your legs to guide him back to your entrance.

Beneath hooded lids, heavy with lust, Joel watches as you drag his tip through your folds. He presses his thumb to your clit, rough circles around the swollen hood, and parts your lips with his fingers.

His cock lines up, and you sink down.

“Christ, darlin’,” Joel groans. He flicks at your clit, his other hand coming up to pinch your nipple.

“I – Fuck,” you moan, bouncing on him. “Feels so – good, Daddy, I –”

You fall forward into the headboard – staying upright only with your fingers locked around the wood. You’re slipping, already barreling your way towards another orgasm.

You grind forward, rutting into Joel’s palm, falling back on his cock. Your spine curls; hands drop to claw at his chest, ground yourself there.

The edges of your vision begin to blur. It’s not like this, it’s never like this. No one has ever fucked you this good, this rough and this loving.

Joel’s balls slap against your ass. He bucks his hips, knees lifting to bump you forward.

“Attagirl,” he says, slipping a hand around your neck. He brings you down, nips at your lower lip. His forehead slides against yours. “Can feel you closing, darlin’,” he chuckles, “You gonna come for me?”

“D-dick,” you hiss.

He smirks. “Always look so pretty when you let go. You don’t wanna show Daddy how pretty you are?”

You writhe over him, biting down hard on your climax.

“My beautiful girl,” Joel murmurs in your ear. “Come for Daddy.”

And it throws you under.

Blinding, deafening. Every nerve in your body overcome, each one flipped to feel only Joel. His cock, buried deep inside, your walls clamped around him; his teeth on your skin, tongue soothing the scrape.

It’s never like this.

Never so euphoric, never such a perfect meld of bruise and bliss. The feeling of your body changing, altering down to the very last atom – blossoming anew. Fresher, purer, lovelier.

When you come back around, you’re on your back.

Legs wrapped around Joel’s waist; arms linked around his neck. He must’ve flipped you, the second you came.

He slips back inside, suckling on the skin beneath your ear, and drives his hips into yours. Ignores your yelps, your short breaths – just fucks into you like you’ll be gone in the morning.

Fucks into you like he’ll never get to do it again. Like he hasn’t been doing it for weeks. He fucks you so hard that it hurts; an ache already burning that you know you’ll still feel walking into work on Monday.

“Good girl,” he chants, over and over. “Daddy’s girl.”

Like a fever come over him – beads of sweat dotting his skin, flush in his cheeks. He fucks you mindless, senseless, wordless. Sobbing beneath him, each word soaking into the next.

Good girl. Good girl. Daddy’s girl, that’s it. Daddy loves you so much, baby. Gonna fill this little cunt up so good.

When your walls pull tight again, your third orgasm flooding from every pore in your body – Joel’s movements halt.

He comes with a painful jolt – his cock shunting into you once, twice, until he’s pumping you full of his come. Twitching deep within you, pulsing warm and messy inside your pussy.

He comes with a sound like song. Your name, entangled in a throaty groan – lips tucked somewhere between your neck and shoulder.

You finally hear it – for the first time in your life.

How it’s supposed to sound: low like thunder, Texan in its swing. No one else, you realize, has ever gotten it right – this right – before. As if only his lips were meant to speak it, his tongue designed to carve around the letters. His vocal cords strung to send the sound to your ears.

It’s his, you decide. Your name – and every other piece of you. All of you. It all belongs to him, now.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, one hand on the headboard to steady himself. He lets it rain down over you: “I love you so much, you know that?”

“Come here,” you whisper, and he falls into your body, “Come love me forever.”

Half-conscious and full bliss, you laze in Joel’s bed – all fucking night.

Strong arms hooked around your shoulders, heart to heart. Breath shared, whispering nothings and everythings in the space between your lips. He’s still buried deep inside, still tucked between your legs.

Bundled in satin sheets, kept warm by his body around yours. Talking shit, poking fun, flirting and fucking around. You play with his hands, sizing your open palm against his. You compare the scars and scrapes on your skin, spill the bloody story behind each one.

“Alright, big girl,” Joel yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m beat. You killed me.”

You snuggle under his chin. “Get some sleep, old man.”

He takes a second to respond. He’s already going. This is probably the closest he’s been to actually sleeping for a good three weeks.

“Love you,” he exhales then, like the thought just lapped past his lips again.

You smile. Take his big hands in yours and lift them closer to your chest, tuck your chin over your interlocked fingers.

Something deep inside you lurches. Tries to escape. You tighten Joel’s grip, as if choking the words on their way up.

Joel’s breathing slowly begins to draw out – tiny sighs passing his lips. Your thumbs trace the short hair between his nose and top lip, combing it, nail ghosting over the lines on his lips.

A warm feeling floods through your body. Suddenly – it starts in your chest and washes over in waves, dousing you and the world around you in a dreamy rose. Like a sunset paints its way across the walls, the glint of gold where the light catches on the tower in the distance.

Peace, you think.

Only – there’s no end to it. No sleek black car to drag you away. No broken promises and half-truths. The ache in your chest pulls gently – a reminder, no longer a threat.

This will never leave. He won’t let it. It’s as safe as you are, now, wrapped in his arms. Nothing and no one to break you apart.

“Joel?” you whisper.

His eyelashes flutter, like even asleep he knows it’s something worth hearing. Like everything you could possibly say – What should we have for breakfast? My foot itches. Did you know Martha box dyes her hair? – it’s all worth hearing.

You gulp. “Joel, I wanna – I wanna tell you something.”

He crackles to life, words melting into one another. “…What is it…darlin’…?”

Your lips morph around voiceless words. Your tongue lifts to the back of your teeth, trying to force the sound out.

It’s everything, you think. You’re everything. Say it. Say it say it say it.

But he’s already dropping off again. He’s already being swept away somewhere you’re too tense to reach. And you’re not brave enough to push through the fog on your own, stick a trembling hand into the unknown and swipe for his.

So you let it go. Watch the words float off somewhere Joel can’t hear them.

You shrink yourself, slotting your head beneath his jaw, your cheek to his chest. He sighs into the crown of your head. His heartbeat thuds a familiar bassline into your ear. Hi, old friend. I missed you.

Maybe in the morning, you can swing by your place and grab a bag. Pack a few days’ worth of clothes, spend the first few mornings of your new career drinking velvety coffee in bed next to Joel. Sharing the mug, sharing the newspaper, sharing the shower when it’s time to get up.

Maybe you should call Martha, and apologize for skipping your party. She can fill you in on the night – the drunken dramas, the secrets spilled. She won’t ask about you and Joel – she’ll just know. And that’s enough.

Maybe you’ll throw the phone to the end of the bed after you hang up, discarded amongst the tangle of sheets, and lie back down next to a still sleeping Joel. Lay your head on his chest, like it is right now. Listen to his heartbeat, run your fingers across the dark hair.

And maybe you’ll think over the same three words currently racing through your head. Maybe you’ll try to piece together a sentence for him to hear, when you’re ready to say it out loud.

Maybe by morning, you’ll be brave enough to admit it to yourself, first.

That…yeah.

You love him.

[prettieinpink]

Hi lanny! Could you provide a guide on how to get into working out? 💗💖

GUIDE TO STARTING TO WORK OUT

hi lele 💝☀️ hope this guide helps you w your journey!!

The first step to working out is setting goals related to exercise, not physical appearance. Avoid things like fat loss, muscle gain, smaller waist, bigger glutes and so on. 

While you can make this a separate goal, the reason why I don’t want you to associate it with exercise is that we then allow the way our body looks to dictate whether we believe the exercise we’re doing is good enough. 

Exercise and body aesthetics are two different things. Exercise is a means of nourishing our body, soul and mind, while body aesthetics is how ‘good’ our body looks. 

On that topic, I want you to stop focusing on your physical appearance when starting to exercise and I want you to start implementing a new mindset shift about your body. Instead of seeing your body as something to look at, appreciate it for what it can do. 

For example, your hands create meals, hug your loved ones and help you with essential tasks. Your legs help you to get around, especially to your favourite places. Your stomach helps with digesting all the yummy food you eat. 

Some goal ideas:

Lift 15kg+ 

Be able to do a plank for more than 5 minutes

Learn how to do a push-up

Be able to run on the treadmill for 30 minutes 

Gain more stamina and exercise for longer 

Moving on, set a time each day in which you prioritise exercise. This can be for however long you want and the times can vary daily. 

So, during this period, you are not allowed to do anything else other than exercise. It doesn’t even have to be a specific exercise either, if you’re feeling lazy and laps walking around the house is what feels best, do it. 

However, avoid obsessing over working out and losing yourself to exercise. This kills motivation, in exercise starts to feel like another obligation in the day and not a privilege. 

Now, you have to choose what exercise is right for you. I don’t believe you’re limited to one exercise, if you want you can have more than 1. 

Gym – Perfect for a mix of strength and cardio, however not the best option if you want to exercise for free.

Yoga – Tones muscles while also being a mindful experience. Low low-impact, but recommend doing it after cardio. 

Cycling – Tones the legs and the glutes, but cycling may not be the best idea depending on where you live. 

running/jogging – Strengthens muscles and bones, however, if you don’t have flat areas, may not be the best idea. 

Pilates – Improves flexibility and tone, while still being low impact (still may be challenging).

Weightlifting – Makes you stronger and boosts your metabolism, best done at the gym. 

There are plenty of ways to exercise that I haven’t mentioned here, but these are just ideas so you can research the ones that suit you best.

I recommend talking to a doctor if you haven’t done exercise in a long time, as that can open up the possibility of injury. 

Then, once we have our goals, times and what we’re doing, we need to exercise. Implementing exercise in your life is best done slowly. 

Start with simple, and smaller versions of workouts, even if you think you can do more. Do this for about a week, then try to extend yourself with something harder. If it is too hard, don’t be afraid to go back a step. 

Make it fun, create a motivating exercise playlist or watch your favourite TV show while doing it. 

However, the main thing about exercising is that every day you are not always going to feel like it, but that is when we have to discipline ourselves, talk to the mirror and say; ‘Me exercising is a privilege, I get to nourish my body because I love and respect it so much’. 

This was the best way I disciplined myself into working out. Treating it like a privilege and something that is very benefical, rather than a painstakingly challenging activity.

Or, instead, you can visualise what you would look and feel like if you continue like this for the next 5 years.

[daisyswift3]

Guys do u realize how huge this is. She basically confirmed when The End of the story in 11 parts will be. New Year’s Day when Taylor is 35 yrs old. She's going to have both a literal and metaphorical birthday, a rebirth. "A fresh page...a new chapter." All the references to “parties” are for both her birthday and a New Year’s party. These songs have been from the perspective of her future self this entire time. “Past me, I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things,” that’s Taylor talking from the future after she comes out on New Year’s. Like 90-95% of the folkmore, Midnights, and TTPD songs are Taylor singing abt future plans. Many of the vault tracks too. When we were told abt her having a “script” written THIS is what that was referring to. folklore-TTPD IS the script and she has been and is living it. We’ve been watching the movie this whole time.

“Then the actors were hitting their marks” // “Are you special or was this all scripted in his head?”

Taylor diving into the ocean and swimming to Midnights represents this journey from folklore-TTPD. She is swimming to the finish line which is the “New Year midnight.” She was in exile but after exile ends she is able to return home. “Now, pretty baby, I’m running to the house where you still wait up and that porch light gleams”

[theholmwoodfoundation]

Now the Pilot has been out for a few days we figured it was worth sharing our inspiration playlist again!

We think maybe the songs might hit a little differently this time! 👀

Full Playlist:

Superstitious Foundation // CG5 Somebody's Watching Me // Rockwell Eyes On You // Oh Geeez Not Again creature - w/ Orchestra // half-alive Tokyo (Vampires & Wolves) // The Wombats There's a Ghost in Our House // Merry Hell Like Real People Do // Hozier Monster Town // Go! Child Liar // The Arcadian Wild Colder Heavens // Blanco White Something To Die For // The Sounds Supernatural // World's First Cinema Dracula // Artio Take The Journey // Molly Tuttle The Horror and the Wild // The Amazing Devil Sincerely Yours, Jonathan Harker // Schoolyard Heroes Meet Me In The Woods // Lord Huron Little Lion Man // Mumford & Sons Monster // The Automatic Work Song // Hozier A Sadness Runs Through Him // The Hoosiers Ghosts // Ladytron You are Jonathan Harker // David Arnold, Michael Price Mina Harker's Secret // Trevor Jones Whitby //  Stephan Moccio Mina's Theme // David Arnold, Michael Price I Will Follow You into the Dark // Death Cab for Cutie The Yawning Grave // Lord Huron

Don't forget to donate to our Kickstarter!

[madaqueue]

playlists

such a pretty house | "no surprises" x radiohead

synopsis: walking through the empty halls of what should have been your home, you reminisce on the life you could have had with gojo

pairing: satoru gojo x reader

themes/content: semi-canon curse au. angst. language. mentions of death/loss.

word count: 2.5k

a/n: thought of this mini series idea since i found this song and literally could not stop thinking about a tragic backstory to it with gojo, so if you wanna get the "real" experience listen to it while you read ! this is like...not conventionally happy lmao but here it is anyways :) i'll get back to the regularly scheduled series tomorrow but i just had to write this one

a sigh leaves your lips as you walk up the familiar stone path, now overgrown with long grasses, tickling against your bare ankles. the cool autumn air bites at your skin, dead leaves falling from the old maple trees and crunching under your shoes as you make your way up to the house.

this house.

reaching the front door, you turn the now-tarnished gold handle and step inside. the old wooden floorboards creak under your weight; it’s likely been years since anyone has been here, further evidenced by the thin layer of dust settled over the empty space.

the space that was supposed to be your home.

your eyes gaze to the right and your legs follow, taking you into the living room. the bay windows overlook the front yard, the wooden bench beneath them bare. it was supposed to have red pillows, a reading nook for you. he always knew how you loved those books, consuming knowledge like it was the only type of nourishment you needed. the stories, the worlds that let you forget time while he was away on missions. but now, every word you read feels baren. you haven’t picked up a book since then.

continuing your journey through the empty house, you find yourself in the kitchen. the cabinet doors are now falling off, and surely the stove wouldn’t turn on anymore - not that it really worked in the first place, but the two of you made do. you’d bring in pizza on nights when the shitty electricity died out, sitting on the floor lit only by candles, talking about your futures.

well, what was supposed to be your future.

the window above the sink looks over the backyard, the remnants of the flowers you planted now overgrown with weeds. what a pretty garden it could have been.

“can you plant me the blue ones?” he asked, his arms wrapped around you as you stood outside under the heat of the summer sun.

“you only like those because they match your eyes,” you tease, turning your head to face him.

“maybe so,” he grins. “how ‘bout this, let’s find ones that match your eyes too, so it’s like i’m lookin’ at you every time i see ‘em?”

“deal,” you giggle, leaning against him.

you find yourself at the stairs, slowly making your way up as your hand traces along the railing, dust collecting on your fingertips.

you aren’t even sure why you came here, after all this time, back to this house, the physical tomb of your past.

it was supposed to be for you and satoru.

–

you were just kids, stupid, young kids. when you met in your first year at jujutsu high, the two of you were inseparable. every class, every meal, every mission you did together. it got to the point where you practically lived together, trading off which dorm room you slept in so you wouldn’t have to be apart. the two of you were attached by an invisible thread that kept looping itself around your necks until it became too tight.

the mission was supposed to be easy: exorcise a grade 2 curse and save the family it had kidnapped. you’d done it before a hundred times, and having gojo by your side only simplified the whole thing.

that is, until you got hurt. until you were unconscious, at the brink of death. until you found out why they had sent gojo with you - you didn’t think much of it at the time, but this was the lowest grade curse he’d been assigned to for a while.

it was a test. the higher ups wanted to see what gojo would do when he lost someone. they needed him to prove that he was what they thought he was: the strongest.

except, like always, he never failed to surprise everyone. he wouldn’t let you go that easily; not you, his world, his love, his everything. they picked the wrong person to sacrifice.

by the time you awoke, it was too late. you couldn’t quite place it, but something was different inside you, inside your very essence. as your eyes fluttered open, all you could feel was the warmth of his embrace around you, his hair hanging forward as he clutched your body. hot tears streamed down his face and landed on your chest.

“i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry,” he muttered over and over, softly rocking on his knees as he holds you.

“s-satoru,” you manage to croak out, the taste of blood in your mouth.

his eyes shift up to yours, a darkness and fear in them you’ve never seen before.

“it’s okay, it’s okay now, i’m here,” he whispers, his voice shaking, pulling you into him.

–

reaching the top of the stairs, the empty hallway looms before you. you turn into the first room on your right, what should’ve been the library. empty shelves line the walls as you stand in the middle of the space.

“y’know,” his voice smooth as he sits across from you, “eventually i’m gonna get promoted, and i’m gonna need a big office.”

“oh yeah?” you respond, shifting so your head rests on your open palm, propped up against the table between you. “what makes you so confident about that? you know the higher ups literally hate you, right?”

“psh, they love me,” he pauses, reaching across the table to shut the book in front of you so your full attention was on him. “and then, i’m gonna fix up this house, and i’ll build you a library and an office for me, and we can spend every day in there together.”

you pretend to consider the option for a moment. “fine, but it’s still gonna be my library. i’ll let you put a desk in there but don’t you dare forget that it’s mine,” you joke.

his hand reaches up to the side of your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “as long as i’m with you, sweetheart, it can all be yours.”

you sigh, leaning against the wall before sliding down to sit against the old wood beneath you. he would’ve given you everything, he would’ve done anything for you.

–

it didn’t take long after the mission to figure out what had really happened: the grade 2 curse was actually a special grade, something you were woefully underprepared for. however, the higher ups had planned for that, even wanted it - they needed you to die. not because of any inherent value you had, no, but for satoru. they needed to see if he could handle a special grade curse on his own, something he had already proven he could do, but with a new challenge: loss. could he control himself, his emotions, his power, when he was forced to confront your death?

no. he couldn’t.

the only good thing about this being a special grade curse is that it was smarter, more cunning, than an average curse. not smart enough to beat gojo, but still.

when satoru saw you, your body slumped in the corner of the room, blood covering your face, something happened inside him. he snapped.

so, he did what any completely irrational person would do: he made a deal with the curse.

if it would heal you, it could have your cursed powers. this sounded like an exceptional deal to the curse, thinking that surely with your cursed technique it could easily kill gojo and leave the ordeal more powerful than when it began.

but, like always, gojo surprised everyone. even with your cursed energy he managed to exorcise the monster. he was glad you weren’t there to see it, the way his body took over as he pulled it apart limb by limb, eviscerating any remnants of the thing that dared to harm you. he didn’t even use his cursed technique, he needed to feel the life draining from it in his own hands.

when it was done, he ran to you. he held you. he cried over you. until you opened your eyes, whispering his name.

–

stepping out of the library, you continue down the hall and into the next room. the bedroom, the one you and satoru spent weeks planning.

“okay, what about purple?” you ask, holding up paint swatches to the wall.

“bleh,” he stuck out his tongue. “no purple. what about a nice green?”

you rolled your eyes at his theatrics. “honey, we have too much green already. by the time you’re done with it this entire house is gonna be green.”

his eyes light up. “what about honey?”

“what about it?” you ask, tilting your head.

“that’s it, that’s the color! it’ll be perfect, it’s warm, and sunny, and it’ll make me think of you whenever i’m in here,” he explains, nearly running over to you and picking you up, spinning you around. your arms wrap around his neck as he holds you in the air, both of you smiling with joy.

as you look at the room around you, the unfinished grey walls feel more empty than any other part of the house. it’s like looking at a skeleton, the raw, old bones of something you once loved.

–

of course, after you lost your cursed technique, you weren’t allowed to continue at jujutsu high. they had no purpose for you there, and you felt out of place with everyone anyways. gojo begged them to let you stay, offering to let you live in his dorm so they wouldn’t even need an extra room for you, but his request was repeatedly and ubiquitously denied.

“fine,” he huffs, pacing around your room as you sit on the bed, all of your belongings stuffed into boxes around you. “if they won’t let you stay, then i’m going with you.”

“gojo, you can’t. you know you can’t,” you explain calmly yet sternly.

he stops momentarily, looking over at you. “i have to,” he murmurs, “this is my fault, anyways.”

you stand up and walk towards him, reaching a hand up to his face, cupping his cheek in your palm. “the only thing that’s your ‘fault’ is the fact that i’m still here, and you better not be blaming yourself for that.”

“but-”

your lips press into his, the only way you could think of to get him to stop talking. he’s soft against you, his arms lowering to loosely hang around your waist. for a moment, you stay like that, just the two of you in your empty room.

pulling apart for a moment, you just stare at each other. finally, he breaks the silence. “okay, but if you won’t let me officially leave with you, can i at least sort of leave with you?”

“gojo, what the hell does that mean?” you smirk, not understanding what he’s even asking.

a smile breaks through his lips as he looks down at you. “i have something i want to show you.”

the house.

he holds your hand, pulling you up the stone pathway next to him, leading you to the freshly-painted front door, gold handle practically glowing in the sunlight.

“ta-da!” he shouts, throwing the door open and allowing you to see inside.

“it…it’s an empty house?” you ask jokingly.

“no,” he turns to you, holding your waist, “it’s our empty house.”

“what-”

“i got it for us,” he cuts you off, beaming down at you. “when i first heard that you might be asked to leave jujutsu high, i bought it, thinking we could move in here together.” you don’t say anything, stunned by his kindness, tears beginning to form along your waterline as you think about just how much you love him. “i wanted to give you a home. i hope we can make it one, together.”

leaning up, you kiss him again. finally, together, in your home.

–

why did you even come here? the cold, stale air stirs around your lungs as you rest your head back against the wall.

despite everything that happened, you had to see it one last time. you overheard someone at the store saying how they were finally going to be tearing this place down, putting in some new luxury apartments or something. it’s not like anyone lived here anyways, maybe it’s for the best. give the grave of your past a new life.

it had been nearly ten years since you were here last. a part of you wanted to move on, to forget it, but it hung in your mind like it had been nailed there.

you finally stand up, dusting off the grime that clung to your clothes from the floor. every step another memory you had here, another painful reminder of the life you never got to have.

–

it started slowly, at first. gojo kept getting tasked with harder missions, and he kept handling them with ease. even the higher ups were at a loss with what to do with him, his raw power developing into something they had never seen and had no idea how to control.

as you sat in the empty house, alone, you tried to not let it get to you, but the feeling ate away at you all the same. the glares you’d get when the two of you went out together, the whispers from other classmates or the higher ups, they clung to you.

you knew you were less than gojo - you always were, and it never bothered you. but now, with no cursed energy, you felt like nothing compared to him.

the words replayed in your mind, reminding you what you were.

failure. broken. fragile. useless. a burden. a hindrance. a flaw. a weakness.

of course, satoru never said any of these things, going out of his way to make sure you never heard the insults his so-called colleagues muttered about you, but it wasn’t enough. it ate and ate and ate away at you until you were empty.

when you left, his world collapsed. he begged you to stay, pleaded to let him come with you. he’d leave jujutsu, all the sorcery, all the hierarchy, all the bullshit behind if it meant he could be with you. but you knew he couldn’t; if he left with you, you’d just be proving them right. you’d be dragging him down with you.

“i love you, satoru,” you whispered, your thumb wiping away the tears that fell slowly down his cheek as you stood in the doorway of the house you promised would be your home. “that’s why i have to leave.”

–

making your way back down the steps, you sigh again, a single tear rolling down your cheek, your heart heavy with loss, the loss of the life you should have had. you and satoru, making breakfast together in the morning, falling asleep next to one another, planting flowers in the garden. the simple, quiet life. but instead, you’re here, alone.

your steps are heavy as you trace back through the rooms, the last time you’ll likely ever see them.

the floor creaks in the entryway.

slowly, your eyes follow the sound.

white hair, black uniform, and those bright blue eyes. he has a few more wrinkles around his cheeks, but it is absolutely, unmistakably, him.

“satoru?” you whisper.

he smiles at you.

[p0patochisps]

What IS Epic The Musical

I WAS WAITING FOR THIS GOD DAMN MOMENT.

OKAY. BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELT ANON, BECAUSE YOU JUST UNLEASHED MY ADVERTISEMENT SIDE /HJ

According to the EPIC website, EPIC is a loose musical adaptation of Homer's Odyssey written by Jorge 'Jay' Rivera-Herrans. Jay also voices Odysseus, the main character of the musical.

It is completely sung through, consisting of 40 songs. The musical has two acts, which are then split into nine 'sagas'. There are five sagas in act one (Troy, Cyclops, Ocean, Circe and Underworld) and four in act two (Thunder, Wisdom, Vengeance, and Ithica).

As the show is still a work in progress, the songs are still being released on platforms in their entirety. As of right now, the Troy, Cyclops, and Ocean sagas have been released with the Circe saga coming sometime soon.

Jay posts consistently on platforms such as TikTok and YouTube, showing his working progress with little sneak peaks at the songs and little bits of information about each of them that really enhance the listening experience!

Plot wise, like I said, EPIC is loosely based on Homer's Odyssey. Homer was an ancient Greek poet, and he is credited for both the Odyssey and the Iliad.

The iliad is the first of the two, telling the story of the Trojan War and all that happened. The Odyssey is about the journey Odysseus and the six hundred Ithican soldiers took to return to their homeland post-war (Spoiler alert. It doesn't work out very well)

EPIC follows Odysseus as he tries so very, very hard to return to his wife, Penelope, and his son, Telemachus. However, every monster, God, and Goddess in the entirety of Greece and Olympus seems to have beef with this man and he struggles to get home.

He's somehow meant to be one of the most intelligent Greeks out there, cunning and clever and a brilliant soldier (so much so that Athena- Goddess of W i s d o m- decides to be his mentor) and yet he has a knack of pissing everyone off.

Anyway, the Trojan War took him away from Ithica and his family for ten years, and then EPIC follows his stupidly long and complicated journey home in the most stunning, heart-wrenching, tear jerking, awe inspiring way it can.

It's greek mythology, what isn't there to love about it.

I doooo heavily recommend it. So, so very much. So much. Jay is so very, very talented, and all of the singers in EPIC are so very talented. I think the songs are on most platforms (I'll link spotify and YouTube below). I also recommend looking at his TikTok or YouTube pages because this man is hilarious, and the process to the creation of this musical is so very interesting.

Okay bye bye :))

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLqxvpcFchZLtYj30bSGmm64JibFLaWOAJ&si=fRBt3GoRCwew5_Sd

^this has all thirteen released songs on for YouTube.

https://youtube.com/@JayHerrans?si=7qR098QuuulGBxYg

^This is Jay's YouTube page.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6T7xIAK4W0Fwxp04fSjpE9?si=iccq-vm-SD-i5X0TcXMTBw&pi=e-RZKH3MfvTXmQ

^This is a playlist of released songs on Spotify.

https://www.tiktok.com/@jorgeherrans?_t=8j0ebB8Ka7V&_r=1

^This is Jay's TikTok.

He is also on iTunes but I don't have an account and I can't be bothered to make one (sorry)

IF YOU LISTEN, DROP ME A MESSAGE OR A COMMENT BECAUSE I LIKE TO TALK ABOUT IT.

[nieceeee]

"SOON AS I GET HOME"

P/C: babydaddy eren POV from leaving your house.

W/C: 1.3k

A/N: Little quick fluff and emotional whirlwind yall been asking for. Just wanted to get this one out my head while I build the next part.

I think I need to build out a playlist and put these in order so we can know where to go from here. I never actually established their relationship before the baby and I want to share that. Its alittle wild but I think it will make sense to further the plot

My heart was heavy as I started my engine and pulled out of y/n’s driveway. What the fuck Eren? Why would you ask her that? I reprimanded myself. I shook my head at myself. I didn't head straight home. My mind still spinning. I knew I was getting too close to her but I couldn’t help it. Y/N was my everything at one point in my life. And now, seeing her with our child, watching her from afar, my heart started to long for those familiar moments. Memories of being cuddled up with her, my head in her legs as she stroked my scalp gently. Or when I would see the shock on her face as I would surprise her at home with dinners and gifts. She was so important to me but we never seemed to work out when we got together. It's like the balance was always tipped and it was easier to fight and leave than sift through the drama. 

Still, that never erased the good moments. I let out a heavy sigh. You can't do this Eren. You can't get attached. You’re in a relationship. I thought about my girlfriend. We had been together before I found out about the baby and recently after y/n had given birth. It’s been a tough journey. I knew that she knew I had gone back to y/n when we broke up. We weren’t dating but that definitely didn't stop the other things we did. My mind flooded with images of the day I helped her and a small ball of fire ignited in my stomach. I refocused again. As much as I wanted to relive some of those memories, I wouldn't do that to my girlfriend. She didn't deserve that. Part of me wanted to leave and try to convince y/n to work it out. But the fear of it failing and driving a wedge between us was too much to bear. I couldn't lose her and my baby. And being in a relationship made it easier for me to not act on the urges, at least not with y/n. Now the things I did alone in my room were different. 

It wasn’t intentional but I couldn't deny it and say sometimes my mind didn't shift to another person to get myself off. I was always riddled with guilt afterwards but it didn't change the way it made my body react to her. I groaned aloud. Why is this so damn complicated. 

I drove around a little while longer. I knew what was waiting for me when I got home and I wasn’t ready to let the small sense of peace I had leave just yet. When I was with y/n, I felt at ease. There was no confusion, just us. We could sit and talk for hours and I would long for it the moment it stopped. Y/n made me feel whole in a way I couldn’t explain and I wanted that wholeness all the time but she wasn’t on the same page. I could see it in her eyes when I asked her about us. The way she would shift the topic or dodge the questions when I mentioned what we could've been. I know we weren’t perfect but I at least hoped there was something to salvage with her. 

Tears burned in the back of my eyes but I cleared my throat and blinked them away. It was no use dreaming of things that wouldn't happen. I made the quick turn onto my street. Here we go. I thought to myself as I cut the engine on my car and walked inside. The lights were on and I knew she was awake and waiting for me to walk through the door.

“Did you fuck her?” She asked, disdain dripping from her voice. She sat in front of me, her arms crossed across her chest. I had just walked in the front door and she was already on her bullshit. I tried my best not to roll my eyes. “Again with this shit? You ask me every time I go over there.” I shook my head, kicked my shoes off at the door and made my way towards the guest bedroom. “Because you smell like her.” She said walking behind me. I groan internally. It was a never ending cycle with her and it was starting to weigh on me mentally. “Just answer the question Eren.” She pushed. “No.” I answered. “For the thousandth time, for the past 6 months. I did not and have not fucked her. Are you happy now?” She stood in front of me. Time stood still for a beat. Two beats. Three. “Fine.” She huffed before turning on her heels and walking away.

I let her leave before turning to get undressed and climb into bed. She had given me the ultimatum. ‘Whenever you go see her, you can sleep in the guest room. I don't want her scent in our bed.’ I’ll admit I found solace in those days. Moments where I could be alone and in my memories without feeling the weight of her next to me. I closed the door to the guest room behind me and locked it before sliding under the covers. I picked up my phone just as a text message came through. 

Hope you made it safe. Good night

My heart jumped in my chest as I responded. 

Yeah, here. Thanks. Good night baby doll

Good night Rennie.

I sat my phone down on the dresser and closed my eyes to rest but sleep wouldn't come to me. So as I always did, I picked it back up and went to my photos. I spent the next few minutes scrolling through the pictures and video of my son. My heart filled with joy as I looked back through the memories. Then I switched to my albums and pulled up my hidden folder and entered the passcode. All of the videos that included y/n appeared. A small smile tugged at my lips as I scrolled through them, pulling up my favorite. The video started to play, the camera on our son as he cooed and giggled in the playpen. Music was playing in the background as y/n got ready to go out with her friend for the day. “Hey little man, let’s go see what mommy is doing” I had said in the video. 

I picked him up and carried him and the camera into her room. She was dancing around, singing at the top of her lungs to Beyonce’s Love On Top. I recorded the way she jumped and spun as her voice matched the song.  She turned to me and gasped, eyes widening as I burst out laughing. “Damnit Rennie, I told you not to scare me.” I continued to laugh as she rolled her eyes playfully and went back to singing. She picked up her hairbrush and turned to me, pointing and singing the words to the song as I recorded her performance. My smile widened the same way it did when I was there. The action of her singing the lyrics and pointing her finger at me made me buzz with energy. I knew it wasn't for me. I knew she was in the moment but it didn't stop the way it made me feel. At the end of the video she did a goofy bow and walked closer to me. “Did you enjoy the show?” she asked, smiling and out of breath. “I did. I need an encore.” I teased her. The video ended with her laughing out loud.

My heart tugged as it ended. The longing heavier in my chest than before. I watched a few more videos before reluctantly sitting the phone down and releasing another breath. My eyes stared into the darkness as I reminisced on what could’ve been.

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

im thinking about getting an ipod or mp3 player of some sort bc im opposed to spotify and streaming services.. have u always had an ipod or did u make the switch back at some point? the only reason i havent done it yet is its kind of intimidating thinking about building up a library of downloaded music + it will be such a big switch in the way i listen to music...which i think is a good thing! i'd like to start using bandcamp more to find new artists i can support w monies but other than that i suppose i can go back to youtubetomp3 like when i was a baby...idk penny for your thoughts on ipods/ the music listening landscape of today?

DO iTTTT !!! i got my ipod from the pawn shop a year ago and never looked back .. Still listen to music on youtube when im at home but i haven't had spotify since 2019. for a few years before the ipod i would just download songs to put on my phone but haveing an ipod is sm more...satisfying 😽 so nice to hold in your hands and pretty to look at. the clicky wheel is totally heartfull ugh! it's just such a lovely litle piece of technology. technology at it's peak really.

U can use soulseek to download music ~~~ become a soulseek cutie! youtube2mp3 works too but soulseek is a whole experience in itself. Plus its muchmore efficient. my ipod dont have much space so it's basically just all my most fav most played albums on there. and then yeah when i want to listen to random one-off songs youtube is always there. Like lately i've been obsessed w building my summer youtube playlist cus it's nice to be able to share that w others too. between ipod and youtube i got everything i need for any situation that may arise.

i dont have beef w spotify like its just the default option rn and i put my music on there for that reason! dont have beef with it it's just not the listening experience pour moi because i dislike all things algorithmic due to my (borderline neurotic) tendencies toward making my own decisions. back when i used it , it rly got on my nerves. But nowadays i'm neutral on spotify ^_^ it helps ppl find my music while i get to be far removed from it so yay ❤️

oops this got kind of long.... TLDR; get an ipod, get soulseek, enjoy the journey discovering & building a library of your own making, for everything else there's youtube ! ty for asking lovely :] pmd9 xx

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 2.3 of 2)

PART 2 OF PART 2

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+); smut (!!); angst; unprotected sex (p in v); jealousy; negative self-talk; negative body talk concerning body changes; talks of pregnancy; contemplation of terminating pregnancy; argument (includes: manipulation, misunderstanding, lying); masturbation (f! receiving); anxiety; stress; extreme feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; substance use (alcohol) (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 19.9k+

a/n: here it issss…. here’s the big thing: you’re going to be pissed w y/n a time or two & you’re just going to have to remember she’s sooo fucking stubborn. 🫠 (poor Jake) her healing journey starts sooner than you may think, though… 🖤

hopefully after you've read this part, you'll realize why i've included the bolded dates (i think most of you already knew what was coming though... lol). as the author, i believed the big event in this chapter required a timeline for you, as the reader, to keep track of order of events... makes things wrap together in a nice bow haha

@joshym, @alwaysonthemend, + @welightthefire, you three are so special to me and this story flourishes bc of your never ending support as i write. love u so much <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

enjoy!

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 27, 2022

The golden morning light was nearly blinding. You shielded your face in the arm of the body beneath you. It was almost too much. . .  The warm body underneath you was almost too much. 

You remembered having sex with him, talking to him. . . but the details were fuzzy. . . your body felt so relaxed. . . There was so much you couldn’t recollect, but at that moment, it wasn’t a concern. Because Jake was with you and it wouldn’t be this way for much longer. You wanted to relish in this.

Everything that had been swirling in your mind for days was still very real. . . and you knew the list of reasons this was a bad idea were endless. You wished there wasn’t a list of reasons that haunted you– the old and the new. But there was a list and at this point, the reasons were mocking you for being where you were at this moment.

Curled up in Jake, your round ass pushing against his thick cock, already hard. The heat that radiated from him, combined with the feeling of his body pressed against yours, made you sticky with sweat. Your body was on fire. But you didn’t want to leave him. You couldn’t leave him. This feeling, him. . . so safe and cozy. 

This was a feeling you wanted to sink into. You blinked a few more times into the open air of your bedroom, seeing the dust particles floating in the rays of yellow sunlight flooding your room. 

As much as you didn’t want to leave Jake’s body, you knew you had to start the day at some point. You tried to sit up. But you instantly regretted it. Your head felt fuzzy. Fuck. 

Things were foggy as hell. This was always how you reacted to weed. One reason why you rarely smoked it. But you’d needed to last night. Needed that time, feeling free and loose. . . with Jake. Before your time with him came to its inevitable end.

Like it had become your daily routine, you started becoming consumed by several all-encompassing, nagging emotions. You hated how fucking complete you felt in his arms, in bed with him. . . but all it had taken were a few seconds passing before you started feeling the familiar, anxious spinning in your stomach. Turmoil. 

Josh’s words from outside your bedroom, bouncing around in your head. The rules that you’d set in place for a reason– to protect you both (though, they hadn’t worked on your end). The image of Maya, so beautiful and attentive . . . Dammit. The way your heart sunk in your chest, the sadness rushing through you, made a mess of emotions in the pit of your stomach.

And you knew that was your body’s way of signaling to you that it was time. Time to end things.

No matter how much your heart lurched at the thought. Your eyes filled with unshed tears, dreading it. 

But your body was persistent in communicating to you that it was the right move. To let him go.

You rejected it for just a small moment to turn and give him a kiss on the lips, your bare chest meeting his, which rose and fell underneath you.

Then you remembered–. The guys. In the living room. Shit.

You pulled away to pat his chest, trying to get him to come to. And he did, with one deep breath through his nose, blinking at you with sleepy eyes. He squinted, the sun in his eyes. You loved the way the light turned his eyes to dark honey. . . 

Now is not the time, y/n.

As soon as you knew he was awake, you were scrambling out of bed, finding a big t-shirt in your dresser and putting it on. Then you bent over, searching your underwear drawer for a new pair that wasn’t a fucking thong. . . you had too many thongs.

“That ass,” he said, voice gruff and low from sleep. “Damn, baby.”

You instantly felt wetness gather at your folds. Not. Now.

Last night was the last time. And it was going to stay that way.

Underwear, underwear, under– yes!

Finding a pair of black panties, you slipped them on hastily before yanking on a pair of pajama shorts that were laying on the ground. As you wrapped your hair up into a quick ponytail, at your vanity, you made the mistake of looking in the mirror. The bed perfectly placed in the mirror’s path, and a sight from the bed made your breath catch in your throat.  

Jake, in your bed, his long hair, still messy from sleep and sex. . . his deeply set, tired eyes. . . tanned skin, the perfect shade of brown after hours spent in the summer sun. The sight reflecting back at you was making your heart race. You caught your breath, taking in a sharp breath. The elbow, holding him up, while the other worked under the sheets. . . his eyes lust-filled and appreciating your exposed thighs. Fuck. 

So, abandoning your hair, you decided to not ignore the need that thrummed between your thighs, making your heart beat wildly in your chest. When he was laying there looking like that, you couldn’t refuse. His defined pecs and fit biceps flexed with each pump of his fist. Your building arousal was already ruining your new pair of panties. Best to not dirty another pair, right? 

Your legs walked on their own over to the bed while you stripped yourself of the clothes you’d just put on. He sat up, as your eyes surely told him of what you wanted. And in no time, you were on top of him, as he deliciously stretched you, opening you up for him. He held your ass for a moment, aiding you in your movements. His lips found your nipples, hardened and begging for his attention. 

As he lifted his hips to start a rhythm inside of you, the pressure was just right, and his tip was massaging you exactly where you needed him. With every hard rock of his hips, you were pushing down against his thrusts. Languid, lazy sounds sighed from your mouth. . . The friction was heavenly. Both of you, relentless with your unsteady tempo of vigorous need– back and forth, back and forth.

He sensed it coming before you did, as you were too distracted by his handsome face. His mouth, opening in the slightest any time your walls clenched around him. Brows dipped in with deep concentration, balancing his view from where your bodies connected, and then back to your eyes. He reached between you, a skilled thumb making tight circles against your sensitive, swollen clit. And, much too soon, you were coming undone, the familiar burn in your belly, your body buzzing and walls fluttering around him at a rapid speed. You threw your head back, riding it out. You never wanted it to end. He felt so fucking good inside of you– filling you all the way up. 

With one hand on your breast, and another on your hip, he used that as leverage to pull out of you. And, without thinking much of it, you got on all fours, knees digging into the mattress, wanting to bare your ass to him. You heard him let out a shaky breath, before he was following, raising to his knees. As soon as he was where he needed to be, he released, warm on your back. He gripped your ass with a strong hand, the flesh putty in his hands as you pushed back against him, your ass meeting his thighs. 

More, more, more, more, mor–

And, without any stimulation, save for the feeling of him still spilling onto your back and his tight hold on your ass, you were finishing again, your body shaking, pussy clenching around nothing. Your arms almost gave out where they held you up. You tried to keep your whining quiet, remembering why you had been worried about your predicament before.

“Holy fucking shit,” he moaned, his tone throaty. “Did you just–? Again?”

“Y-yeah,” you sighed, feeling completely refreshed, your body still wracking from the effects of your orgasm. And finally, you let your arms give out. But before you could reach the mattress, he was pulling you back to him, sitting you on his lap again as he gave you a full kiss on the mouth, his tongue pushing through your lips. 

You reciprocated, tangling your tongue with his, the sound of wet kisses encapsulated your room. The apartment was so quiet–silent, even–save for the sounds of your sighs. The world was nearly drowned out. The only thing that existed was Jake, the taste of his sweet mouth, and the feeling of his lips melding to yours. 

But you broke from the escape, the silence of the apartment getting pierced by the telling signs of someone yawning loudly in the living room. You were up without even thinking about it. You hurriedly re-dressed, and before you opened the door, you glanced back at him.

“You were never in here,” you hushed, before shutting the door to go into the living room.

Thankfully, Sammy and Danny were still asleep. But your eyes found Josh, who was rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. 

“What time is it?” He grumbled. And as he closed his eyes with another yawn, you saw movement from the corner of your eye. You peeked from Josh to see Jake, dressed again, silently shutting your door and heading to his own bedroom. 

As much as you wanted to go to him, you looked at the glowing green time on the oven. Your eyes bugged at the hour, and you rushed to check your schedule on the fridge. 

Shit. While your mind was already tumbling with reasons to call it quits, you just added one more to the list. Until Jake, you’d never been so forgetful of your work schedule. But as of right now, your mind was way too preoccupied with him. You winced at the idea of becoming that forgetful with school. You had to be more responsible. 

You had less than thirty minutes before you had to be walking into the Black and Gold.

“Y/n?” Josh called, still slowly coming to.

“It’s one in the afternoon,” you rushed out, practically sprinting to the bathroom, from where you finished your statement. “I’m gonna be late for fucking work.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

You’d been correct– ending up at the B&G ten minutes late. That had never happened before in the history of you working at the shop. It pissed you off to no end that you had let yourself be so irresponsible. 

You spent your entire shift thinking of all the things you’d let take precedence in your life above your job and your school. . . In recent days, you’d spent a ridiculous amount of time thinking of Jake to the point of being stressed enough that he’d noticed, told his brother. . . which resulted in a night of getting high to rid yourself of the nerves. You’d let yourself partake in it even when you knew it made you so incredibly fuzzy. On a night where you worked the next day. 

Then, there was the sex that had happened last night, this morning. . . making you lose track of time. There was one common denominator. He’d become too important. A distraction. And you feared being the same to him. You’d had your fun and now it was time to give it up.

You fucking hated the idea of having to do it– made tears moisten your eyes. But you would be okay. And Jake would definitely be okay. You weren’t to him what he was to you. (Why that felt wrong to think, you didn’t know. . .) He had a woman to lean back on, if he wanted one. A woman much more fit for him than you could ever be. 

And, chances were, he was bound to leave what you had for her eventually, so you felt it best to end things now before he could. It would hurt you less to take the initiative now. You didn’t want to risk the pain that would come with him fully rejecting you for another. The idea of Jake leaving you high and dry like your mother had sounded horrible. And you did not want to experience it.

By the time you were turning off the lights and locking the doors to the store, you’d made up your mind. Tomorrow. You were going to rip the damn bandaid off. There were too many reasons indicating you needed to. Before it was too late.

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 28, 2022

He would be home any minute. Your leg was bouncing with pent up nerves that wouldn’t be released until you said what you needed to. Your palms were sweaty, making you need to repeatedly wipe them on the worn denim of your jeans. And anytime you’d wipe them off, you’d grab your phone off the counter, checking it unnecessarily. Because even after you’d wipe them, they’d still shake with nervous jitters, and you needed something to do with them.

The sound of the key unlocking the door made your stomach twist. Suddenly, you were questioning yourself. Questioning what you’d been planning on doing.

I’m not ready. I don’t want to do this. It can wait. It’s not time. I don’t want this.

But it was necessary. 

And plenty of those thoughts had become too insistent for you to ignore. Even as you watched him set his guitar and amp down in the living room, through the opening of the kitchen. You were longing to ask him about his day. Or ask him to watch a tv show or movie with you. Tease him and make him follow you to bed. . .

But in spite of all of that, you knew what was right. 

Don’t be selfish, y/n. You know what is best for him. For you. For both of you. Don’t you dare chicken out. Continuing this cycle of selfishness will end badly. You know it. Stick to the plan.

So, when he finally walked into the kitchen to cross off his day of work on his fridge calendar, humming what you assumed to be a new song. . .you decided to not waste time. It would hurt less. 

Rip the bandaid clean off.

You cleared your throat before speaking, leaning even further into the kitchen counter. You wanted to sink into it. Hide. “Hey.”

He jumped, holding his chest. “You’ve gotta stop scaring me like that,” he laughed, crossing the day off his rehearsal schedule. 

Then, when he looked over his shoulder at you, you almost lost your motivation. 

Those eyes. . .

But you persisted. For you. For him. 

“We need to talk,” you said, the words feeling thick in your throat. 

And when he turned to face you fully, his brows were scrunched with confusion and concern. 

“You okay?” He inquired. “I wondered why you didn’t talk to me when you got home from work last night. Is something happening at the Black and G–?”

Rip. It. Off.

“We’re done,” you stated. You suddenly felt completely frozen, time beginning to move around you much faster than you could keep up with. The words were trapped in the air with you, hanging there.

He just stared at you, eyes round and questioning. He blinked a couple times, his lips on the verge of a smirk, but ultimately staying in a straight line, as if not sure how to react. “What?”

Keep going.

“We’re done,” you repeated, the words coming out a little easier the second time. “I’m calling it quits. I can’t do this anymore.”

He took a couple steps towards you, then took them back. He turned, looking at the kitchen cabinets as a hand held his chin. He used one finger to scratch at a brow. 

Still looking away, he spoke again. “Why?”

You felt the heartache begin again, not wanting to do what you knew you had to. Prior to this, you’d decided anytime you felt the sorrow creep up, you would replace it with anger. Fight the weak emotion with a stronger one. You’d bury the sad, and use anger instead. It would help you and him in the long run. It would.

“I hate when you fucking ask that,” you snapped, your head feeling heavy and the words wrong. 

His brown eyes got big, shocked. “Where is this coming from?”

“I told you, Jake,” you said, clearing your throat to eliminate the tears. You want this. “I told you that night at the bowling alley. I said if one of us wanted to end this, the other one has to be okay with it, without any questions asked. That was a rule,” you reiterated, standing firm on the words you’d stupidly spoken in the past. They were your shaky wall of defense in this situation, where you felt defenseless against yourself. “And right now, I don’t want to answer questions. I just want to say it’s over and you be okay with it.”

He scoffed, scratching his cheek before running the hand through his hair. He leaned against the counter closest to him, across the kitchen from you. Come closer. Please. 

But he didn’t. He just crossed his arms and pierced you with his dark eyes.

“That’s not how normal people do things, y/n,” he clarified, like he was talking to a child. 

You didn’t have to fake anger in response to that. Don’t tell me things like I’m an idiot. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You fumed, your coolness fading quickly. 

“Goddamn, y/n,” he swallowed hard and looked out the little window above your head, right above the lavender. “Stop acting so fuckin’ obtuse. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked,” you griped sardonically, silently begging him to look at you as your eyes followed him. “Because I speak fucking asshole I knew what you meant by that. You’re right.”

He brought a hand up to his face, covering his eyes before letting it run down to rest at his chin. He was losing his patience. This should be good. Why didn’t it feel that way? This was what you wanted. He let his eyes rest on his feet, refusing to acknowledge your stare.

“I’m still trying to figure out where this is coming from,” he said, reiterating his prior question. “Yesterday morning, everything was normal. We were fine. How were you able to just turn all of that off?” 

You were at a loss. How in depth were you supposed to go with him? Should you be honest? Or should you lie? Cover up the truth with blanket statements and lies? You weren’t sure. . . 

So you just started talking. And a lie came out first.

“I had a quiz this past Friday and I failed it,” you said, the untrue words feeling dirty coming out of your mouth. Trying to cover up the lie with a truth, you continued. “I keep getting distracted and it’s never been like this for me before. Since my first day of Freshman year at Pratt, I’ve never failed a quiz.” And I still haven’t, you finished silently, guiltily. “I just know that the reason I’m so distracted is because of this,” you motioned between the two of you, even though he was still looking at the ground. “Because of us. It’s not healthy.”

He finally brought his gaze up from the floor, interlocking it with yours. And if you thought the guilt from lying was bad before, it was even worse as you looked into his eyes. 

“How is the relationship we have not healthy?” He asked, truly wondering. 

Relationship. 

You decided to be as honest as possible to keep your guilty conscience at bay. 

“For one, it’s distracting me from classes. And two, it’s not a relationship. It’s been a rule since the beginning–the number one rule, actually– and I made it a rule because I knew I couldn’t handle a relationship right now.” All of that was mostly honest. Doing great. “I have other things I need to be focusing on right now. . .dedicating my time to. And from the beginning, this has only been sex,” okay, that was a lie. “And I wanted it to be that way so when the time came for me to cut it off, it would be easier. I made it that way on purpose.”

The way he was watching you with rapt attention, actually hearing you out, it made your heart jump into your throat. I don’t want to be doing this right now. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose him.

Don’t be selfish, y/n, your brutally honest inner voice combated you. 

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked, his voice indicating he was eager to assist you however you may need. 

Keep going. 

You swallowed the tears, your voice low with the tears that vanished. “Yes, you can help me by not challenging this right now.”

He breathed in deeply, his jaw clenching. “It’s not that easy for me.”

“It has to be.”

This isn’t easy for me either. 

“See, it’s always been like this with you,” he started, leaning a shoulder against the fridge, his face turning harder than before. “You think you can just control everything and everyone around you. But you can't, that's not how life works. There are other people in your life with real emotions–real feelings–that you don’t get to dictate.”

You felt utterly singled out, and it made your blood turn to fire in your veins. 

Who is he to say all of this?

“Why do you want to put up with me when you view me so horribly anyways?” You spit out, your eyes growing wet in spite of yourself.

He saw the tears in your eyes, and on instinct, started walking towards you, his entire face softening in response. But you put up a hand to stop him, your rigid expression and body communicating for you. 

“I don’t view you horribly,” he said, tone sincere. He sighed, stopping at the island between you, resting his hands stop it. “You know that.”

You watched the way his hands held so tightly to the counter. He was like his brother in a few ways, you’d come to notice. One of which being how passionate he could become when talking about something that meant a lot to him. And at this moment, you saw how deeply he felt for what he was saying. His entire body exuded his emotions— when he let them show. . . 

And, for the past couple of months, you’d been lucky enough to witness him bringing those walls down. Especially during the past month of sleeping with him, growing intimate with him. . . In this moment, you despised the fact that you were so freely giving that up. You selfishly wanted to keep all of those pieces of him. 

Frames of time fluttered through your mind, showing how he would watch you, so affectionately. You heard words that had been spoken, so caring and genuine. . .How patient he’d been so many times. . .

But, just now when he’d called you out on your control issues? Had he thought that all along? Had he felt animosity towards the way you liked control? Or, on the other side of the coin, had he only been pitying you all along? Putting up with you? Had he just started caring about you because he felt like he had to? You were the one who had pushed this thing between the two of you in the first place. . . maybe he hadn’t wanted it as badly as you. Maybe he’d just given in, and ended up sticking around for it because he felt bad for you and got free sex on his end.

He’d left the comfort of Maya for the chaos of you. You were sure he’d do it again if you gave him long enough. . . Because all you’d done was add trouble to his life with the way you naturally were. The obnoxious, broken, damaged person you were. Your baggage was heavy and you knew it was due time before it weighed him completely down.

“Well I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience,” you fought back, guarded tears growing thicker in your eyes. You couldn’t will them away this time. “You’ve said what you wanted to say; it’s off your chest. So just let yourself be done with me,” you bitterly insisted. “Take a fucking breather from the ravaging storm that is me.”

“I never–,” he shook his head, looking away. A sharp breath had his lip curling as his hands went to comb through his hair. His eyes were wet when you saw them next. Fuck. Please don’t cry, baby.  “That’s not what I fucking mean and you know it! Why are you always assuming the worst about me? Always.”

“I don’t!” You argued, not believing your words for a second. You knew he was right. The tears, still resting at your ducts, started trickling down your cheeks. “I just– I know I have shit wrong with me. I know I’m the most controlling fucking person. I know that. But I’ve been through too fucking much to believe that you could actually want me. You shouldn’t want me, Jake! I’m–,” you started, choking on a sob. “I don’t even–. . .” You went to meet him across the island, putting your forearms on the counter as you rested your head between them. You let the tears win, letting them flow easily. Relentless trails of mascara on your cheeks and the arms you were crying into, you were sure. 

When you looked up to see him again, he was no longer standing there. 

See, Jake? You don’t want to stay. Why would you? Leave while you can. But why do I feel like I need you to stay? How did it come to this? 

Just as you were turning to look out the window to contemplate, he was back in the kitchen, a wet washcloth held in his hand. 

Stop taking care of me. You’re better than this.

But before you could argue with him, he was coming around the island to meet you, touching the warm cloth to your dampened cheek. And, like the selfish person you were, you let him clean your cheeks of the blackened tracks.

You stopped him, midway through him tending to the left side of your face, grabbing the cloth from him. “I can take it from here,” you muttered pitifully. “Please stop doing this.”

He relented, giving the cloth and standing across from you. His eyes watched you conscientiously as you finished cleaning your face. You set the cloth down on the counter. 

His brows were knitted when he spoke next. “Stop doing what?”

You choked on a dry sob. “Helping me,” you responded resolutely. And when it looked like he was about to fight you on it, you chose to bring out the knives and lies again. Don’t break, y/n. With your next words, you looked away from him. At your feet instead. Freshly painted, black toenails matching your heart.“I don’t want you to.” 

You had to lie. You had to protect him and his future from you. He had to get rid of you to do what was best for himself. But when you peered up at him through your wet lashes again, you questioned your methods. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he quickly sniffed, bringing a hand to his face to get rid of the exposure of emotion. 

He turned to look straight ahead, away from you. He looked up at the ceiling, putting his flexing hands in his front pockets. 

When he looked at you next, his eyes were still wet, but there was a fire behind them. God, you fucking hated this. “Is that what you truly want? All of this? Gone? Over? You don’t want any of what we’ve had?”

You couldn’t stand seeing him like this. This needed to be over. Your heart couldn’t handle much more of this.

“I don’t want you,” you said, bile rising in your throat. Fucking liar. “I never wanted you as badly as I let on. I just wanted sex and you were an easy target because you live with me. Available whenever I needed you.” Your throat constricted, heart racing. You didn’t look away from him, pinning him with your eyes, trying your best to void them of any emotion. “And I don’t need you anymore,” you said, the words tight and constricting your opposing heart. “You’ve served your purpose.”

His lips curl into a shaky smile, mirroring shock and disbelief. Brown eyes, pooling with tears despite how hard set they are. “So you don’t love me?”

Love him? What?

And then it was rushing back. 

Your mind, foggy and heart, completely transparent.

What you’d admitted to yourself and him in the hallway outside your room. 

Had he said it back? The details were fading from your memory, blurry at best. You couldn’t remember. 

Had you said it in response to him or just to expose yourself to him? 

Did you love him? Truly? 

You closed your eyes, needing to find a level ground as you felt completely shaky and unbalanced. How had you been so careless with your words? 

What did you feel? 

You know exactly how you feel, a calm, careful voice settled in your ear. You don’t have to deny it. 

Yes, I do. If I do love him, I have to deny it. It’s what’s best for him.

“When did I say that?” You asked, avoiding it to start.

His eyes cleared, opening up as if he were getting somewhere with you. 

You’re a coward, y/n. 

“The other night,” he clarified, sniffling again. “When the guys were here.”

I know.

“I don’t remember saying it,” you stated, firm. “So, maybe I did,” you said, his eyes still hopeful. “But if I was high when I said it, there was no validity behind it. I wasn’t me. My head was in the clouds.” His jaw set, lips a hard line. Tense. “So it’s not fucking true. That’s something that someone would remember saying if they actually meant it. And I don’t.”

This was all a giant fucking mess. Why did it have to be like this?

He only stared at you, his nostrils flaring. His eyes were narrowed. His thoughts, most likely spinning. He just didn’t articulate any of the thoughts you knew to be buzzing in his head. He closed his eyes, pushing his thumb and pointer finger against his eyelids. When he opened them, the blank look on his features was worse than any anger he’d ever emitted. 

The emotion was drained from him. Though, his hands were shaking as he untucked them into his front pockets. 

“Okay,” he responded, his tone matching his empty expression. He took a deep breath and went to turn around to leave the kitchen, messing with his hair.

One of his nervous ticks, you thought, morosely. 

But. . . You weren’t done. This couldn’t be it. 

You suddenly didn’t want this conversation to be over. We aren’t done yet. There was no closure for me. No agreement on his end.

You’d made the terrible realization that once this talk was over, you two were over. Ripping the bandaid off didn’t seem so attractive anymore. It was stupid, but you were already missing him as you watched him walk away. The sight of him leaving made even more tears accumulate in your eyes. You knew he wasn’t done— and neither were you. 

You snapped. “Jacob!”

Saying his name stopped him right before he could exit the kitchen. 

His shoulders tensed as he turned slowly, facing you. His expressionless face now took on all of the emotion you knew he wanted to feel.  

That’s it, you thought, challenging the man in front of you. Keep up with me.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” He snapped, patience completely gone. 

The line was being drawn. And as invisible as it was, you could still swear you saw it being drawn in the space between you and where he stood. 

“I want you to say that this is fucking over,” you fumed, your voice raising. 

He laughed hotly, rolling his eyes. He rubbed his chin, contemplating his next words. “I don’t want it to be fucking over. I want you to stop whatever game you’re playing. I know you and I know this is coming from somewhere deep in the roots of your trauma.”

“Don’t you dare use my trauma against me, fucker!” You roared, your skin red hot. 

He pointed a finger at you, accusing. “I am not using it against you! I’m trying to get you to snap out of this!”

“Snap out of what?!” You sneered back. You crossed your arms to hide the fact that you were shaking. “Finally being honest with you?!” You paused, a part of your heart break open of its own accord. “You were just going to fucking leave me anyway. This wasn’t meant to last. It never was.”

“Leave you?! That’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to leave you,” he begged you to understand. 

Your heart pressed firmly to your chest with how hard it was pounding. “My own fucking mom did it, Jake! So what in the hell would stop you from doing it, too?” You blinked away the tears that came with the way you were hurting yourself with these words. 

He brought two fisted hands to his eyes, his body stock still, but chest heaving as he let the words sit in the air around you. 

The words hanging in the air were mocking you, though, and you needed to hear him speak to clear their torment.

“Ja—.”

“Do not let your trauma dictate who you choose to think I am. Don’t use it as a way to tell me who I am. I’m not your mom. I’m not the people who have left you,” he breathed deeply, finally showing you his eyes. They were red. And as he ferociously wiped at his cheeks yet again, you noticed why they were bloodshot. When had he started crying? His hands flattened next to him with his next words, spread out and making a point. “Stop acting like I’m someone I’m not when I’ve proven that wrong time and again by being there for you.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, wanting nothing more than to cross the room and kiss him. Let him know how much you needed him and how the words you’d spoken in the hallway were true. 

But what’s best for him? His career? Remember how Josh said he didn’t need this right now? And neither do you.

“Well, I don’t want it,” you repeated your lie. “Accept that.”

Within seconds, his eyes shifted from sad and pleading to. . . Vacant. Right in front of your eyes, you witnessed how it felt to return back to square one with him. 

And you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so fucking terrible.

“I accept it,” he relented, tone empty of any feeling. Come back to me. “We’re done.”

The way your heart fell all the way to your feet— how your knees felt as though they would buckle under the heavy weight of emotion— made you regret every single thing you’d said. 

At that moment, you wanted to take it all back. But it was too late. 

The man you saw in front of you wasn’t your Jake. 

The man you saw was the one who’d entered your apartment on that destined day in May. Before you could even think to say anything to cut through the heaviness penetrating the room, he was gone. 

And you were giving into the way your knees begged to let you fall and you did, back against the opposite side of the island so he couldn’t see you. The tears fell, silent and unrelenting, as you heard the front door open and harshly close. Signaling the end you didn’t want, whatsoever.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 2, 2022

A little over one month later. . .

You woke up slowly, not wanting to face the day. 

Life was stressful and weird right now, and every time your eyes blinked open to face a new morning, you dreaded what the day might come with. 

Thankfully today, you had a distraction from the sadness of life. You were meeting with Theo across town at a coffee shop to study for an upcoming exam in one of your more studious courses.

When you’d created your course schedule for this semester, you’d loaded yourself down with 12 credits in required courses, and 4 credits in electives. You’d thought it to be a good idea: make your senior year count with a giant ass course load. Next semester was outlined as well. . . With 16 credits of its own.

But, it was not the best idea. 

It was causing waves upon waves of stress that you really didn’t need. You were grateful for how it helped (a little) in distracting you from your sorrow after losing what you had with Jake. . . But it made you dread going to school even more than you already did. You weren’t able to catch your breath. You’d never dreaded school until recently. You were going to school for writing when you still found yourself lacking a passion for it. The only thing that you looked forward to were the few music courses you had to take for your minor. 

The giant course load, the long hours at the B&G now that Josh only worked one day a week, Jake’s presence, Jake’s lack of presence. 

Your group of people had become extremely absent due to constantly working in the recording studio. Yes, recording studio. You were beyond proud and completely happy for them. . . but you’d hardly seen any of them for the past month. Even the one who lived with you. . . And the one thing you still had after you broke things off with Jake was at least having the opportunity to look at him every now and then. 

And, although you wouldn’t speak it out loud, you were so very glad that neither of you had brought up the prospect of him moving out amidst that terrible conversation in the kitchen. All you had left with him was the occasional glance (you to him, of course; he never looked at you anymore). 

Humiliating as it was, you hated the idea of him moving out. Even though you knew it would be coming sooner rather than later with his career picking up. But, even though he still lived with you, your schedules never aligned for you to see him much. The guys were recording artists now. They’d spent all of September, working with their manager as they accepted a record deal and started the process of recording music.

It was truly what all of their dreams were made of, and it was what you wanted Jake to have all along. . . But you selfishly missed seeing him. You were excited for him with what the future might bring, but you were also dreading his complete and utter lack of presence in your life. . . The thoughts of it all were draining you. 

All of the stress over that and school, had even started causing you to have a super upset stomach— you were vomiting every day from all that weighed on your mind – the jumbled mess your life had become. So, that’s why you’d made the executive decision to create some sort of schedule of things to distract you. You cleaned every Saturday evening, you met with Theo every Sunday, you jogged every morning like you used to (especially since you’d started fucking stress eating). . . 

You’d even taken time to try and healthily write thoughts in your journal, rather than keeping them all in your messy head. Although, all they did was translate as a depressing, convoluted mess on the pages.

But none of your coping strategies were truly what you wanted. What you were craving most was the person you’d pushed out of your life. The person who was now gone more than he was home. And when he was home, and you were able to catch a glimpse of him, all it did was hurt to look at him. Things were tense; you couldn’t even talk to him the way you wanted. It just hurt to be near him at all. But you wanted him. You just wanted him in ways you knew you couldn’t have him. Especially after you’d been the one to break things off.

You were upset that you’d gotten into anything with him in the first place. You knew it wasn’t meant to last, but you’d still let yourself get caught up in him. It had been impossible not to. It was all so natural with him. It was a giant joke that the universe had cast on your life: the one person you wanted was the one you could never have. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 8, 2022

Your boobs were hurting like you were about to start your period.

Anytime they felt heavy, looked bigger, or itched, you knew it was coming.

A telling sign. And for a week or two, they’d been that way.

It made you think about checking the period tracker app on your phone— see when it was coming. And when you had checked it, you realized you were late.

It’s because of all of the fucking stress, you thought, deducing it to only that to keep from worrying about anything else. There was no way it was anything else anyway. 

The only person you’d had sex with in recent months was Jake and he always pulled out. There was also the added piece of how you’d been weaning off of birth control for the past several  months. Late periods were known to occur while going off of that particular drug. 

You were checking the toilet paper every time you went pee, waiting to see blood on it. And when you finally did see just the slightest bit of blood, you decided to check for tampons in your bathroom cabinet. 

Aaand. . . You realized you were out of them. 

Needing to go to Walmart for a few groceries anyway (you’d eaten all of the Cosmic Brownies you’d recently bought and needed more immediately), you decided to make a quick run for necessities.

-🌼🌼🌼-

It took you longer than you had planned trying to find a box of damn tampons. Walmart was sold out of your go-to’s, and searching Google to figure out a good environmentally-friendly dupe was harder than you’d anticipated.

But, it must have been your lucky day. Because, as you stood there, a graying woman in the tell-tale blue vest came up with totes to stock the shelves. And, as she started unloading, you saw a box of your normal brand of products in a tote. 

Walking over, you started to kindly ask if you could have one of the boxes of tampons in her tote. . .but the smell of her perfume was so strong and outrageously floral– you could smell every hint of artificial rose. Your stomach churned at the obtrusion to your nose, so you backed away a bit to gain your bearings.

You went ahead and asked once you’d settled back a foot or two. When she smiled back at you, you felt bad for being so grossed out by the smell of her perfume, but damn she’d layered it on thick . . .

“Which kind, sweetheart?” Her voice wobbled with her age, the hump in her back much more prominent when she went to bend down to grab it for you.

You extended a delicate hand, touching her frail arm to stop her. “Oh, ma’am,” you said, causing her to look up at you. “You don’t have to get them out. I can do it.” She raised a brow, so you hastily added, “If you don’t mind, of course.”

It took everything in you to not help her up from her slightly bent position, as you didn’t want to break any boundaries. You also weren’t sure if you could handle being so close to her with the way she smelled like an artificial flower shop. . .your tummy was still rolling with the scent and you didn’t want to puke on the poor thing. 

When she stood back up, as straight as she could, her smile was bright behind her magenta lipstick. 

“Oh, sweetie,” she winked a glassy eye, placing her hand on your arm this time. You smiled as she continued, “You are one of the rare ones, aren’t you?” 

“What do you mean?” You giggled, holding your nose a bit when her hand came up to touch you. How much of the stuff had she sprayed on herself?

“Willing to help your elders?” She questioned, thankfully letting go and stepping back again. 

You took a breath and blinked, not expecting that. “Oh, of course. I wouldn’t ever think of doing anything different,” you shook your head, your grin sticking to your lips. “I don’t want you having to do that for me.”

“Well, you are just too sweet, honey. If you’re sure, I’m going to continue stocking. You go ahead and get it out, honey.”

With that, she walked back to her prior job. 

And when you bent to get your tampons, your stomach lurched. Again. Just like it’d been doing for the past week or so. But, you felt like you might actually vomit, and you didn’t want to do that in the Walmart totes. So, you put a hand to your mouth when you stood back up. 

The woman—Wanda, her name tag said— looked over at you. Her brow wrinkled when she asked, “You alright, honey?”

Swallowing, you nodded, knitting a brow. “Oh, yeah. Don’t you worry about me.”

She nodded back, almost turning back to her job when she stopped. “You know, it’s so funny. I remember once back in my day, when I was around your age, I was in an aisle just like this one. . . Getting my own napkins, searching high and low for them,” she chuckled. You smiled kindly, unsure of why she was telling you this. You were about to turn on your heel with a quick goodbye when her voice stopped you. “But, it’s funny, I searched so hard that day, and later that week. . . I found out I was pregnant!” She got a kick out of that one, slapping her tiny thigh. “I’d been late for weeks.”

In contrast to her humorous state, your stomach sank. . . Plummeting to your knees. 

But before you could say anything back, she was being called by her supervisor to help locate an item. She waved a quick goodbye, and you barely registered it. Your thoughts were going insane.

No. There was no way. You knew you were late. . . But you weren’t that late. 

School had just been stressful. Your anxiety building up to you being sick and everyth—. Fuck. Your nausea. 

No. No no no no.

It wasn’t possible.

Standing stock still in that aisle, you measured your thoughts the best you could. Tried to make them all slow the fuck down. Flashbacks of Jake infiltrated your mind, him being the only one to have aided in that possibility.

The only guy you’d slept with in months. And he always, always pulled out. Without fail. Fuck. Absolutely not. Why were you even thinking of him? Of that? Entertaining that thought? 

It wouldn’t have even been a blip of an idea had that lady not mentioned anything. Hurriedly, you scampered down the aisle, wanting to get out of dodge of the ladies’ aisle. But just as you’d passed the pregnancy tests, you stopped in your tracks, walking back to them. 

There is no fucking way this is possible, you thought. You shook your head, almost continuing out of the aisle again. 

But. That dreadful voice nagged at you, causing you to stay in your place. 

Better safe than sorry, y/n, it seemed to remark smartly to you. What’s the harm in checking?

And without really thinking, you were getting out your phone to search for the most accurate tests. You weren’t about to get a false positive that might freak you out for no reason. As you navigated the best brands on a blog, bile rose in your throat, your tummy doing somersaults. 

You didn’t want to think about it as you eyed the Clear Blue tests. This was stupid anyway. But you went to grab one, in spite of you knowing you literally weren’t pregnant. 

You didn’t know why you were fucking embarrassed as you reached for the box of tests. It wasn’t like you weren’t a grown ass fucking woman. And it wasn’t like you were actually pregnant. There was no way in hell. This was just a precaution to prove to yourself that you were overthinking things. There was no way.

Every single time you’d been with Jake, he’d pulled out. Every. Single. Ti–.

Then, it came back. The night you’d gotten high on Josh’s fucking green. 

Fuck. 

It had been one of the most euphoric times you’d had sex with Jake. That much you could remember–and you hadn’t forgotten how good it had felt for a damn second. And, the more you thought about it. . . It dawned on you as your stomach rolled. 

Knowing how into it you’d been. . . How good it had been. The weed hindering your decision— probably hadn’t used fucking protection then. 

Dammit.

Most likely, you knew he hadn’t pulled out. You’d both been so out of it. . . too lost in the moment. (A moment that you had, admittedly, been waiting for– feeling his naked cock inside of you, throbbing as he released his hot seed inside of you. . .)

And, as you stood under the judging, bright fluorescent lights of fucking Wally World, the words were coming back to you. . . the entire moment was flooding back to you. Whether you wanted it to or not.

You felt your legs quiver, your heat clenched around him as your clit twitched with need. 

So close. Fuck. 

His eyes rolled, his lids shutting with the feeling. He bit his pink lip. His lips, still swollen from your kisses and shiny from your release. The butterflies in your stomach started fluttering ferociously, the familiar feeling overtaking you as your body trembled– your nerves humming. 

You were about to finish. And you had to do it with him. 

Completely. 

“Y/n,” he gasped, warning you. “I’m going to fucking cum.”

You felt his cock pulse inside of you, confirming his words. 

“I know,” you said, for the third time. “But I need to feel you. I want you to finish inside of me.”

His eyes bugged. “Y/n– fuck. No. No. You are under the influence. You don’t want–.”

You felt your chest flare with irritation at his words. “Jake, I swear to fuck,” you whined, your eyes shutting as one particular nudge of his cock against your folds pushed you nearly over the edge. “Please, Jake. Please, baby. I promise you won’t be taking advantage or some shit. I need it. Please. Let me have it. Just this one time.”

Let our last time be special, you thought. You tried to let your eyes echo your thoughts, willing him to understand. 

He seemed to, because his next words were less apprehensive– an air of eagerness and an air of excitement painting his tone with his next words. “Are you sure?”

“More than sure,” you reassured, smoothing your thumb across his sharp cheekbone. 

And with one last buck from his hips, your clit twitched and your legs turned to Jell-o. All composure was lost–shuddering and heart chanting his name. 

Then, with a final groaned growl, his eyelids drooped, and his irises hazily watched you. His mouth relaxed to an ‘o’ shape, just the same as it did when he played his beloved instrument. You felt the glorious feeling of his release, as he spilled warm and plentiful inside of you. 

You remember now that, in your hazy state, you’d banked on everything being okay. Because you were going to get a Plan B. . .

But, there’d never been a Plan B. 

You felt a cold sweat develop on your forehead as your hands became clammy with fear. Your hand trembled as you held the box of Clear Blue tests tightly to your chest. 

You didn’t need this. Fuck. He didn’t need this.

It was just a fluke. There was no way. It was one time.

So, that’s why, when you reached out to get a box of First Response tests, you knew it was just to back up what you knew. 

Two different types of tests to confirm the truth. Double reassurance.

It was not possible at all that you were pregnant. How fucking often does it happen after just one time? An hour later, when you got home, you decided to push the tests all the way to the back of your underwear drawer. 

You decided to hide them because you knew it was stupid to even begin to think of the impossible. And you were not about to entertain such an asinine idea. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 15, 2022

You put off taking the test for as long as you possibly could. Tried to ignore the fact that it was even in your drawer.

Even though you knew there was a chance that you were, you didn’t want to sit on it, in the case that it might not be true. Because it more than likely wasn’t. But when that week trickled into the next, and you still hadn’t been greeted by Aunt Flo, you started getting more and more worried. 

And the puking didn’t let up for anything. . . In fact, only getting progressively worse. 

Which, on the Saturday of the next week, clicked as a horrid sign to you. 

No.

Surely the fuck not. It was just stress. There was no harm in taking the test to prove yourself right. So, you gave in and went to grab the test after you’d done your newly scheduled weekly cleaning of the apartment, that next Saturday night. You decided it was ideal to do it then since Jake was gone performing at another festival with the guys.

Halloween-themed festival this time. . . And as fun as it’d sounded, you knew when Josh had texted you about it that there was no way in hell you were going to go to that. 

Biggest reason being that you and Jake were still not on speaking terms, and you didn’t want to test those waters. You also didn’t want to run the risk of seeing Maya. Because you already knew that seeing her might actually make you keel over and vomit. 

And also, Elsie was too busy to attend, so you for goddamned sure weren’t going to attend and experience anything negative without your wingwoman. So, you’d given a half-assed, ridiculous excuse of homework. Thankfully, he was wonderfully Josh and didn’t give you any trouble over it.

But, it meant Jake was gone tonight, and you could take the test without running into him. The night was still young, and you had plenty of time to get it done and out of the way before he got back.

Grabbing the tests felt like you were taking a giant leap into a field of the unknown and that was terrifying as hell to you. But you didn’t let it stop you from reaching your shaking hand into the deepest tresses of your underwear drawer. Once in hand, you rushed to the bathroom.

Calm down, y/n. Just breathe, you coached yourself, as you read the giant Over 99% Accurate! at the top of each box. Chances are very slim. You just have to take the tests. 

You read the instructions on the back of each box at least five times. Each box had three different forms of tests: two regular tests and one digital for both brands. And you were about to pee on all six. 

Wait. That might not work. How do you even stall your fuckin’ pee like that? For six tests? And still be totally sure it’s accurate? You didn’t want to chance inaccuracy of any kind, so you thought of your next best option. On a whim, you squatted to look in the under-sink cabinet for Dixie cups. You could not for the life of you remember the last time you bought those, but maybe. . .

Aha! 

Shoved to the back of the cabinet, forgotten, was a dispenser you now remember as Elsie’s. Her dental routine, always having been extensive, now coming in extremely handy. Once you had your hands on it, you pulled one cup sticking out of the top. 

Last one. Damn. Lucky day.

Let’s just keep getting lucky, then.

So, you sat down to pee, after reviewing the instructions for the both brands of sticks once more. 

And, once you’d peed in the cup, washed your hands, and built up the final bit of courage to do it, you opened the boxes. As quickly as you could, you got all six out, unwrapped them, and then dipped each tab in the little cup. Once you felt they’d all been dipped the perfect amount, you laid them out on the counter and set the timer on your phone.

All six laid there, taunting you and your stupid, careless decision. The two digitals next to one another, blinked with the time until results appeared. The four other tests’ screens, all got colored, one-by-one by your pee. Gross.

Deciding you couldn’t watch, you went ahead and fed Stevie during the waiting period. You left your phone on the counter, too, the volume turned up all the way so you’d be able to hear the alarm.

Just before you threw the boxes away in the kitchen, you read the backs of them once more. One part stuck out to you, the piece of information you were reading, both reassuring you and terrifying you all at once. 

“This pregnancy test detects the “pregnancy hormone” (hCG), which starts showing up in your urine shortly after implantation. Plus, its DualSense(TM) Technology may help prevent false positives in the very small number of non-pregnant women who may have low levels of hCG in their urine.”

At least I know they’ll show me accurate results. Like the fact that I’m not pregnant, you recited, once more. 

You bent over to feed your fluffy gray cat, but when you did, you felt the usual wave of sickness flood your senses. But there was no stopping it like you were sometimes able to do. Thankfully, you were able to get her food in the dish and still make it back over to the toilet, in time to empty the contents of your stomach.

And, as if on cue, just as you flushed it down, the timer on your phone went off. 

You suddenly wanted Elsie there with you, holding your hand as you met your fate. But you quickly pushed that to the side, remembering that this was on you. This was your mistake to face. And your body. You had to be the one to make all of the choices that followed any possible, unwanted result. You had to face this alone. This was on you.

By The Seaside’s cheery tone did not match your sick tummy or the dread that was pooling at the bottom of it. It was as though bricks had been piled there, keeping you on the ground until the tone started getting so infuriating, you couldn’t take the sound any longer. You also didn’t want to wait so long to possibly get inaccurate results.

Your eyes were pinched shut as you stood up. Yes, to keep the dizziness subdued, but mostly out of fear for what awaited you on the countertop. When you opened your eyes, you directed your sight first to your phone, pressing the STOP button to turn off the seriously grating alarm tone. 

Before you even glimpsed the counter holding your (possible) future, you knew what you were going to see.

And you were proven terribly correct.

Four tests with two pink lines on each screen. Two digitals saying two words you didn’t want to think true. . .

YES (with a stupid little plus sign) on one and Pregnant, big, fat, and bold on the other.

Fitting. Big and fat. Just like I’m about to fucking be.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You laid in bed crying for hours. You didn’t even remember getting to your bed. But by some miracle you did. And you never wanted to leave it. This was the last thing you fucking wanted. Really. 

You avoided touching your stomach for a while, not wanting to make any association to the unspeakable reality of your situation.

A fucking baby wasn’t in the cards at all. It couldn’t be.

You could not have this baby. No way, no how. You and Jake weren’t ever going to work as a couple. For prior reasons and because you fucking stomped out any of that possibility with the hateful, untrue things you’d told him in August. 

Then, there was the career aspect. If you were afraid of Jake compromising his career for you, you knew he would most probably (most definitely) put his career on hold for his own fucking kid. And you refused to let that happen. It was not an option for a baby to get in the way of the lifelong dream he was finally living out. He was more important than that being halted for a barely-there kid.

You still had no earthly clue what the fuck you were going to do with your life, but even you refused to quit your life for a baby you didn’t want. Before you could schedule the appointment, though, you were sobbing yourself to sleep.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You woke to the telling sound of the front door opening and closing. 

Your eyes were difficult to open. But, as you pried your red and puffy lids open, you squinted at your phone screen to see a text from Els and the fact that it was 2:30 a.m. 

Dear god, where has he been?, you thought, irritated at being woken at an ungodly hour on this wretched night. All you wanted to do was sleep. 

But, you couldn’t stop yourself from contemplating where he’d been. . . you soon regretted the train of thought. Because, you knew exactly why he’d been out so late. It was the same reason he used to stay out late. Women. Now, it was Maya, most likely. 

You blew into yet another tissue from your bedside table. The disgusting pile of dirty kleenex from your delightful evening had come to cover the pretty white painted wood. 

Just like this horrid situation is going to take over my life if I don't stop it from happening.

Taking comfort in what you could control in the present, you decided to get off of your worthless ass to throw away the tissues in your bedroom’s trash basket. 

Shit.

The trash.

Without giving a thought what Jake’s reaction would be to your swollen red face, you made a beeline from your bedroom to the kitchen’s waste bin.

Gratefully, he was nowhere to be seen. And when you heard the shower turn on, you knew you were safe for a bit. So you hurriedly wrapped up the bag and ran it down the concrete stairs to the complex’s dumpster. On the way back up the stairs, you rushed, too, as you didn’t want to risk seeing Jake at all. You didn’t know how long he’d be in the shower, and considering it was late, you figured he’d be in and out.

Right before you were able to grace the last step on your way up the stairs, you nearly tripped.

And, just as you gasped, catching yourself from mid-fall, you also protectively grabbed another part of your body. 

Only on instinct, you defended the choice. 

But as you made the rest of the way to the apartment, you didn’t move the hand from the bottom of your belly.

You couldn’t defend that.

To your relief, when you made it back up, hesitantly opening the door, you realized Jake was still in the shower. As you put a new bag in, you had to let go of your tummy. And it was fine. You didn’t miss the contact. 

It was just instinct before.

But, just as you finished with your job, you were no longer alone. 

You watched him leave the bathroom, towel around his waist. The waist you’d hungrily gripped so many times before. . . But, in recent times’ fashion, he didn’t look your way for even a millisecond. You knew why. You knew you’d been an asshole and said terrible things you could never take back.

You said what you did for good reason, your inner, brutally honest voice reminded you for the 80th time in the past month. 

For as long as you could, you let your eyes follow his body, surely still warm from his shower. He was so completely handsome. His long, dark, wet hair, sticking to his tanned, broad shoulders, which shined with water droplets. Droplets that trickled to dip below the towel at his waist. . .just as you’d witnessed them do before. 

Before. Better times.

Though, as soon as he was in your line of sight, he was gone.

Minutes later, you were back in the safety of your bed, trying to not think about your roommate, wet and possibly naked next door as you searched Google for a Planned Parenthood near you.

And, as you were scheduling your appointment, you refused to acknowledge the soft thoughts that were entering your brain.

A baby. Not so bad. . .Soft. Cuddly. Sweet. Yours. . .

Jake’s.

But before you could hit the precipice of overthought, you reminded yourself that it was unreasonable and it would be selfish to keep the baby. It would be you halting Jake in one more way.

And, just as you were tiptoeing the edge of a deep slumber, an even more devastating thought entered your mind.

You could absolutely not have this child.

Because, based on your tumultuous past of mistreating other people, how would this poor, innocent baby be any different? Be safe from you? Even with the gut-wrenching thoughts, you fell into sleep easily. Crying always took it out of you. Now you could blame part of it on the life you were growing inside of you. 

Without thinking of it, your hand found your still-flat belly again as you drifted off. . .

But, when you did, your sleep was not that easy. Your dreams, ever-vivid. A mixture of wonderful, pastel-colored moments with a giggling baby, a glowy morning light tickling her pretty features. . . 

Then the terrible ones where you saw yourself as the exact person who’d hurt you most. . .Your mother.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 29, 2022

Unbeknownst to you at the time you’d scheduled your Planned Parenthood appointment, you’d planned it for the same day as Josh’s annual Halloween bash.

The one he would be hosting at your house, just as he always had. And, he’d planned it when he always did. The Saturday before Halloween. You just hadn’t thought of it when you’d scheduled. 

So many people in your home, on the day of an appointment for which you’d had equal parts apprehensiveness and eagerness. . . maybe slightly more apprehensive. Either way, they were two completely different emotions. And you weren’t sure how in the hell you’d handle them once the deed was actually done. . . So the prospect of coming back to an apartment full of people to feel it all was not your favorite.

Good thing was, you’d at least been able to reschedule your appointment for earlier in the day, which would end up giving you plenty of time to cry and cope on the drive home, get back home, cope some more, and then dress up. . . And then you’d be fine. . . right?

You’d decided to put off the appointment for as long as you felt like you could. The night you’d found out had been a shitshow of emotions. But when you awoke the next day, there had been a new light that hadn’t appeared the night before when you’d read the tests. 

A light that left you feeling unsure of ending it so quickly. You just hadn’t felt totally comfortable going in so soon without giving it time. You’d wanted time to process it. So, you’d scheduled it far enough out to do so. 

Two weeks. You decided that giving yourself two weeks to really think it through, would help you have enough leeway to think and come to a sensible conclusion.

But. . . you still hadn’t come to one. Not really.

You’d at least had the two weeks on your own, the apartment being void of Jake. The boys’ record label had suggested going to a cabin in the middle of the woods to write music and spend that time together, just them. They’d left roughly midway through the first week after you’d found out. Much as you wanted to deny it, you had missed him. His presence. But him being gone had been what you needed to thoroughly digest it all. Theorize. Imagine all kinds of scenarios for you and the baby. 

But the days and the nights were different– a total contrast of each other. And you’d bounced back and forth between the strong, all encompassing feelings for long enough that you’d made your decision. Even though it wasn’t necessarily an easy decision, you knew it was what needed to happen.

Most nights, you fell asleep, holding your belly (a little excited by it growing just the slightest bit in the past two weeks). . . You’d come to the same conclusion anytime your head hit the pillow. The euphoric, pastel dreams. The precious baby you could hold and love, safe in your arms.

You knew what you wanted at those moments and it felt heavenly, honestly. . .

But the utter trainwreck of thoughts that plagued you in the daytime were what had you getting into your car, putting the clinic in your Maps app. Tumbling between your thoughts of not harming Jake and not becoming your mother and harming the child, you’d made the final decision of what was best for all parties involved. 

Especially the baby you held in your womb. 

Your hand went to its natural resting place, the bottom of your faintly protruding tummy, where you imagined your baby growing steadily. You hadn’t researched how big it was or even let yourself do the math of how far along you were. No tracker apps. No research. It would keep you disconnected enough to go through with the most beneficial option for everyone.

Avoiding all of the fun things had been difficult, as you’d spent every waking minute thinking about the life inside of you. The baby motivated you. Kept you going when you started feeling sad. . . Weird as it was, the tiny little bean in your belly was inspiring you on a daily basis. 

But, as you came to the first stoplight on your journey, you remembered this was best.

The appointment was at the Hempstead clinic. You’d made it at that location, forty minutes away from your home, in the hopes you wouldn’t see anyone you knew. No one knew about the life inside of you and you had decided it probably needed to stay that way.

It had become increasingly burdensome to keep it from your Elsie. There’d never been a time in your life where you didn’t tell her everything. Keeping the thing with Jake from her had already been hard enough, so adding a baby to the mix made it rise tenfold. Any time she Facetimed you, texted you, or called you, you wanted to tell her. A couple of times you almost slipped up. 

But telling her that would mean admitting everything about you and Jake. The sex. The feelings you’d developed. The way you’d cut things off. . .

And you didn’t want her advice. Weren’t ready for the way she’d react to it all. She always seemed to conflict with your ideas on things like this. . . the hard decisions you’d make. She was notorious for saying you “make things too hard for yourself” and to “let go of the heaviness”, but all you normally heard was “I don’t understand what you’re feeling, but I’m going to tell you this worthless piece of advice anyway.” You knew she’d judge how you ended things. She’d question it. Quiz you.

Now was not the time for any of that. You already had your constant, terribly rude voice of reason that coached you through the tough things. So, as much as it tempted you, you didn’t dare mention any of it to your sister: your time with Jake or what it had ended up producing in your uterus.

(There was also the crippling fear that she may slip up and tell Josh. . .and he was the last person you wanted to find out. . .The fear of disappointing him two times the amount as before.)

But, at this moment, as you joined the crazy busy traffic on the highway, soul music lifting your spirits as high as they could go, you wished she was there to talk it through with you. So for the thousandth time, you tried doing it yourself. The same thoughts you’d gone over and over for the past two weeks.

The first thing you thought of every time your mind started rambling was what it could and would honestly, truthfully be like. 

How could you actually make it work? 

Usually, this was where you’d lose hope, telling yourself you absolutely couldn’t make it work. . . start derailing from the possibility of happiness. . . but as that certain Aretha Franklin song came on your fucking shuffle. . . 

Like an eagle protects his nest, for you I'll do my best

Stand by you like a tree and dare anybody to try and move me

Darlin' in you I've found, strength where I was torn down

I don't know what's in store, but together we can open any door

The lyrics inspired your thoughts to take a surprising turn for a. . . promising, positive outlook.

There was most likely a way you could make sure to hold Jake to his dream. You could encourage him to stay on track. You’d been able to talk through things with him before. Even though things were weird now, you could do it again. . . probably. Hopefully. Do what you always did and make a list of reasons why he should, get him to understand the importance of him not giving up on it. . . 

Then the darkness filtered in a bit, reminding you of how hateful you’d been to him during your last conversation. Would he listen to you? Could you blame him if he didn’t want to? And the recycled thought of how toxic you were. . . You’d cared so deeply for him and still allowed yourself to talk that way to him to protect him. What in the hell would you say to your child to protect it in the future? Why was your idea of loving someone so fucked up? 

Could you fix that? Figure it out? 

At the very least, you could try. For your baby. For you.

You merged lanes, the track slipping into the next. You turned the volume down to hear your thoughts. Give them your attention.

How would you raise the baby? As roommates? Weird. Friends? Sad. You couldn’t cross the territory from before again. That would make things too complicated for the baby. . .And probably for you while you figured things out. Getting lost in him again wasn’t an option. The glorious fucking– it wasn’t an option. Did he even want that? Probably the fuck not. . . But you knew he’d make something work for the baby. . . He’d make sure the baby felt safe with an arrangement between the two of you. You knew the kind heart he held in his chest.

You could do it as friends and make it okay. You could. Even if it broke your heart to only be his friend as you raised a baby together. You would do it for your baby. For him. You would do it for him–because you'd cut things off with him for a reason. A solid reason. And a baby didn’t change that. 

In fact, a baby affirmed that it stayed the way you had made it. . . You’d made a mess and he didn’t need to be distracted by you. You could share the baby, yes, but you were the obvious primary caretaker. You’d take over whenever he was away or needed time to focus. . . It wouldn’t be fully on him to handle a baby. 

It would barely be on him. You were the mom. This was your thing.

But, it would be fully on him to handle your bullshit. You weren’t worthy of a relationship like he could offer. And he didn’t need to be on your healing journey with you while he pursued what made him feel happy and fulfilled. Just like the rules had stated: you weren’t his responsibility.

Responsibility. . .he didn’t need to have any with the baby, honestly. He didn’t need to be involved. Only if he wanted to be. You weren’t going to force him. 

But damn, you wanted him there for all of it. From birth up until the day of college graduation. . . 

The sound of your phone ringing through Hands Free interrupted your train of thought, right as you got on the exit you needed to take to get you closer to the clinic. You didn’t even look at the caller ID as you pressed the answer button, focusing on the tricky road you’d made it to instead. You knew it was probably Josh or Elsie, calling to figure out something about tonight.

“Hello?” you said, loud enough for the other person to hear, starting the conversation.

“Hey.”

The voice you heard through the sound system of your car was almost enough to make you veer off of the roads, actually making you swerve the slightest bit.

Jake. Why was he calling?

“H-hey,” you stuttered, not sure where to even begin in conversation with him. You hadn’t spoken for a damned month, and now you knew you were carrying his baby. . . things were strange. Altered. Poles apart from before. You covered your wavering response with as much truth as you could tell. “Sorry, driving on some weird roads. On my way to a doctor’s appointment right now.”

“It’s fine,” he responded, voice hard and clipped. Unfamiliar. He’s not your Jake. Your heart fell as you felt that newfound (or re-found?) tension fill the conversation. “Just calling to tell you I’m leaving my key with Josh so he can get in to decorate. Thought you’d wanna know.”

Your brow wrinkled, suddenly curious and a little irritated. “Josh has a key. . .?” You took another exit that indicated how many miles you had left until your destination. 

“I lost the little fuckin’ thing,” Josh’s voice now reverbrated, grainy through your speakers. You smiled at the sound of him, but turned down the volume to make it less overpowering, in case he talked again. “I’m so sorry, love!”

“It’s fine, Joshy,” you conceded with a sigh. “Hope I don’t get a burglar or some shit thanks to you,” you were joking, but also completely serious. “You’re replacing the entire apartment if that happens.”

“You’ve got it, Mama,” he responded dutifully. 

But the only thing you could hear was mama. . .Mama, mama. . .fuck.

Your hands started sweating as you noticed your Map had you down to three minutes until you made it. Rather than making it obvious that you were lost in thought, you started talking. Using it as a way to distract yourself as well. (More so for yourself, if you were being honest.)

“I thought Elsie was coming to help you? She has one.”

“Her plane got delayed and she’s going to be getting here later than she planned,” Jake replied to you, short in his response. “See you la–.”

“Is she okay?” You asked, your heart rate increasing at the thought of her possibly being stuck somewhere. “Is she safe? I’ve been driving. Do you think she’s tried texting me? Josh, is she okay?”

You heard Josh chuckle, which eased your nerves. “Yes, she’s perfectly fine,” he confirmed gently. “She’s on the flight now, and if things line up, she should be here in two hours, so we’re good.”

“Okay, goo–.”

“And I’m sure she’s texted you because you both text each other non-fuckin’-stop,” he pointed out. Then you heard him laugh at himself. “No–I love it. But she’s okay.”

Jake’s voice, annoyed, broke through the flow of your conversation with his brother. “Alright, well, see you la–.”

Just as you pulled up to the clinic, you cut him off. “Jake.” Truthfully, the reason you kept him on the line was because your heart was heavily thrumming in your ears, vision tunneling. . . You just needed to hear his voice. He couldn’t hang up yet. “Why won’t you be there to let him in?”

He sighed, the sound making your heart slow down a little. You could imagine him rubbing his face or giving you a look that said “really?”. But he actually responded kindly, sounding like himself. “I have a few things to do before the party. I won’t be home.”

Even though you so badly wanted to ask what those things were, just to continue hearing his voice, you didn’t keep him. It wasn’t your place to know and you knew better than to ask anymore questions that weren’t your business. 

“Okay.” You paused, thinking if it was okay to ask what you wanted to next. Just go for it. “Are you going to be at the party?”

Embarrassing to ask, but here you were. 

“Yes. . .?” He replied, tone questioning. 

Relief. That was what you were feeling. You were relieved that he’d be there. 

He waited a few beats and then spoke again. “. . .Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering if you’d be at the party,” you rushed out, not wanting to push him further.

The next thing you heard throughout the body of your car was Josh’s voice again. He was hurling expletive after expletive. And then, “Did you see that, Jake? Did you see that?” in the background of the call.

It was enough to make you laugh. You’d been there for his loss of patience on the road. Completely oblivious drivers getting an earload from the man in the next car over. It was even funnier when you’d look over to see them grinning, or singing along to a song. . .no idea that they were getting called horrendous names.

Simply watching him lose his cool on others was entertaining because it was hardly ever seen. The best thing you could think to compare him to was an angry leprechaun when he’d start on his little road rage fits. 

And without warning, the sound you needed to hear most rushed through the car and into your ears. Jake’s lovely, raspy chuckle. It’d been so long since you’d heard it. Too long. (You might’ve turned up your volume a smidge in hopes of hearing it again.)

The insane person in you wanted to ask him to do it again. But, obviously, you didn’t.

Though, he didn’t immediately try to hang up when he spoke next. When you heard him again, it was almost like you could imagine the past month hadn’t happened. The talk in the kitchen hadn’t happened. . . things were normal. You were okay. He was okay. Both of you, peaceful . . .blissful.

“Are you good?” He asked smoothly– familiarly. Jake. And, you were sure your ears were fooling you, but you swore you could hear a hint of concern in his tone. 

You weren’t sure what to say. This was more than you expected from him by far. . . Shocked was an understatement. What you wanted was to open up, tell him every last thing on your mind, but you knew you couldn’t do that anymore. 

You plainly weren’t. You put a hand on your tummy and aimed to match his sincerity in your tone. Settling with a, “Yeah, I’m good,” as your reply.

I miss you, though, you added, silently.

“Alright,” he said. But he didn’t hang up. Instead, the line stayed connected almost as though he was. . .waiting? Was he? Possibly waiting for you to talk more? Like he used to? Giving you time? But before you could think any further, he was wrapping it up. “See you later.” 

The tone clicked off, leaving you in the silence of your car briefly before your eardrums got attacked by Marvin Gaye’s voice. 

“Shit.”

You reached the knob, turning down the volume. 

Had I really turned it up that loud? 

You shook your head as you giggled to yourself at the fact that you’d been so obscenely desperate to hear him laugh.

But, his laugh. . . Exactly what you needed to keep calming down. . . That laugh. . . And the way his eyes would light up with it.

Oh, fuck. . .

His eyes.

His wonderful eyes. Amber-brown. The first thing you’d noticed about him. They were so kind and so open when he cared for someone he spoke to. . . Even sparkling sometimes when he’d smile. . .

And without warning, you could see it. Clear as day. A baby with Jake’s kind eyes. 

A baby that was part of him. . . 

You let yourself sit on that. Think about it. Just that. Not about all of the intricate, fine-tuned details. No, just thought about the simple fact that this baby was half Jake.

Half of someone who’d brought so much unadulterated joy to your life. If you were always honest with yourself, you knew he wasn’t what had caused you to become distracted, sad, and in your head. . . you’d done that to yourself. All he had done was be a listening ear. A helper. A lover. A friend. . .

He’d done nothing wrong. You knew this. And imagining a baby who could bring the same light to the world as him. . .Even if all the baby had were his eyes, that would be enough. But then there was his heart. The beautiful heart and passion his child would no doubt have. It would be inevitable. Especially being the child of you two. . . but his passion shining through a kid? 

You could not get it out of your head. You didn’t want to. It was all so beautiful to imagine. . .You also didn’t want to rid the world of a gift that could be so wonderful as Jake Kiszka.

The little details could be worked out. You would work on yourself. You would try your best to be the best you could be. . .

You would. Had to do it for yourself and your baby.

Determined, you turned off your car. And when you went inside Planned Parenthood, you canceled your appointment. You tried your best to shut off your brain to any of its usual worrying for the sake of the life you now knew without a doubt you wanted to keep. Hold. Love.

And as you were driving home, the nerves were gone and replaced with relief. Your baby would be okay. You’d make damn sure of it.

When you took the final exit off the highway to reach the city streets that led to your apartment, you got logical again. Now, the logic didn’t worry you. It didn’t make you feel unsure. This logic felt safe. You were working things out– not just getting rid of something to temporarily patch up a hole. Yes, you were more than self-aware. You knew you did that shit.

It was what you’d done your whole life to feel safe. But it wasn’t what the baby did. It wasn’t what the baby needed. And now, the baby in your belly would also get what it needed. 

As you rolled into your parking spot, you started searching the best apps to use and downloaded all of the most reliable trackers. The loading apps made you feel jittery with anxiety, but in a good way you’d never felt before.

Later on in your pregnancy, you knew it was possible you could end up regretting the choice to keep the kid. You’d done nothing to prepare for a child and the fear of being completely out of control was daunting. But that was what adoption was for. 

You just couldn’t be the reason that the world lost such a precious piece of Jake. Because, even if you couldn’t keep the baby yourself, you needed to at least see such an inevitably beautiful person enter this world. And, you didn’t have to be out of control in all of this. You could keep your hands on it all. Stay aware and informed. . . Help the baby. . . Feel purpose. You could do something good and worthwhile.

You walked up the stairs to your building, watching your every step while you kept one firm hand on your lower tummy. The apps that had loaded were dying to be opened. But you were going to shower and start getting ready before you gave yourself that reward.

For the first time in your life, you had a shaky-ass, unsure plan. But it was oddly the first time in your life you felt like you could conquer your shit. You could take it by the horns and start working on it. For you. For your baby. The baby that motivated and inspired you so much already. . .It all felt so freeing.

You unlocked your front door, finding the place was still empty. Your shoulders relaxed as the day started draining from you. The past two weeks, honestly. . . You moved your shoulders a little to loosen the muscles from their pent-up tension, took deep breaths in and out, in and out. . .

You breathed a sigh of contentment, placing your delicate hand on where the baby grew. 

And as you got into the shower, you realized something. . .

The persistent voice that always accompanied you, helping you feel less alone in your hurt. . . had been silenced. Was that okay? That it wasn’t there to guide you? Had you been able to turn it off? 

You weren’t sure how to feel about it. But, as you kept glancing down at your slightly rounded tummy as you showered, you came to a clarifying thought.

You weren’t alone anymore. Didn’t have to be. Maybe the voice was no longer needed. Maybe this was the beginning of a massive change.

Giggling to yourself as you dried off, you thought to yourself.

Duh, it’s a massive change. The biggest. And one I’m ready to welcome.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When Elsie’s plane landed at the airport, Josh had already been at your place decorating for an hour or two. And as soon as she texted, he was gathering his things and giving you instructions on finishing up the place. 

Then, he left to pick her up. 

Finally.

You breathed a sigh of relief when he ended up leaving. 

The thoughts that’d swarmed your head in such close proximity to him had been too much. It was weird being around him now, knowing who you were carrying. Josh being completely oblivious (and probably unapproving if he were to find out) caused you some incredible anxiety. While you’d come to the realization that there was no doubt you wanted to have the baby, the thought of people finding out was making your nerves short circuit. 

Especially Josh. He was still the main person you didn’t want knowing of you and Jake. Same as always, you didn’t want him to feel betrayed, or like you’d let yourself be to Jake what Amelia had been to him (destroying his dreams for your gain). And now, you knew how much worse it could end up being when he found out about your child. You figured that he would feel like he’d been left totally in the dark. Which, he had been. . .but for good reason.

You just felt guilty over it.

Taking instructions from him on how to finish up some of the decorations, you hung the rest of  the red and black streamers and some cute, eclectic garland between the streamers. Little fabric ghosts, attached to a string that he’d probably found at a Home Goods store. After that, per his wish, you shut all of the lights off and turned all of the twinkle lights on. Some red, some white. . . But so many of them. Dear God. 

The lights were a good idea though, as they added the final touch to everything he’d done around the place. . .highlighting everything a very mystifying, spooky hue.

Once you completed those tasks, you made the red punch. Josh had already whipped up the orange punch and had it chilling in the fridge. When it looked ‘blood red’ enough (Josh’s words), you placed it in the fridge with the other bowl. Each bowl, shaped like a giant skeleton hand. 

Does he just host it here because I have a massive fridge? You genuinely wondered. 

On the shelf above the bowls, you saw the several hilariously made food items. He’d designed them carefully and specially to look like scary things, labeling each as its inspiration (Witch’s Fingers being the name of one item). It was something you’d see at a party for a child, but you weren’t surprised that Josh had found the idea amusing. Something you loved about Josh was the fact that he was a child at heart, while also showing the traits of an 80 year old man.

Crossing the living room to walk to your room, you admired the way he’d jazzed up the spacious apartment. It looked spooky and cute and fun. You knew people would love it. He always went all out and you enjoyed seeing what he decided to do each year. 

What worried you, though, was the amount of orange solo cups that sat on your bar. It looked to be at least (probably more than) 50 cups. Maybe he’d just gotten that many for the people who wouldn’t reuse their cups. . .but the Sharpie sitting next to them begged to differ.

Why in the fuck hadn’t you put a limit on the number of people? Yeah, your apartment was roomier than some, but how were you going to fit that many goddamned people in your place?

There’d never been so many solo cups waiting. . . How many people were there going to be? And why the sudden change in numbers?

-🌼🌼🌼-

It was thirty minutes to party time when they got back. 

You’d finished most of your makeup, having done it during the long time you’d waited on your sister’s arrival. When Elsie finally walked into your room, her foundation, blush, and contour were on, but nothing else. 

“Bitch, we’ve gotta hurry,” she said, setting her bags down on your bed. “Do you have the costumes?”

You gave your false lashes one more swipe of mascara, pleased with how you looked. 

Not half bad, you thought. You made a pout at yourself in the mirror; your red lipstick made your lips look damn good. The gloss you'd coated them with helped as well. 

Kissable.

“Yes,” you answered, rising from the vanity to grab their hangers out of your closet. “We are never buying costumes on Etsy again, though. These ripped a hole in my bank account.”

“Oh, shut up, Little Miss ‘my grandparents pay for my rent’,” she sassed back, rolling her eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” you countered, annoyed with her. “They did the same damn thing for you.”

“You’re not wrong,” she agreed, a laugh in her voice. “But giving you shit is too fun. And also, you don’t have to travel all over the globe for your job, so. . . I bet your account still looks prettier than mine, even after this purchase.” She grabbed her little blue top and skirt from your waiting hand. “These are perfect though,” she turned the costume around, admiring. “Thanks, sissy.”

“Did you bring the white stockings?” You asked, taking off your sweats and changing from granny panties to a white, lacy thong to fit the mood. 

“Duh,” she responded, going to retrieve them from her duffel, throwing your pair at you. They hit you on the head, as you were folding your sweats onto your bed.

“Elsie!” You yelped. “You little fuck.”

“Get over it. I’m sure you’ve done something to me recently to deserve it.”

When you looked back at her, to continue the jesting, she was in her light ensemble. She moved in front of the mirror, gawking. She twisted and turned to see every angle of the glorified lingerie. “Damn these are sexy,” she commented, impressed with the look.

Your eyes were big, noticing the same thing as her. They were hot, but. . . A lot of skin was going to be exposed. . .

“Short as hell,” you noted, observing the costume on your sister’s body. . . Her ass would be fully out if she bent the wrong way. But her boobs looked great– complimented by the cropped blouse, pushed up. She adjusted the little pink bow in her hair that’d come with the ‘fit. “And lots of skin.”

“Just like we wanted them,” she reminded you, going to get her makeup bag to finish her makeup at the vanity. 

Yeah, we decided on these damned costumes when I was fucking Jake and had someone to look sexy for. . .  Fuck. The thought of him seeing you tonight and not being able to react like he would have two months ago. . .it made your heart pinch sadly. It suddenly felt totally counterproductive to even dress cute. 

Why would you want to do it now? The only person you wanted to impress would definitely not be looking your way. . . You had a terrible feeling that all night, you were going to feel like a clown. Ridiculous. Dressed up in a stupid, extremely revealing costume. Completely unseen by one pair of pretty brown eyes. . .

“Put your costume on!” Elsie ordered, her eyes pinned on you through the mirror as you stood there, behind her, lost in thought. “The party starts super fucking soon.” 

You had to do this with her. If you backed out on your costume with Els, it would be a giant dick move. Coordinating costumes with her on Halloween had been a tradition for as long as you could remember. 

It will be fun to do it with her. Just like always.

Resigning to putting on the tiny outfit, you went to take off your sweatshirt. But just as you gripped material at your hip to pull it up and off, you froze again.

Dammit. The tiny bump. 

You hadn’t thought of her possibly seeing you—or it— as you changed. . . Should have done it before she got there. Would she even notice? Honestly, it just looked like you were bloated. It wasn’t super obvious what it was— not yet.

It’s okay. It’s fine. It’ll be okay.

So, you kept on with taking it off, throwing it to your bed to fold, turning around so you weren’t facing her in the process of getting changed. Just a safety precaution.

“Nice ass,” she giggled, snarky as usual before continuing her eyeliner.

But your mind went into hyperdrive. A recent event, coming to your mind at her words.

“That ass,” he’d said, his voice still low and sleepy. “Damn, baby.” 

The way he’d looked. . . Stroking himself in bed as he’d watched you. . .

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. 

Naturally, you went to hold your tummy. Though, you dropped the hand when you heard your sister huff frustratedly. “Do I have to come over there and do it for you?” 

You looked over your shoulder at her, narrowing your eyes and giving her the middle finger before finally putting on every piece of the ensemble. 

You had to be careful with the top, which included its built-in push up bra. Your breasts had become much more sensitive than you were used to. Sometimes hurting to the touch. To your relief, the bra added just the right amount of pressure to them that it felt like they were being held well. . . 

Just wouldn’t be able to put up with the feeling all night. . . You knew that they’d start to hurt from being pressed so tightly to something as the night wore on. After situating your boobs just so, you put on the last piece: A black platform heels, closed-toe, resembling a pair of traditional Mary Janes.

Smoothing your hands over the skirt, you noticed it was a little tight. . . But not bad. Not noticeable to any unsuspecting eye. Just like your previous thought, it could really just be passed off as period bloating. However, when you eventually checked over the outfit on yourself, in the mirror. . . You did notice something. A change.

The past couple of weeks had been a time of you not acknowledging any body changes. Only your belly, which you frequently, absentmindedly touched. . . But anything else that might feel or look abnormal? You’d avoided, if you could. 

The boob pain had been too incessantly uncomfortable to ignore, having to flip and flop every which way in the night time so they wouldn’t feel like aching, ton-pound weights on your chest.

But you hadn’t looked at them. They truly looked bigger. You weren’t that far along. . . Were you? You didn’t understand all of the pregnancy math yet. You still hadn’t had the chance to delve into your new apps. 

Whatever the case may be, they were definitely growing. Your veins in them, darker than normal. The way they looked swollen, full. . . damn. 

Do they seriously start changing this soon? I don’t know. . ., you wondered silently, moving to the side to see how they were giving you fantastic cleavage at your deep, sweetheart neckline. Mentally, you made a note to check those apps to get some answers as soon as possible.

You went about your business, trying to distract yourself from the body changes you weren’t completely sure about . . .

As you were adjusting your own pink bow in your hair, you heard her wolf whistle. 

“Dear God, sis,” Elsie commented. You looked down at her in the mirror, where she still sat at the vanity stool. Her face was almost completely finished. “What in the hell have you done to make your boobs look so fantastic? Please, tell me your ways.”

If only you fucking knew, you thought, fluffing your hair, and adjusting your outfit as much as you could, once more before eyeing her. 

“Just on my period,” you lied, not ready to tell her. But . . .you kind of were. You wanted to tell someone and she was your person. When would you be able to finally break the news?

You pushed the thought away as she did the same as you with her outfit and put her own shoes on. 

Hearing the sounds of people arriving, and Josh’s music starting, you gave her a look. 

“You ready?” 

-🌼🌼🌼-

The party had been droning on for several minutes. 

A lot of people had shown up. . . some you recognized from past parties, and others you’d never seen before. All you knew was there were definitely enough people for all of the cups.

You’d already taken your annual Halloween picture with Elsie, and now she was off with Josh, attached to his side and conversing with every person that he did.

Why couldn’t you have what they had? Why was everything in your life so goddamned complicated?

And where was Jake?

Your other two friends had arrived (surprisingly) on time, getting the party kicked off. They were now playing a small game of “mini beer pong” with two girls they’d probably met through an app. Maybe a festival, though? That was a possibility now. Weird.

Yawning, you made your way over to the punch and put some of the orange in a plastic cup. Before you took a sip, you smelled it, making sure it was uncontaminated with Josh’s liquor of choice. Knowing you were safe, you took a decently sized swig. And, thankfully, the taste didn’t make you want to hurl. 

All of the little things that had been happening before you’d found out were all stark and apparent in their nature now. All of your “stress” symptoms had been signs of you growing a little life inside of you. From being sick, wanting to eat everything in sight, the sore boobs for the couple of weeks before you’d found out. . . and even the extreme sadness about Jake. Had that perhaps been the hormones, too?

Getting up on your tiptoes to peer over the people, punch bowls, and several types of alcohol on the counter, you once again searched for your roommate.

Where was he?

And, right as you’d pondered the question again, there he was. Opening and striding through the front door, already in his costume. . .and looking sexy as fucking hell. 

Your eyes trailed his solid figure. . . From his black boots, black pants, loose white shirt (almost entirely unbuttoned, dear fuck), a few necklaces laying upon his defined chest. . .and all the way up to the dark red bandana that he’d tied around the top of his head, gold hooped earrings peeking out from his dark hair, flowing below the bandana.

A pirate.

Hot damn. 

And even though it was dark, the insurmountable amount of twinkle lights Josh had perfectly hung illuminated his handsome face enough for you to see. . .

Had he started growing a mustache on their trip?

Fuck. Me. 

You squirmed from where you were behind the counter, totally irritated with yourself over what you’d done in this very kitchen, two months ago. Even though it had been for his own good, you wished right now that you could take back time and hold off on doing it when you had. Because all you wanted to do in that moment was walk over to him and tell him all of the filthy thoughts that were clouding up your brain. 

But. . . before they could get any dirtier, you saw the person he’d arrived with, walking in beautiful and majestic behind him.

Maya.

Also dressed as a pirate. Except her costume was one you’d probably see advertised as “Sexy Female Pirate” in a Spirit Halloween bag where Jake’s seemed to be a bunch of pieces of his own clothing that he’d pieced together to make the stunning look.

Thankfully from the waist down, you were out of sight behind the bar counter. So you were able to lay a gentle hand on your belly, a little more round after eating some of Josh’s finger foods. You realized that, apparently, holding your belly was a new go-to to gain peace in a situation. 

Because, sad as you were over the woman he’d arrived with, you were able to ground yourself with the hand on your stomach. 

This was going to happen anyway. . . Surely. You two weren’t meant for each other, and you were bound to see him with another woman again after you ended things with him. And you were not shocked at all that it was Maya with him tonight. Just as Elsie and Josh had been doing, they started strolling the room, talking to the other party-goers. His smile, so bright to lighten up that dark room. . . The occasional laugh he’d give in response to someone that you wished so badly to hear, but just watch instead . . . 

You could do this. You could watch him from where you were. Even if she was with him every step of the way, you could admire him. Wistfully. Wantingly. Longingly. . .

But what you saw next was the worst thing you’d seen between them so far.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. When he wrapped an arm behind her. . . But what made your heart lull was seeing him give her ass a squeeze through the material of her (cheap nylon, off-the-costume-rack) pirate dress.

God, no. Unshed tears pricked your eyes. Your chest felt heavy.

Before you could watch any longer, you made your way over to the cabinet next to the oven. You’d hid your phone so as not to get it mixed up with any others. You’d assumed it was a risk when the multiple people filed in at the beginning of the party.

You averted your gaze from anywhere near where you’d last seen Jake. Then, found a place on the countertop to perch yourself, getting comfortable (and carefully situating your legs to not reveal anything). 

Now was the perfect time to start perusing those apps. . .

-🌼🌼🌼-

Elsie had migrated to be next to you for the latter portion of the evening, both of you feeling the hyperactivity of the crowd grating on your anxious nerves. 

You’d sat, secluded for hours. Talked about nothing and everything. Shared TikToks. Laughed at ridiculous things that no one else would get. . .But time with her made you that much more ready to tell her of your predicament. Even if her advice pissed you off, you still felt like you needed it. If only to round out the massive, intricate equation your life had become. You could use her input as a multiple fucking choice answer choice.

When it had gotten long enough that she hadn’t seen Josh, she had to get her fix and he walked off to find him. 

And you decided you were done sitting on the couch, crammed against the wall. You just wanted to go to sleep. You’d kept your phone on hand when you’d come to sit with her, and the time on your screen was reinforcing your want for your comfy bed. You’d been yawning for the past couple of hours off and on, and finally reached the point of your eyes closing where you sat at the back of the party. 

For the past couple of weeks, you’d been going to sleep much, much earlier than 11 p.m.

After you’d spent a lot of time reading about the first trimester on those (extremely helpful) apps, you now knew the newfound tiredness was most likely due to a baby growing healthily inside of you, using your energy to thrive. Providing life for yourself and another was exhausting work.

You couldn’t find Elsie and Josh in the mass of people, so you just decided to excuse yourself quietly to bed. Sammy and Danny, the only ones to get a goodbye and goodnight from you as you quickly passed by them. You were not about to look for Jake.

Stevie meowed when you entered your room, as if greeting you. She’d stayed in your bedroom with her necessities so she wouldn’t get overly anxious with the crowds, since that was the last thing you wanted for her. You’d greeted her back as you shut the door behind you, almost falling asleep against the back of the door. 

But your costume had become way too uncomfortable and constricting for that to be an option. 

You started stripping yourself of it, sighing as your chest hit the cool air of your room. Then, you slipped back into your heavenly sweats. No bra of any kind constricting your chest. Praises fucking be. You felt soft and cozy in your baggy sweats and you could fall asleep right there. Standing up. In the middle of your room. 

Though, your face was still heavy with makeup, and you weren’t going to sleep with that on your skin to possibly clog your pores. Another thing you’d learnt from your apps was that pregnant women easily broke out with hormonal acne, and you weren’t about to test any of the waters to give yourself more acne. You were already lacking enough self confidence, and you didn’t need to add a broken out face to the mix. 

When you went to grab your makeup wipes from your vanity (no time for the whole face routine tonight– you were too tired), you noticed the package was empty. And right next to all of her makeup, still splayed out, was the used cloth.

Of course Elsie had used the last one. She owed you for that one. Especially for the timing. Right now was not the time. You were going to have to go back out into the crowd to get to the bathroom for your new package. Thus, getting overstimulated all over again when all you wanted was to crash hard in your bed.

But when you got to your bathroom, your search for makeup wipes came up dry. And then you remembered that your last trip to the store had been weeks ago. The same day where you left with two packages of tests triple bagged. And that day, by the time you got to the toiletries section, your brain had been infiltrated by the memory that got you where you were now. You hadn’t remembered to get a new pack of remover wipes.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, angry that you now had to use Micellar water and dirty a washcloth and . . .ugh.

By the time you’d spent forever doing that, you figured you might as well do your full nighttime routine on your face.

Twenty minutes later, you were leaving the bathroom, face feeling incredibly fresh. But the way the final step cooled your face, made you feel more awake than before. So, after tossing your hair into a messy bun, you slipped past the people who were still taking up space in your home, avoiding any and all eye contact, to get a cup of water, a Cosmic Brownie, and a bowl of pickles. 

Just as you thought you’d figured out a way to carry it all to your room, you ended up dropping the box of brownies, each package falling out of the box, all over the floor (one didn’t sound like enough once you’d made it to the kitchen). The clatter of plastic made you want to cry, honestly. And a few tears hit your hand as you sat the pickles and water on the counter. 

I just want to eat and go to sleep, you thought, getting on your hands and knees to pick up the brownies.

But before you could, a hand was stopping you, bending down to do it himself. Confused, you stood back up, not questioning the help in your state. And when you looked to see who the helper was, you bit your lip to try and keep the new tears at bay. Stupid hormones. 

Your heart leapt at Jake. Pirate costume and all, on the floor, putting the last couple of packages back in the box. 

When he stood up, his eyes were glassy like he’d been drinking. You gave them one glance and then looked at the box, not letting your eyes meet his.

He’d probably forget about this, you thought, a little sad by that. He probably doesn’t even want to be doing this right now and his drunkenness is making him move without thinking.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, going to grab the box from him. But he pulled it back so you couldn’t. You tried again, but he pressed it to his chest, out of your reach. “Give me the box?” You requested, in question. Your brow wrinkled, unsure why he was doing this. 

“Look at me,” he said, his voice wavy, softly demanding. 

. . .and slightly British? You would have laughed if circumstances were different.

Yeah, his voice definitely indicated he wasn’t sober. 

But, you did as he asked, your craving made you follow his instructions without hesitation.

Mistake, mistake, mistake. Abort mission.

You hadn’t been given the opportunity to look into his eyes for so long. And doing it now made your airways constrict. The eyes that convinced you to turn around today. The same beautiful brown eyes you wanted your baby to have.

Wanting to ignore the way your heartbeat was literally washing through your ears, you tried to speak.

“Why?” You asked, your question weak, but voice clear of emotion. Thank God. 

His gaze was open, eyes a little lost thanks to his inebriation. “You looked fucking beautiful tonight,” he lazed, tone serious. He glanced down at your body, just briefly. “Still do. Always do.”

Your breath went shallow at his words. He didn’t mean this. He was drunk. You could’ve sworn he hadn’t been looking at you. He wouldn’t; Maya had been with him all night. Right?

“Thanks,” you choked out. You averted your gaze from his again, your heart couldn’t take this. “Can I have my brownies now?”

You saw them move in your direction, and grasped the box as soon as it was in front of you. Gathering up the water, bowl, and box with much more ease this time. Strategy.

“D’you want my help?” he offered, voice still iffy, but tone sweet and sincere. 

Shaking your head, you flashed your eyes at him once more. Just one more look.

“No, I can make it,” you affirmed, wanting to say the opposite. Yes, please. Stay with me. “But thank you.”

He mimicked your actions, shook his head as he furrowed his brow. “Yeah, yeah,” his eyes held yours. You couldn’t look away. He smiled shakily, as if telling a joke. “I’m drunk.”

You giggled in spite of it all. “I know.”

And then he was letting you move past him, his cologne coming off of him in the most delicious waves. . . fuck.

Before you could totally get away, though, he lightly grabbed your arm. You were stuck in a trance. His touch, burning, even through your sweatshirt. The way he smelled, exactly what your senses needed. 

You peered up at him through your lashes, wondering. “What?”

He seemed to get lost in your stare for a second, forgetting what he wanted to say. Alcohol could do that to a person.

But then he was moving towards you. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. What was he. . .? You couldn’t move. Then, he was dipping his lips to be right above your ear. Holy fuck. More. His voice was low and raspy when he whispered. “Your tits looked fucking incredible tonight.” Heat flushed in your cheeks, all the way down to the pit of your stomach and to your throbbing heat. God. “That fuckin’ tiny excuse for a shirt barely held them in.”

God-fucking-damn.

You could feel your nipples hardening, to match the rest of your body. You could feel them tight and hard, begging for his touch. But he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. He didn’t want that. 

He. Was. Drunk.

Gaining what bearings you could, still blushing, you gave him a small grin, eyes innocent and at his mercy. “Thanks, Jake.”

And then you were booking it out of that kitchen. Quickly as you could, to the safety of your room and the vibrator you kept in your nightstand.

In an embarrassing amount of time, you were reaching the peak you so desperately needed. . . Every quiver from the tiny instrument, his wet tongue. Your toes curled as you found release, moaning his name loudly, but against your pillow to muffle the sound. 

Then you tucked it back in your nightstand, the food forgotten as you let yourself fall into a deep sleep, holding the soft bump of your belly.

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i think "You're All I Need To Get By" is their song..... hm? do you think this baby might be the magic key? or do you think things are only going to get worse? 🤔🤔

also, who can guess what the girls were for Halloween? 🪓

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

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[pippytmi]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

oh this is so hard, i have a special place in my heart for every fic ive written...but ill try to narrow it down to published works so far!!

"you and me" - supercorp/supergirl. the first baby fic i ever posted, i literally get nostalgic thinking about it. no matter how much time passes i'll always have a soft spot for kara & lena & baby mike <3

"all i ever wanted was to dream another sunset with you" - wildmoore/batwoman. this fic is a love letter to ryan wilder and sophie moore and the two of them finding each other - i tried to make a dreamy kind of atmosphere and honestly, the love story is one of the fave i've ever written !!

"mutually assured destruction" - babitha/gotham. im the singular audience for this fic but it's something i have enjoyed writing so so much... i started it as a challenge to myself and i HAD to let it leave the drafts (99% of explicit fics i write do not, so this is saying something)

"1,370,911" - supercorp/supergirl. writing this fic felt like a fever dream to me bc soulmate AUs are so interesting but i never thought i'd take a crack at my own! i ended up so happy w/the result & this universe is one of my favorites. (plus, making the playlist singlehandedly ignited a deep love of making more and more fic playlists)

"and if you leave the light on (then i'll leave the light on)" - supercorp/supergirl. i literally worked on this for almost 4 years and it has a big piece of my heart, okay! finding the balance between humor and found family and overall love was such a journey i wouldn't trade for the world. i only hope it makes people feel the same way it made me feel 💕

[oatmealcrisp-freak]

Do you have a playlist of all the songs you recommended listening to in "It's The Colours You Hate"?

If not, can I make one? With all the songs in the right order?

(whenever I think about the song "Colours" I wanna cry btw)

heyoooo!! go for it! i might??? i don't think so a;lsdkjf and if i do i dont use spotify which im assuming is what you'd be using. thanks for checking in :D

song list under the readmore if you need/could use it!! i went chapter by chapter so it should be order specific but i did take out the names

Colours by Grouplove

This is Gospel by P!atD

Clarity and Beautiful Now by Zedd

Big Empty by Stone Temple Pilots

Count on Me by Bruno Mars 

Flicker by Porter Robinson

Safe and Sound by Me vs Gravity (Cover)

Wiped Out! By The Neighbourhood

Love, Save the Empty by Erin McCarley

Cameo Lover by Kimbra

Everything Black (Feat. Mike Taylor) by Unlike Pluto

Honest by The Neighbourhood

Toxic by 2WEI, Karma by AJR

Goodbye to a World by Porter Robinson

Tear in my Heart by Twenty One Pilots

Addictive by Royal Republic

Love me Dead by Ludo

Girls like Girls by Haley Kiyoko

I Knew You Were Trouble by Taylor Swift (Or We Came as Romans if you pref punk)

Same Damn Life by Seether

Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea by Fall Out Boy

When I Grow Up by Mayday Parade

Something About You (ODESZA remix) by Hayden James

Done With Love by Zedd

Safe and Sound by Capital Cities (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KX54fWP-os4 the lyric video is so cute guys)

Sing Sing by Marianas Trench

Endless Fantasy by Anamanaguchi

Mac'n'Cheese by Shawn Wasabi

Flowers for a Ghost by Thriving Ivory

Graceless by The National

Soundtrack for Last House on the Left starting from ‘In the Woods’, by John Murphy

In the House, in a Heartbeat by John Murphy (28 Days Later OST)

Collapse by A Cold Dead Body

Non-Instrumental:

Forever by Hurt

The Last Remaining Light by Audioslave

Tonight You Belong to Me by Joseph William Morgan

The Package by A Perfect CircleAnything and everything by Blue Stahli Instrumental: Crazy Train by Joseph William Morgan Non-Instrumental: Don't You Worry Love by Warmer'Instrumental': Silent Heaven from the Silent Hill OST Non-Instrumental: Daydreaming by Radiohead

Who Will Save You Now by Les Friction Veteran of the Psychic Wars by Blue Oyster Cult Rise by State of Mine From the Ashes by In This Moment Hello My name Is Human by Highly Suspect I'm Alive by Sia

Girl from Petaluma by Megatrax

Don't Stop Believin by Journey

More Than A Feeling by Boston

Nothing Special illScarlet

Breathe Me by Sia

Itoshii Hito by Miyavi (This one specifically https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4ujzMWccjY)

Safe and sound by Me VS Gravity (Cover w/male vocals)

What is love by Tears and Marble

Colours by Mike Taylor

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Okay so my Molly x Roger playlist became a general playlist instead, I tried to focus more on Molly and Cynthia but I also have this handful of songs that are from Molly’s pov of Roger, plus some that are kind of, somewhat, character studies of Cynthia, and I have none so far from Roger’s pov (wait no, I have one), and nothing that can really describe the story because it’s so specific and big and all in all, it’s kind of a mess and I wanted to ask if you have any song recs that fit w&d that I could add to the playlist? 🥹

Oh, well, now, this is a tough one, because I don't think I have ever made a playlist for characters/stories other than the one for Percival and Nadine... XD

When someone asked fictionadventurer the other day for songs that fit Molly and Cynthia's relationship (was that you?) the first thing that came to mind was Sister Sledge's We Are Family XD so I guess you can tell my help might not be the best in this endeavor :D but I can try?

The whole story is definitely extremely hard to fit within a song. I once watched a fanvid of LW 1994 set to Life is Beautiful by The Afters, and now I think it fits pretty much any slice of life story of the kind, more or less loosely.

For Roger I think there's different songs for different stages, perhaps? His infatuation with Cynthia can fit something like Who Wouldn't Love You? by the Ink Spots... in a deeply unorthodox take I'd use Baba Yetu and Book of Days for his African journeys... and his final realization about Molly would fit a range from classics like Coldplay's The Scientist, to stuff like More Than a Woman by the Bee Gees, My Confession by Josh Groban (or his Hidden Away) or Rick Astley's Let It Rain (which is in fairness, to me, squarely an Edmund song).

There's a bunch of songs that fit Molly's pinning after Roger, like The Cranberries' Empty, Right Here Waiting by Richard Marx, When Can I See You by Babyface, Michael Jackson's You Are Not Alone...

Roger and Molly's is also super difficult to find in lyrics, but the nature motif is so strong I think most love songs that include that ingredient strongly are very fitting? Thinking My Love is Like a Red Red Rose (I love specially the Bill Douglas arrangement), We'll Gather Lilacs in the Spring, How Long Will I Love You by Ellie Goulding, Perhaps Love by John Denver, Longer by Dan Fogelberg and Laughter in the Rain by Neil Sedaka.

Cynthia songs feel like a dime a dozen, but mostly because there's so many angles you can take for that one? from something more flippant like Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and Bitch by Meredith Brooks, to more sad and existential stuff like Coldplay's Clocks or Owner Of a Lonely Heart by Yes (though I prefer the Trevor Horn/Rick Astley version because I'm me), passing through Martika's Toy Soldiers, Chris Isaak's Wicked Game and Jennifer Paige's Crush.

To date myself even further, Avicii's Hey Brother makes me think of the sibling relationships in the novel, but specifically for Molly and Cynthia... Close (Your Shoes) by Rick Astley? XD

And there's loose threads (some memetic ones) like I Wanna Get Married by Dorothy Shay being the Hyacinth "I want" song in a W&D musical XD, Somebody That I Used to Know having big Cynthia/Preston vibes and Sting's It's Probably Me being impressively fitting to Mr. Preston's mindset and creepiness, and a last Astleyian indulgence because Blue Sky by him gives me a very Osbornean sadness.

Those are my recs. As you see, all very dated and very me, but I cannot help it XD

Maybe someone else has better ideas?

[waitmyturtles]

Friends, family! Some updates and questions on the Old GMMTV Challenge -- if anyone catches this post, I would love your input! (AND THANK YOU for all the input on this watch journey so far, I LOVE YOU, FAM!)

1) Love Sick. Oh my gosh, I am TOTALLY enjoying this show. Yes, lots of problems, LOTS of issues, and I get to enjoy the BL cuts, so I’m missing all the messy het context (thank GAWD). 

But seriously -- oh my god, oh my god. Noh and Phun are like, a canon Thai BL couple? They’re SO PERFECT FOR THE JOB. It’s so amazing, they’re so amazing. Noh is so insane and WISE. Phun is SO CRAZY IN LUV. I love that Phun just CANNOT HOLD BACK! THOSE EYES! (This guy is my TUL?! TUL?!)

So watching Love Sick now makes me regret, by quite a lot, not watching these shows chronologically. I think it would have helped me a lot to watch Love Sick before SOTUS, but alas, I let my curiosity about Singto get the best of me. More on this in a second.

2) @absolutebl, @clairificusrex, @nieves-de-sugui, and anyone else who wants to chime in! Question for y’all: I found this playlist on YouTube for BL cuts of Love Sick season 2. Do these edits look reliable to you? I unfortunately have to multitask at all times when I’m watching dramas, so I can’t fast-forward -- I think I might need to rely on this playlist to finish out LS2. Gah. I hope these work for the task at hand!

3) Okay, chronology. I would love advice, thoughts, feedback on the following questions! (I’m sorry I’m asking all these questions, btw: I have a huge trip coming up, and may run into rights issues where I’m going, so I want to get a good watch plan solidified before I leave. Because... I’m a list person, oh god.)

Like I said, I think I messed myself up by watching SOTUS before Love Sick. I think it would have really helped me to understand SOTUS even more if I had watching LS first, to catch on some tropes that were clearly borne out of LS.

@absolutebl recommended, as the third drama of the OGMMTVC, 2gether. But, in a separate comment thread, @shortpplfedup also mentioned that Love Sick and Make It Right kind go together (@shortpplfedup, let me know if I’m stating this reliably) as two of the early high school pulp BLs. 

I don’t know if Make It Right is as referenced, trope- or script-wise, as an early BL as Love Sick or SOTUS. But it does have Ohm Pawat, who is one of the actors I permanently rabbithole, and I do really appreciate watching Love Sick now to see all the high school tropes being built. 

So I’m wondering: for chronology’s sake, would it make sense to watch Make It Right/MIR2 next, after Love Sick, if this is a side-path I want to take to learn about canon regarding high school settings? 

Or... is Make It Right not worth it? I know @absolutebl has said before that the heat of MIR may be wiggly for the youth of the actors. I’d love input! If MIR gives by way of education, I may want to dig into it while I’m on the road.

4) And then after that, closing out the OGMMTVC would be 2gether. However!

a) My other side commitment is to understand Aof’s oeuvre. And He’s Coming to Me and Dark Blue Kiss both aired BEFORE 2gether. So I’m kinda wondering if I should watch those first, before 2gether.

b) And then there’s his involvement with the 2gether franchise, which -- I had no idea about until I perused MDL. And I’m totally not quite following what all the sequels mean and maybe, why he got involved in the franchise?

Was 2gether so bad, in a way, that Aof and Fon Kannitha had to come in and, like, rescue the franchise for Still 2gether and 2gether: The Movie?

And, what the heck is this MDL description of the movie? Is it, like... a summary of the two previous series?

(Is all of this messy-mess indicative of why 2gether landed on the OGMMTVC list? Ha.)

I’m a little confused by what the whole deal is with 2gether, and if the sequels are worth watching. For me, the priority would be to watch Aof’s work as it progresses over time, which makes me think I should interrupt the OGMMTVC to watch He’s Coming To Me and Dark Blue Kiss first. Because, again, I’m wondering if he or GMMTV felt that he needed to come in and, like, save the 2gether franchise. When I was digging into all of this in MDL, I was totally surprised to see his name there.

Whew. I know this was a lot, but I appreciate ANY crumbs from the experts. (2gether, on paper, looks like a hot mess, but I know BrightWin are beloved, so...what’s up with that, ha.) If anyone’s reading and commenting this -- thanks, y’all, in advance, for your input!

[seaofreverie]

I listened to a new Sparks album and it was all I could think about for two weeks straight afterwards, a.k.a. My Hello Young Lovers Review

Okay, so here's my fabled review (I mentioned having written it once about three months ago, so I guess there's a chance that someone still remembers that). It's hecking long (seriously, it's long.) and consists mostly of me pointing out specific sections of the songs and raving about which specific elements of the songs I particularly like. And also attempting to make some sort of general statement on the style / atmosphere / themes etc. of the whole thing. I wrote this back in november, after 5 full listens of the album, over the course of about a week, and I didn't update it with any new opinions that I have formed since, to keep it true to that original form, besides some side notes where I thought they'd be useful to add. I hope you enjoy my yapping, however unprofessional and all over the place this whole thing probably is.

How to start album reviews? Well, I could sum up the general vibe / thing / feel / theme with the album but that seems much more fitting for the conclusion of the whole thing.

So let's kick this off with the first thing we see instead!! The album cover, the sleeve! (note: I got this album on vinyl for that first listening experience, the 2022? reissue) Ohh so pretty and cute, isn't it? Even inside, so much pink, even over-the-toply-so (for real though, I didn't even really think about what to expect from the inner cover, besides some photos that I knew would be there, but it was certainly not THIS. level of pink and cute), it looks so pleasant and sweet, doesn't it? And the band photos too, fun times all around!

Oh wow, ok, let's get back to reality here, I knew what I was in for (knowing just one track and excerpts of other two + reading misc comments on the album before already, as it is inevitable, you know. And frankly, that was actually the exact right amount of info from that commentary for a peak enjoyment here. Not going in totally blind but still encountering many surprises). This is a prime and, imo, very well executed example of mood dissonance. In a way where, idk, maybe it comes from me still having this even small amount of info beforehand, but it's the kind of situation that you can actually tell that something is off.

So yeah, the visual aspect of the album does fit it and I'd even say it does so VERY well, but as to how and why, maybe I should start exploring the atmosphere and themes and elements of individual songs first so we can make more general conclusions from that! So yes, I think it's time to dive in!

1) Dick Around ▪︎

Shortly put, amazing, showstopping and life changing song. And one of the earliest ones for me too! As a part of the extremely important and memorable playlist (note: my first time hearing a bunch of random popular sparks songs), it appeared somewhere in the latter half on the mix and oooh boy, was hearing this song for the first time, on the road in the dark evening too, an experience. I certainly found it intriguing to say the least, maybe I wasn't yet completely SOLD you know, and let's not forget that the second time I heard it (july) it actually kind of freaked me out in a way, but still, it certainly made an impression immediately. There's a reason this is one of the more well known / popular / important songs of theirs overall. This song is truly a journey and it messes with you in so many ways, oooohhh so many ways. I was super looking forward to hearing it again properly after being teased with some parts of it in the more recent weeks, so ok, maybe this is where I get to the individual parts I want to talk about.

Actually wait, first let's maybe say something about the placement. Of course it's the first song as I was pretty much certain it would be (and maybe already had kind of possibly spoiled..?), and it does work incredibly well as a mood-setter for the rest of the album, so it truly couldn't work any other way in my view. So yes, speaking of parts, there are so many different ones! Hearing this again was extra fun also because I would remember the main "point" / mantra of the song ("all I do now... is dick around") but not much else, then be reminded of another notable but very different part, then listen after this whole time properly on pretty much repeat now and be aware of those other little touches and bits that bring it all together...

So, let's start with the pleasant vocals & piano break near the beginning, it's, well... I just really like it (I hope I'll be able to say more specific things about other elements in these songs that I think need to be mentioned as I go on LOL), and right after that we have some very nice strings, then, suspenseful strings!! Idk why but I really really like it when those come in, they really set the unnerving classical tone that follows and returns throughout the album, then the same "calm" / bouncy vocal melody and a more "all over the place" piano returns (at least from what I remember, the notes are sort of more expansive in range in this part I think...). And soon enough... we reach the real moment of the song when it gets, well, real. And very intense. And this is almost jumpscare-like, ohhhh it's so good, even when you know you can expect it it still hits the spot amazingly.

So this is the rocking part that's honestly pure distilled joy and amazement to hear for me each time, the repeated echoey "hey hey"s for a second there are just the icing on the cake, so so so good. And, in fact, it doesn't get more rocking than this for the rest of the album. Dissappointing? Maybe it WOULD be, if there weren't other things still going on later, which were also in their own ways showstopping, so I think that yeah, those can make up for all that follows not really coming close to this level of unhinged. And this is the right word here I think, unhinged!! Damn, this freaking song. Like for a second there I remembered that in one of my early-ish hearings I just found it almost uhhh, unbearably raw? Idk if it's the right word but yeah, it gets... ugly for a second (I need to stop cringing at every more unusual / to the point word I use or I won't be able to write any genuine reviews in my life). Before going back to the main mantra of course! And then it goes on in a circle a bit more again, with more changes and some progression of the story and all that. And end on the mantra again. I don't know if I'm leaving out any super important bits here, I might be... Well, it comes back to full on rocking near the end too, with some variation too, so that's awesome! And very suspenseful and unnerving strings too for a moment!

So, should I talk about the lyrics / the story just a bit now? Ok, I won't go super deep into these or any of the following ones, I'll try to focus more on specific bits and the feelings that come with them and a general "theme" if anything. So, I think this song and its story is very engaging and I like it a lot and it certainly provokes further thoughts and ponderings, those 6 and a half minutes fly by super fast (guess that's just the power with sparks and their long songs, it's kind of incredible how maybe this goes ESPECIALLY for songs that rely a LOT on repetition, because those might work this trend the best), lots of variation, while still keeping some prominently repetitive / reoccurring parts balances it very well. You're really just thrown from one part to the next with this song. Ok, I wrote a lot about just one song and I feel like there's still more I could say if I thought about it hard, but let's move on now, we don't have all day (night)...

2) Perfume ▪︎

This is a favourite. An instant favourite. Right away this song grabbed me with its subdued, brooding and honestly pretty dark tone and sound. Low vocals, kind of ragged but driving guitar sound, and the DRUMS. They do SO much for this track, something about this specific drum pattern / style is very pleasant to me, very atmospheric. It's like a specific pattern that works to deliver some kind of effect (ok, I think through that, in a way, I just described the whole thing with repetition in sparks' music, especially in this era, nice, I guess that's how I view it and why it works so well) there's still a lot of interesting stuff going on there, plus it just sounds nice, idk. Once again, maybe "driving" is a good word for it. But now I need to mention that there is this one odd-one-out part that sounds much more cheerful, or maybe hopeful (and it returns again near the end). Because it has this specific thing, the different intonation of the SAME lyrics than the rest of the song ("and that's why...") feels strangely emotional. It certainly hit ME in the feels once I noticed it, so, yeah!!

So I think this is one of the darkest songs in mood and sound, while it also has something extremely COOL about its sound that I can't really categorize, I think I'm gonna feel like repeating this for every other song on the album but it just feels so CLASSIC, it's that typical song that always existed type of feel, yeah. But here it's less so due the melody necessarily, and more due to the whole picture. With some others it's also the song as a whole of course but they don't necessarily feel as much as a representation of a whole THING / genre / type of song / feeling in music of sorts (I'm really bad at articulating my exact views on these, am I not...) rather than those specific special moments that just bring it all to the next level. But OHHH I can't believe I almost forgot this, but the piano lines (I mean the post-chorus ones specifically) in this song, oh my goddddd!!!!!!! They're truly THE thing that sold me on this song completely, they're just so... something. So I guess this song also has that special "it" moment after all, doesn't it? Well, still possibly not quite as prominently as the next one, because...

3) The Very Next Fight ▪︎

Well, this is the kind of song that's completely made up of those specific parts making a very special whole. Starting with, of course, that melody line during the chorus "it's always the same. It's always the same". But maybe, just to be fair, I should actually start with where the song actually starts so, well, hmmm, the beginning. The very solemn piano and overall kind of heavy atmopshere here kind of slows down the momentum after the first two songs, and it delivers something quite different instead. So yeah, well, that chorus melody!! Oh wow!!! Isn't it so simple though? But it works so well!! It's simply beautiful honestly. It absolutely is! And later the electric guitar comes in for more effect and oh wow, it feels so incredible, yeah. And then some more solemnity with the... I think harpsichord?

This track feels very empty (as in the atmosphere, I'm not actually calling it empty as a bad thing or something like that, no no no!!) in some parts, then it has those emotionally charged bits, and let's not forget that it has some more really amazing guitarwork near the end. That kind of guitar "wailing" sounds beautiful in its own right too, it also kind of reminds me of some other rock-adjacent genre(s), I can't tell what exactly though...

4) (Baby, Baby) Can I Invade Your Country ▪︎

In all honesty, after my first listen I decided that this was probably the song I was the least impressed by? Kinda strange, yeah, because I no longer think that, and yeah, it was another one that I was only slightly familiar with already. Very slightly. It's a very interesting song once again, I think it's really unique after some thought actually (as are most all of the songs on this record tbh, obviously). It's unique, but it once again has this special classic quality to it that just feels like it represents a very specific type of sound.

I wanna say that the chord progression in the chorus might be some variation of one of the "usual" progressions although OF COURSE I might be very wrong here, it's just the feeling I get because maybe it's worth mentioning that 1) a while ago I started noticing this one type of progression in songs that made them sound very similar to Kiss Me, Son of God (They Might Be Giants song), so I figured it must mean that KMSOG is just in some kind of typical progression that is used a lot, especially in country-sounding songs from my experience 2) there was also an element of some classic rock / rock&roll (?) / punk (??) songs that also made them sound very alike after a while when I started listening to this one internet radio station recently, idk if it's the same progression or its variation or if all those songs use different variations mostly but are still based on a very similar thing at the end of the day, but yeah. I might still not understand chords or be able to catch them while listening, but there's now at least a little part of that whole section of music theory that I might be able to recognise in music just by myself, so that's some major music literacy development on my part I think... Anyway, maybe the progression in this song didn't even remind me of that usual pattern specifically, but it just made me think of that thing nevertheless, maybe it's similar, maybe it's not... So this was kind of an irrelevant tangent on my part, oops.

So ok, let's get to the jist of this... What exactly I like about this song and such, or just what I wanna mention. Well, I wanna mention that this is probably one of the more repetitive songs, also one of the longest I think, maybe the third longest, I wouldn't be surprised by that (the opener and closer are both pretty tough competition in the length department) but it doesn't feel monotonous, it flies by super fast, once again.

I think it's also possibly the brightest sounding song on the record, the word that immediately sprung to mind here is "triumphant". Certainly fitting with all those awesome horns!! They're truly what really sets this song apart. I'm especially a fan of the horns in the bridge part, I think it's the bridge. Sooo so cool sounding, kind of "descending". I also really like the layering of the different vocals and their melodies and such, the acoustic guitar also brings it all soooo nicely together, it's so pleasant sounding, especially in the quieter "baby, let's invade" part.

Idk what else to say, very awesome song though and I definitely don't mind listening to it twice (with the repeat as a bonus track, which I'll also get to briefly at the end) at all, in fact this might be the least "intrusive" song in a sense, so that makes the best choice for a repeat, if I had to choose, I could see myself going with this one, it's just very pleasant all around.

5) Rock, Rock, Rock ▪︎

So things get real once again, huh. This is one of the songs that I count in the category of kind of sick and twisted but in a way where I only respect them more for making it, so that puts it right next to, hmmmm, sherlock holmes for sure, maybe some others I can't think of right now. Big part of that factor is surely played by the repetition which just works, well, very well. Specifically the choruses.

One part of this song I was pleasantly reminded of on my first few listens were the short strings interludes, they really give it some of that pleasant classical feel (a separate thing from what i describe as classic feel here!) that I could say kind of contrast with the song and its atmosphere in general. Or maybe spruce it up, idk, we do have very dramatic strings during the verses too... The very deep drum sound is also pretty prominent in this track I think, pretty great.

As to some more notable parts in the vocals department... Let's just say that the way Russell says some words is very, uhhhhhh, effective (i think this sounds more cursed than it should, but i mean exactly that, the delivery just really hits you... and other times it's kind of silly instead). And also, with that repetition and it creating something great in mind, there's the repeated "and since you put-" part near the end that's also really great. The repeated "I"s in the bridge I think also need a mention. It's like they know exactly what word / phrase to repeat, what amount of times, and in which part of the song for it to work the best, like the perfect placement and number.

I think this song also has a bit of a fake ending, so that's also something of note, especially when it's supposed to sound as dramatic as possible (at least that's the idea I get from it). And actually, oh, so does the previous song! I forgot that part even though it's even more noticeable / memorable in that song than it is here imo.

6) Metaphor •

Second half of the album starts off with something that's very elegant and all the while very pleasant and melodic, all of which makes it a very nice track, even in a more usual pop song sense. Some very cool piano to start things off, and the electric guitar accompaniment, which also enters pretty early on. And then we have that slightly more strange part, kind of like an early bridge, that honestly has a bit of a comical effect imo (with no disrespect intended!!)? As in, I find it kind of funny and silly personally. Yeah, the "who's up for a metaphor" part, especially when we get the repeated "don't don't"s and "we we"s, and, well, what follows is what's definitely the greatest part(s) of the song, when Russell enters his falsetto mode and we get the "aaaaa-ªªªªª..." etc. backup vocals in choruses. Those are the moments of the song that are just, well, ONCE again that classic factor that makes the melody & everything else super special. But more specifically, I think those parts are just kind of beautiful. Yeah, I'd say this song is the prettiest in sound that this album gets overall. Truly wonderful and gets you excited for the remaining songs.

Meanwhile, the spellings of dig as d-i-g might feel kind of random I guess? But it works. Adds variety or whatever (note: it's also a very good moment of a rhythm change I believe, I think now that's what makes it sound as cool and satisfying as it does). So yeah, kind of a heavenly song I think, in a sense, also one of my top faves just for that factor (note: this song is now probably my favourite on HYL, and also among my top fav Sparks songs overall. It wasn't instant, but it grew on me quickly and oh man, I truly love this song so much now)

7) Waterproof •

I think this is kind of an odd-one-out actually? And why? I think it's probably the closest on the album to being sort of a fully, or at least MOSTLY, "normal" song. It doesn't have so many parts that are just downright weird and unexpected I'd say, it's just kind of friendly instead compared to the other ones (note: it took me perhaps too long to realize that this song just doesn't have quite as much repetition, which most other songs here rely on heavily, so that's definitely what makes it stand out the most). Not that it's an entirely bad thing! Sometimes you gotta slow down and relax a bit I guess...

I do appreciate the kind of sudden switch with the "the sky is starting to cloud up" part, and the little orchestral bit right after the first time the aforementioned switch happens (the second? or generally some later time it happens again there are also some very awesome horns! Really starts feeling like a quaint rainy street in some french town or something...) when, well, I was going to say that the vocals and the strings do the same melody, but they actually don't, at least not fully, still though, I did have that illusion before I made sure it wasn't the case with another relisten, either way, when it DOES happen, and Sparks do that a whole lot I feel like, it's always quite awesome, I mean, syncing the vocal melody with some other prominent intrument's melody...

The I think harpsichord also makes a return, yay! And then there's the guitar part, that does have some real surprise factor when it comes in, but this time for sort of the opposite reason - it sounds bright and nice this time around, and also it reminds me of Sparks' later style tbh, specifically in their following more rock-centric songs of course. And I think that's very nice, we see the always progressing evolution of their sound here I think. That guitar bit also has some album closer vibes, that kind of fake closer (or nearly-closer) situation kind of reminds me of a similar thing I experienced with Bon Voyage on Propaganda for example (note: I have since learned that Bon Voyage IS the closer on Propaganda, and the following two songs on streaming are just b-sides. So it makes sense that it would sound like an album closer because it IS one).

Annnddd the last thing that I just can't forget about here is Russell's another epic falsetto moment (waterwatereverywherebutnotadroponme!~) that part actually makes me smile. Yeah. Legit. I paid attention and I did smile on that part during my relisten today. ... Ok, let's go on.

8) Here Kitty •

When this song came on the first time during my vinyl listening I of course instantly knew exactly which song it was (bcs I've heard the title before, and a few words on it too) and had this little amused "oh no" moment. And, well, turns out this song is actually very awesome and veeeery interesting! It adds something really unique to the album. I saw someone call it quite impressive in the vocals / vocal lines layering department recently (in the last week, so already after hearing it myself I'm pretty sure) and I absolutely agree.

First off, let's settle that - this is a very strange song. But that's exactly what makes it so good of course. The strangeness keeps you so distracted from this fact, that when we reach the bridge of the song you suddenly realize that beneath all the "tatata"s, meows and unsettling rising piano notes we have the very much usual song structure with verses and choruses. Yeah, I think I actually sort of figured it out, what might be the verse, and what might be the chorus... Speaking of which, the parts that I identified as choruses have this, well, it's the same thing all over again (but each time the specialness comes from a different place and is totally different of course), but that very classic feel, indicative of maybe even some specific genre but idk what exactly...

Besides that, well, maybe let's go back to my oh no moment for a minute, and let me say that I either am very illiterate in that sense (and yeah I am tbh) or the lyrics aren't as overtly, let's say, innuendo-filled? as I expected. They actually have a semblance of a story you know... I mean, NO, not even a semblance, it IS a story! Let me also say that this is a very interesting song to have stuck in your head a lot over the course of pretty much an entire week. Yes, it got to the point where it could be annoying. One last bit of the song I really like is at the very end, when one vocal line starts to sound kind of echoey / distant, nice touch.

9) There's No Such Thing as Aliens •

The song that first cemented itself as being by far the shortest song on the album, sort of an interlude before the incoming epicness of the last one (that was quite literally my very first impression before I even heard either, looking at the vinyl this one was visibly much shorter than the last, and of course I expected the last one to be fittingly grand, and so it was obviously, but we'll get to that in a minute). The funny thing is, it's not even that short, as I figured even before eventually making sure how long it was in fact, and that's almost 3 minutes, which, well, of course that's still something around well over two times shorter than the last song.

But enough about its length, this song actually does kind of work as an interlude thematically too, which it is? it sort of even feels like it doesn't quite fit with the themes of the other ones, I mean, maybe not that it doesn't fit but just that it's defintely the furthest removed from the much more similar topics of the other ones (more about that also later!). Plus it's pretty sparse lyrically, once again, there's less you can fit in under 3 minutes anyway. Which supports the interlude argument also I believe.

Anyway, the music. First of all, waltz time!! Always a treat in sparksland to have that rare spooky 3/4 time track. The feeling I get from this track is: grand, very orchestral, anddd, hmmmm, elegant. But is it more elegant than the rest of the album... Idk, I wanted to use 3 different descriptors. I honestly don't think there's much more to say about this one, it's great, the melody is really great, the grandiosity of the choruses, the even more notable waltz time during verses. I think that yeah, I could pick this track as the most orchestral / classical inspired of the album. One cool moment I'll mention though would be the very ending, with the repeated "no"s going for longer than you'd expect them to maybe, and the deep drum accompanying all that. Very grand ending.

10) As I Sit Down to Play the Organ at the Notre Dame Cathedral •

Well, how do I even start on this one. I think I can say that with literally each single listen I become more and more in awe of this song. Could I even call it even more of a journey than the opener? In a sense, yeah. There's so much going on here. So much that I almost feel like breaking it down into individual parts and giving all of them their due because they all work for the amazingness of the whole. In fact, I might even already have this track roughly memorized (all... 7 minutes of this track) so it could be done. But ok, I'll just go with each part as I remember it, we'll see if I in fact do go over nearly all or all of them.

So. Echoey synth (?) intro, then the first melody part, with the individual words repeated, kind of "urgent" vocals part, very nice rhythm and something I just find very cool. As it progresses we get another part of just the synth / electric guitar-like synth / guitar or whatever this thing is, then a mix of both + this clicky instrument and / OR is it the harpsichord again? Giving it all more urgency and a nice constant rhythm. I also really like when the "byebyebye" vocal gets looped before the synth reenters. Overall, this part of the song has a very electronic, drony feel that I greatly enjoy and find very atmospheric and immersive already.

But, well, it doesn't end here. Because later, everything else stops and we hear a church organ. Even the melody it enters with is very much like something you'd hear in a cathedral, indeed! Good environmental storytelling, isn't it? But then... the organ transitions into this very very cool frantic melody (and by very very cool I mean that it's probably the #1 thing that stood out to me about this song right from the start) which returns consistently throughout the song and is just oh so very awesome.

So we enter the next part, what could probably be called the central part "as I sit down to play the organ...", tension is rising, the organ is doing its thing in the back, then some "hallelujah"s and BOOM! The chorus? The "I've got faith" part of course. And with it some epic strings, and I don't think I can really say what exactly it is about this part that makes it SO FREAKING GOOD & ABSOLUTELY SHOWSTOPPING but it's easily in my top 3 moments on the album at least. Then it's followed by the slightly considerably calmer "she's here..." section and we go mostly full circle for now, more variations on the same parts. Some grandiose "lalala"s & epic drum action too. And then, the "I believe" sections which I cannot let myself neglect, mostly just on the basis of them being kind of sickening to me. You know, in the "why did they do this (said respectfully)" way.

Ok, did I really just talk about all of the individual parts, I guess so. But before I move on I have to mention the moment when the very first major part, the "bye-bye-bye my baby" part, makes a sudden comeback. It's honestly just so good and satisfying, when completely different sections switch and make unexpected (or maybe you actually DO expect them on some subconscious level, and that's what makes them work so well??) returns like this, if a song has that it's very likely it will become a top top favourite or at least have a very big effect on me. Or even HUGE effect, like here.

So yeah, the song does eventually end (I mean technically unbelievable somewhat, since it's so long, but have I actually mentioned yet that this track goes by about just as fast as the first one, because it sure does, you do not notice the time passing WHATSOEVER) on some more "hallelujah"s. And the album's over. Wooo boy.

Bonus tracks

Well, it's not really over yet if it's not the vinyl but the streaming version. We still have just two more bonus tracks, technically just one? So I'll go over both quickly now for completion's sake.

First we have "We Are the Clash" which is a pleasant song for sure, can work as kind of a denouement after the crazy journey of the previous track, so you're left on a little less of a mood unresolution and can become a little less unsettled after all of this going down... Idk.

But yeah, I actually have this impression veering on pretty strong conviction that this song is a cover actually. It could even be a cover of the band whose name is mentioned in the song, which would put this version in a extremely funny area of how far stylistically it might be from the hypothetical original, if it exists (what's up with all these bands and their "we are the [band name]" songs, there's so many). Of course I could also be very wrong about this so all I just wrote could turn out to be absolutely hilariously off target, still, a fun little attempt at guessing things and connecting ideas on my part, whatever the truth turns out to be (I will learn the truth... in due time. My experience tells me that when I'm still fully in initial unwell mode over an album it's difficult for me to read and retain any outside information / commentary on it. So no need to rush it, heh) (note: yeah I was right for once. I meannnn I guess it was obvious anyway but still, let me have this, I've been fooled by assuming that a cover was someone's original song way too many times so I'm happy to not be fooled for once).

So ok, the last last track. Baby baby can i invade your country is baaaaaack, not much to say but it's pretty much the same other than the lyrics, since well, it is the "alternate lyrics" version, not "alternate" version. I do think that it might be slightly longer than the final version though but it's also likely I'm misremembering.

Anyway, lyrics, all I can or feel the need to say is that they seem to be definitely way more to the point on what this song's actual topic is (not... invading... countries . I don't need to explain it here do I) so subtlety win for the final one I guess. Just so it is known, I have not read these two songs' lyrics unlike all the main album tracks'. But I think I caught enough to get the main idea from both, you know. I do think also that the final version's lyrics just kind of sound better, idk if it's the rhythm of the words or what but they do just have a nicer flow. So, improvement, probably, still very nice to know this version anyway of course. (note: yeah i have learned since that most of the final lyrics are the US national anthem. Makes sense that if any song were to have alternate lyrics it would be this one)

To round it all up...

I think there's still a lot that can be said about this album as a whole but how do I go about that. Well, I did mention earlier that I'd come back to a) the overall feel / atmosphere here b) the themes / stories and how they connect. So those shall work as a guide to my conclusions part of this whole review.

First off, I could even say a bit about the main vibe / sound here in reference to Lil' Beethoven! Since it really does work as a sequel, at least in sound, by all means. I described LB with stuff like... cold, distant, cathedral-like, what else was there.... Ok, I have more, lifted directly from my LB write-up. (note: finally listening to LB a month prior to this was enough of a big deal for me that I wrote down my live reactions to hearing the songs) Impersonal / detached. Alien. Spacious.

Do those apply here too? I think so, yeah! Pretty much all of these words also feel like pretty good descriptors here. But honestly, the more I think about it.... Maybe it's just that the distance / the detachedness and alienated feeling is a bit lower here? Or at least in some songs more than the others. It's hard to explain honestly.... That similar atmosphere continues here but it's just..... not as pronounced maybe. Idk, maybe it will become clearer with this next point I wanna make which is that LB actually is less, uhhh friendly in sound. Less accessible! Yeah, I do think that this album could be seen as: LB started the experiment, HYL perfected it by taking it in a slightly more accessible direction. Or is perfected a wrong word here, who can say which was, or should be considered the better outcome here.... I think I actually have a problem putting concepts into the right words today. But maybe at least some of my feelings about this can still come across here...

So yeah, I don't think it's possible to tell if HYL is better or LB, it also depends on how you look at it! As it kind of always does when judging stuff per good / better. One thing that I can say sort of for sure though is that LB certainly started ideas / techniques that HYL expanded on and toyed with further, so in that sense, it could be considered an improvement. And so it is clear, I don't think I can say 100% that I like one more than the other. It's not that simple. I guess you could however say that HYL was more of an instant hitter and LB really just grows and grows more in power overtime....

So yeah, they kind of did take the LB concept and all of the avant-garde, experimentation factors that come with it, and made it more accessible, which is a form of art and an achievement and a testament of skill in itself. I think the somewhat friendlier, more palatable approach of this album also lifts off the coldness aspect a bit, but it's still there, especially on tracks 1, 3, 5, 10, off the top of my head.....

But maybe I should talk more about the album and its sound as it stands on its own before I move on though. Maybe we could jump from the words I already used: classic, orchestral, brooding, dramatic, dark, aggressive (yes, I somehow see it as friendlier than its predecessor despite also being much more aggresive in all senses. Raw even. How does that work? I can't tell you today. And idk if I'll ever figure it out. And also personal, YES, that's the word, this album feels soooo very personal and emotive. Not in the sense that I'm trying to say that it must be personal to them, more like it just shows some very personal feelings and struggles), triumphant (but that goes only for that one song really), driving, ELEGANT. I think the word elegant is the key here. In all of its subtler or less subtle tone shifts it keeps that very elegant, kind of graceful feel, all throughout. Even when it seems to be touching subjects that wouldn't necessarily bring that kind of atmosphere to mind, it kind of elevates them and gives them, idk, a new meaning?

So is this a good segue into the topic of themes? I guess the album name sits well with what I think is going on here, because my main impression of the whole thing was something like.... stories of fucked-up guys with self-image problems / feelings of inadequacy, which they try to go around fully convinced that they're right (and their messy love-lives too ofc). Or are they just, normal, regular guys actually. Who can tell. It certainly gives you an idea / a whole concept to work with and ponder here and to connect and visualize kinda.

I think that yeah, out of what I've heard so far this has to be the most thematically-consistent sparks album there is. It comes to a point where all the songs give this little impression of a whole universe where all of this takes place, and while I've had these kind of impressions from albums that are way more all-over-the-place conceptually with their lyrics (I mean like.... pretty much every They Might Be Giants album. You can create this sort of illusion with more than words, the music and its atmosphere and often also its stylistic consistency might be even more important actually), this comes, in my mind, almost close to concept album levels in that regard.

The definition of a concept album probably calls for something more specific than all the tracks being in sort of a similar theme but you know.... I don't think it really happens most of the time in music in general, that the whole album has this sort of a familiar idea / spirit throughout that makes a unique whole. (note: apparently wikipedia calls this album a concept album. Another win for me in that case, lol). You could probably try to connect different songs' themes and work with that in some way.... Which is something I already did in all honesty, but actually it's a between albums thing here, because I do believe that the dick around guy could be the same guy that the narrator from ugly guys with beautiful girls talks about. Similar ideas you can connect! That's what I'm talking about. I love it when songs tell overarching stories.... Make me think about characters from songs or little universes and vibes created by even the vaguest of lyrics and the ideas those create and the imaginings they bring, any day.

Ok, what else can I say. I think I mostly covered everything I could actually. Should I say something more about the cover with the added context now. I already said that it gives off a "something's wrong" feeling, but I think it's also compelling in how it conveys that elegant, non-threatening and polished image, sterile kinda. Well, I think only one of those four words I just chose doesn't really apply to most of this album's songs. I mean non-threatening ofc. Hmmm, maybe sterile doesn't really work here either, besides those prominent examples of the coldness of sound on this album, it would actually go more with LB, which also has a fittingly minimalist, all-white cover. Collected and orderly to a distressing degree. Just like here, it also gives off some.... distressing vibe. As I already said with the "this isn't right" feel.

What else can I say. In reviews you usually give your opinions, which I very much did throughout this thing here, everything like this is always somewhat subjective I think, but even then, a final verdict could also be said here. I think it's pretty damn clear by now what my opinion on this album is. I wouldn't spend several days writing a review and analysing every little detail if I didn't have a very strong (positive) opinion on this album (I guess I technically can imagine writing a very throughout review of something that just annoys you so much that you simply have to go through everything wrong with it and have some relief and closure through that. I can't see myself doing that kinda thing however, I'm not that kind of hater (or really a hater at all lol, i hope), I'd rather devote my time to things that I find actually cool and awesome and stand-outs in a positive sense, and worthy of attention and that dedication).

So this comment I fittingly found on tumblr over the last few days feels pretty relevant towards my opinion of writing "reviews" of stuff (this was more of a, very detailed analysis I know, but review just kind of fits, especially with how people call their recaps / commentary / writeups of concerts "reviews" a lot of the time):

(note: yeah I think I should come clean here that despite my very recent start of actual social media participation I've already been a serial lurker in various places for years now, lol, I mean, that's probably a normal thing to do though, I hope. I mean, probably lots of people do or did that at some point, but still. And I don't know whose post this is anymore sadly. But I thought I'd keep it here because it's a good summary)

And also, just for the record, this is my opinion on HYL pretty much. Yaaaayyy i loved it i had so much fun!! For real. i'm glad they're creating something!!!! Absolutely. One of a kind album that I will cherish as yet another great and unforgettable entry on the list of albums that changed me (TM) and brought me lots of fun and great memories / associations, even in such a short time. And the actual FIRST on the new list of albums that I'm happy to have brough the utmost attention to and dissected like that. It's out of love.

Thank you for reading this far! Here's a little bunny as a prize!

Whoa whoops this gif was supposed to be small! Have a huge bunny in that case, you deserve it! 🐇

[duckuwu]

i do think about how i resisted kpop for so long

and then the one group to snatch me is the princess one.

i dont remember if i've talked about how it happened here before (probably), but... i've had two really close friends (who are both online and semi in person friends) who've been into kpop for many years now. and they kept talking about it, and the specific groups they like, and they kept trying to bring me into it. (just like there's some of you tumblr buddies who were also trying to assist me in that) but i just wasnt vibing w anything they sent.

but they were trying for years, and also getting such genuine joy out of it too, that i felt bad that i couldnt join them on the journey.

so i went to pandora and had it play me a kpop playlist.

and most of the tracks were skips for me. but there were some songs that i really vibed with.

they were always IVE. (okay, sometimes le sserafim would sneak in with newjeans. (enhypen was there too, my boys [pets gently]) but their tracks were hit and miss, whereas every single IVE track that came on...)

so i went to the music videos. went with the track that i loved the most: love dive. and i was like: oh, i get it now.

like, listen, the track is a fuckin bopperino. it's been in the top 100 of korea charts since it was released (it just left this weekend). but there was just something about these young women's attitudes. they know their worth and dare you to like them. dare i say...they were cocky? and the hook of the song "narcissistic, my god I love it" (and how there is some humour in it, but also they're just being honest too). and yeah. that's just what i've been wanting from female pop for decades. confident, cheeky, intelligent, not pandering to the male gaze.

...but now that i've been in this for some time now (and have expanded my listening range). I think it was just simply that the right group hadn't found me yet.

i don't really know how to explain it to people who aren't in it, but all these different groups are put together with a certain style/vibe/personality/goal. like, especially once you get to know the personalities of the members of the various groups. so, like, whilst there might be some crossover with people liking various groups, there's going to be that ONE group that is THE GROUP for someone, the group that truly best suits someone's personality.

like, i'm IVE, and the way they are with each other and their personalities, senses of humour, confidence, the lyrics of their songs... are very much the exact fit for me. whereas one of my RL friends has aespa as their main group, and the personalities, sense of humor, attitudes etc, truly fit the personality of my friend too. the stray kids fans i've met vs ateez fans vs enhypen etc... like you meet them, you talk to them, it's very easy to see why that one group is their main group. and also why their bias is their bias. (bias = favourite group member). it's kinda wild to think about. and very much not at all ... you cant really find the same in western groups. 1D fans were all over the place, same for bsb & nsync, fifth harmony etc.

it's fascinating. obviously subversive marketing that really fucking works. lmao and yeah it's marketing, but it's also based on something real.

but i really do find it absolutely hilarious that it's the group with the princess aesthetic that snatched me. for years now people on tumblr have been like 'dreamcatcher is right up your alley' and aesthetically, i do get it. and yet here we are lmao i do love me my rich intelligent women with hearts of gold (hello lena luthor). we just dont really get to see it in media much. (but also, again, i do want to stress that auditorily and lyrically i was ensnared by them before i even saw the group and their personalities)

this was my first favourite track of theirs:

and this is my absolute favourite track of theirs:

i'll shut up now lmao. idek if anyone'll read this ramble but hey

and if there's any kpop fans (friends/long time followers etc) whove been in this for a minute, feel free to correct any of my wrong assumptions about how things are? i know i'm new. and i also know i've got a masters in IVE specifically, and that I've only glanced the surface of other groups. but when you've found your happy place, it's really hard to watch other things when you could be in your happy place. lmao