#next chapter might include mac

[avoteforme]

chapter 4 is up- drop a comment if you like

i am this close to starting yet another phrack au- this time the noir au starring private detective robinson and damsel-in-distress/femme fatale fisher. the way she'd sashay into his private detective office alone is a scene that i want to get down right now :> :>

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 2 of 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+); angst; fainting; regurgitating profusely; nausea; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; extreme feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; allusions to a dark, forgotten childhood; therapy; mentions of EMDR therapy; prenatal visits; arguing/raising of voices; heart issues addressed (POTs); use of heart monitors; hemoglobin kits mentioned; emergency room visit and all that might entail (e.r. visit is a longer one, so strap in); revisited, vivid memories of sex; jealousy; body changes as a result of pregnancy; negative self-talk; looooots of baby talk; pregnancy hormones (and this is nothing compared to what's to come - that's all i'll say); reader still being sad while she checks Jake out; oh! and Joshua Michael Kiszka being the perfect angel he is <3 (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 32.6k+ (what the actual-?)

a/n: hi my lovely readers <333 i am deeply apologetic for the time you waited to receive this chapter, but i hope the length (holy fucking shit, btw) will make up for it. i really will try my damndest to not take almost a month next time.....

BUT, as you guys have learned, my chapters are very rarely "short" in length, so you can rest assured i'm quite literally busting ass trying to write the chapters in the near-month span of time between updates. lol <3 (while also doing real-time life w a job and family to tend to every single day)

this story is my baby that has been outlined for months in a google doc and i refuse to release chapters until they're completed with everything i deem necessary to include. i promise it's all for the good of the story and for the ultimate enjoyment of the readers (you!). <3 i'm never purposefully leaving you hangin', babes <3 ily all more than i'll ever be able to properly express. 🫶🏻

special shout out to my sis for being my go-to beta, ear, advice-giver, helper, AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN when it comes to all of the silly little stories i write. @joshym. you are my favorite. you know that. and i love you. so fucking much. forever the daniel to my samuel :)

and another shoutout to my wonderful pal @welightthefire - GOD, i love you. y'all, this lady has been my main source for all things baby related and i'd be hurting without her help on alllll things baby and pregnancy. <3 babe, you are the bomb and you better KNOW IT.

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

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

“The covetous person is full of fear; and he or she will who lives in fear will ever be a slave.”

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

Your stomach dipped all the way to the heels of your feet, your body feeling a rush of equal parts cold and hot. 

There were no words spoken for several moments, and almost as soon as you’d said it, Josh had turned to face the front. Jaw clenched tighter than you’d ever seen it, he put the car in drive as his hands wrapped tightly around the wheel – 10 and 2. His back was ramrod straight and his jaw didn’t stop flexing as you swiveled to sit to look out the windshield alongside him.

Your stomach was churning— for multiple reasons. On top of the anxiety in the moment, you also hadn’t been eating much as of late. Your appetite was almost nothing — save for pickles and Cosmic-fucking-Brownies. 

It had blossomed seemingly out of nowhere. 

After your night of Mac and Cheese with Jake, you had started borderline craving it afterwards—alongside the brownies and pickles. But, when you’d made some for yourself, you came to realize, with the first bite to your mouth. . . That Mac and Cheese was no longer your friend. 

Although, it had made very close friends with the toilet, as you’d bent over it hurling until every last bit of the yellow food deposited in front of your sweaty face.  

Surprisingly, you’d still been hungry after puking. . . but unfortunately, everything else you’d tried to eat either ended up in the toilet or in the trash from the smell alone. 

And, to your utter demise, Cosmic Brownies had been ruined that day, too. Their contents eventually met the toilet when you’d tried to snack on one that same evening to fill your empty stomach.

Suffice to say, the nausea had started to kick your ass and this particularly tense situation was doing you no favors.

All you could do was steal glances at him, awkwardly, for the thirty or so minutes it took to get to the women’s clinic. He wasn’t talking at all which was so unlike Josh. You’d never gone this long being in the same space as him where he wasn’t talking. The man loved to talk. And you loved to listen and engage.

But that was not the energy that was transpiring between you two.

You would have normally put on music to fill the hollow, painfully silent space. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to move, much less put on music that would just add to the discomfort that you’d created with your confession. And, honestly, it felt like you were already making too much noise every time you took a deep breath. 

Besides stealing the occasional peek at him, you watched the multiple semis that passed you, and the forests that lined the highway, full of leaves with changing colors. 

And Josh just drove. Just fucking drove. And, even worse, he drove normally. Better than normal, actually. Unlike ever before, he was following the highway’s speed limit, all while not getting emotional anytime someone pulled an asshole move on the road. 

He seemed to be putting every bit of his energy into three things: focusing on the road, keeping his jaw clenched tight, and not moving his hands from 10 and 2 unless he had to look over his shoulder to switch lanes.

Once you pulled up to parallel park on a busier street in SoHo, you’d made up your mind to tell Josh to just drive back and that you could hitch a ride with an Uber. 

You didn’t want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he apparently already felt. 

For one, he didn’t need to be here if he didn’t want to be. And secondly, you couldn’t fucking handle any more right now. The whole point of him being with you was because you were already fucking stressed before you’d ever even told him. And at this point, it seemed you’d been correct in your assumption of him being angry. 

But right now, his reaction didn’t fucking matter. This appointment mattered. Your baby mattered. You needed to be in some sort of decent mind space before you stepped foot into the place. And whether or not that included him was relative to his response when you informed him of this.

You breathed in and out heavily, shutting your eyes as you did so. Once you opened them, you pressed the unlock button on your door, signaling to him that you were ready to get the show on the road. You didn’t have time to fucking sit here and let him sulk. 

Releasing a deep breath once more, you finally turned to look at him once you’d unbuckled. Then, once facing him, you mustered the firmest tone possible at that moment. “Josh,” you started, sharply. He blinked slowly and flexed the muscle in his jaw once more before he turned to make eye contact with you. 

Fuck. His eyes. . . Was he angry? Sad? Indifferent? You couldn’t fucking tell. You’d never seen him so guarded. God, you shouldn’t have invited him to this. You really had started to hope that he would react more like Elsie and Gia thought he would. 

But he hadn’t, and you were faced with whatever the fuck this attitude was that he had chosen to wear. 

Once it was obvious he was going to look at you as you spoke, you continued. “You don’t have to go in there with me,” you began, firm yet empathetic. “I won’t make you. I will go in on my own. I have to. For my own reasons, I have to keep this appointment today. But you don’t have to come in if you would rather not,” you stated, steady and sure. He was free to fucking leave if he wanted. “You can fucking leave. I will not make you go in if you’re angry or upset or uncomfortable. I’ll get a damn Uber and you can drive back to the complex to get your car.”

He seemed to come back to the present, blinking several times and shaking his head. He rubbed one hand down his face, just as Jake did when he would get stressed. 

The similar reaction made your tummy feel fuzzy and desperate for the security you needed at the moment. You needed someone right now. Even if you were willing to do this on your own (which you were), you could really use his support at the moment. 

You unlocked the doors once more, making sure they were ready to go before you reached for the handle. 

Resolutely, you looked over your shoulder before you addressed him once more. “I’m sorry that I made you angr—.”

“I’m not angry,” he finally said softly. After clearing his throat to talk properly again after not talking for so long, he continued. “I’m shocked and— I’m just feeling a lot of things,” he iterated, his eyes begging you to understand. And, you did. “But I am honored that you wanted me to come with you today,” he said, his face transforming to once again show you your Josh. He was back. Grabbing your hand, he finished his thought. “And I would love to go to this appointment with you.”

The tears that filled your eyes and trailed down your cheeks one by one couldn’t be helped. 

“I couldn’t have done this today without you,” you said, voice cracking with emotion. You popped the glovebox to get a napkin to wipe your face, not looking at him as you kept on. “I’ve been so scared for this, and the only person— besides Elsie— that I wanted here with me, was you.”

He reached over to hold your hand, and you tucked the napkin into your lap for backup when you caught his eye again. Before he spoke again, one tear escaped his eye. With one hand lightly squeezing yours, the other dashed up to wipe at the new wetness under his eye. 

Then, after shaking his head, he raised a curious eyebrow to address you. “Wait,” he said wetly before clearing his throat. “Is this your first appointment?”

“Yes,” you blinked, a blush skirting over your cheeks. “I’ve been in denial of it all until super recently.” You sniffed, feeling a couple more tears escape your eye at the topic of conversation and finally talking to Josh about it. It was, admittedly, a lot. “It took me a hot fucking second to come to terms with all of it, so I’m just now at the first appointment.”

He nodded, brows still furrowed as he looked down briefly before finding your eyes again. “How far along are you?”

“I think I’m technically like eleven-ish weeks,” you replied, doing quick math in your head. “I would need to look at my app to give you an exact number. Normally I have it right at the front of my brain, but my nerves are fucking wracked right now,” you bashfully swept your eyes over your hands, interlocked on the armrest. “For obvious reasons.”

You heard him hum and took that as your sign to look at him again. He was watching you carefully, quizzically. His eyes squinted as you, yet again, flushed under his stare. 

“What?!” You hastily spit out, nervous. 

“Does he. . .?”

Knowing exactly what he was asking, you quickly shut down his train of thought. “Jake doesn’t know,” you informed him, tucking your chin as you quietly repeated yourself. “He doesn’t know.”

“Alright,” he responded, not questioning you in the slightest. Your eyes flashed up to meet his: the color of cocoa and sparkling. “Does Elsie?”

Without any words, you gave him a look that answered his pondering thoughts. 

He chuckled, and you joined him by huffing a little laugh, just under your breath. You felt your cheeks loosen with an easy smile. Your shoulders were relaxing more and more by the second. The familiar, natural sense of joviality with him was settling your frazzled nerves.

You eyed the clock on the dashboard and suddenly realized that you were cutting it very close to your appointment time, with no more than a few minutes to spare before you would be running late. 

Sensing your sudden shift in mood, he took the keys out of the ignition just as you unlocked the doors once again, and opened yours. 

“Let’s go inside,” he encouraged, mimicking your action as he opened his own door behind your turned back. 

When you were out of the car, and waiting (sort of) patiently on the sidewalk for him, you physically shook out some of the anxiety that had made home in your bones for the last several months. 

He officially knew that you’d had sex with Jake. He knew that now. And he knew that it had resulted in a baby. He knew enough for now.

And it actually seemed like things were going to be okay. Maybe Elsie had been right all along (though you’d never tell her that).

Your thoughts were affirmed when he came up beside you, pulling you into a hug as soon as he was at your side. A full-on Josh hug: arms wrapped securely around your shoulders. You did your best to hold back tears, so as not to soil his stark white sweatshirt.

Pulling away before you could let any inevitable tears take over, you looked up at him to see his dimple, present in his cheek. You couldn’t help the single tear that trickled down your cheek at the overwhelming feeling of normality. He was warm. He was real. He was Josh. 

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bringing you to him once more before taking your hand in his and wrapping it up tightly. 

Peeking up at him through wet lashes, you saw his face was still turned up in his signature grin, his eyes, slightly playful as he gave you a knowing look he’d given you a thousand times before. 

“You’ve got this, mama,” he reassured with a wink, opening the door to the clinic for you.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The place was fucking amazing. The pictures you’d seen on its website hadn’t done it justice at all. The environment was trendy and relaxing and comfortable. Soft music, similar to that of a lullaby played in the open space, only illuminated by the natural light of the day. No overbearing fluorescent bulbs.

Thank God.

As you made your way to the front desk, you decided to let go of Josh’s hand. 

For some reason, it just felt right to do this on your own. Felt right to make this stride on your own. You could handle the front desk.

“You go sit down,” you offered, motioning to the couches that filtered the chic waiting room. “I think I can do this part.” 

“You sure?” He asked, brows dipping to show his genuine concern. “I’m with you every step of the way. I mean it.”

Your eyes drew wet at the words, but you sniffled and cleared the emotion from your throat when you went to grab his arm through the soft white material of his sweatshirt. “I love you so much for that. I can’t even tell you, Josh,” you told him, a tear escaping despite your efforts. “But I’ve gotta take this step on my own.”

He nodded, needing no further explanation. “I’m over here if you need me,” he threw a thumb at the couches behind him. 

You watched as he walked to the couch nearest to the front desk, sitting comfortably on the blush pink velvet that covered it. You tipped your head at him once, showing him and yourself that you were starting your trek to the counter. 

Once there, you were greeted by the kind smile of a woman most likely in her fifties or sixties, her thick black-framed glasses taking up more than half of her face. Her tanned complexion was flawless and her lips were full with red lipstick as she stretched them over perfectly white teeth. Her jet-black hair was half-up, half-down, haphazardly thrown up with a claw clip, but looking flawless nonetheless. 

She matched the modish aesthetic of the clinic to a T. 

“Hi, babe,” she cheerily greeted you with an out-of-place Southern accent in SoHo, her voice still low to keep the room quiet. “You have an appointment today?”

You froze. The reality of it all suddenly came barreling towards you.

Fuck. Shit. Yes. I do have an appointment today. I’m pregnant. I’m standing here, waiting for an appointment because I’m fucking pregnant.

Dammit. What the fuck? I’m. . .?

You standing here suddenly seemed completely astronomical and unreal– was this truly what life was for you now? While thinking about it nonstop, you’d also not been thinking about it to the extent that it would’ve taken for all of this change to click. This was real. Real life. 

You were carrying a human child. 

And you were at your first appointment for it.

Goddamn.

Blinking several times, you tried to keep your grounding firm as your eyes traced her features a thousand times– searching your suddenly static-filled brain for the most simple word in the English language. 

“Y-y-y–,” you shut your eyes tightly to reset. Come on, y/n. You’ve got this. It’s just one word. 

But you suddenly weren’t sure if you ‘had this’. Your hands began to shake uncontrollably at your sides; you wiped them repeatedly on your leggings. 

But before you could moisten the fabric covering your thighs completely, you went to place them on the counter, touching your current surroundings to center yourself. To hold on to what was real. 

Gia would be so proud.

But then your brain raced right back to the true reality of it all. The reason you were freaking out in the first place was because of the real you couldn’t escape–not that you wanted to, by any means. . .right?! You wanted this. You wanted this. 

You DO want this, y/n. Deep breaths.

The voice sounded so eerily similar to your therapist’s that it helped you to grasp onto a flicker of stabilization. 

This reality was not new. You’d known it was real. You had known there was (probably—hopefully) a kid in you for the past few weeks. And being in this place didn’t make that anymore different than before— minutes before when you’d stepped through the door of the clinic. 

Then you’d walked up to the counter and had one simple question asked of you.

You shook your head once more before blinking open your suddenly-wet eyes. 

But you couldn’t look up from the floor. From your high-top, white Chuck Taylors, now off-white and stained from years of wear. 

And swirling before your eyes in ways they shouldn’t be from the amount of nerves encapsulating your brain. . . Your stomach was rolling.

All of a sudden, you felt a familiar arm wrap around your trembling shoulders, strongly holding you to his chest to keep you stable. The cologne that came from the person, along with the overwhelming rush of relief that came with his presence was a dead giveaway for your new company.

Everything settled.

“Yes,” Josh stated, clearly, for you. “Yes, it’s her first appointment. Y/n? Y/l/n?”

A couple of beats and a few clicks from a mouse followed his words. Then you heard a clipboard clack lightly against the counter and a pen getting clicked open before she sat it on top of the board. 

“Whenever she’s ready,” her voice assuredly spoke, so soft and warm. “I’ll get y’all back there when the time feels right.”

You’d effectively curled tighter into Josh before you looked back up at the sweet lady, meeting her eyes with embarrassment laced through every feature on your face. The muscles in your jaw relaxed when you met her eyes, finally speaking. 

“Thank you,” you muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

She tilted her head at you, sending an understanding wink your way. “No need to apologize, sweet pea,” she calmly hushed, her voice sounding reminiscent of any old Southern woman you’d ever seen in a movie. “It’s a whole lot to deal with. We get it.”

Your lips quivered up into a small smile, eyes watery. “That means a lot,” you sputtered, fresh tears making their way to your jaw. 

Dear fucking God. The tears had to stop at some point. You’d always been a crier, but these motherfucking hormones were just bringing out the absolute most. Pulling out all of the stops. Your emotions, pre-pregnancy, were already shaky, at best. . . and they were apparently just getting progressively worse with the damned baby hormones.

The anxiety was understandable. But the crying? It was almost nonstop. And it was getting old already. 

Though, you knew–you knew–that it wasn’t even fucking close to being over. If everything today went accordingly and you officially found out there was a whole ass baby growing inside of you, you knew that this spike in emotions was only the beginning. 

Sharing one more smile with the lady behind the desk, you walked with Josh back to the waiting room couch he’d been occupying prior to your blessed meltdown. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Unashamedly, you let Josh fill out all of the paperwork. You were still tense and uneasy, but the way you’d handled answering the questions, with him right by your side helped more than you’d intended it to. The process had just been an easy ebb and flow, answering basic questions about yourself. 

And questions about Jake—but Josh answered those with zero problems. Basic Father-Of-The-Child shit that Josh could ramble off in his sleep. You couldn’t help peering over his shoulder as he answered those. You couldn’t explain the intrigue— you just thought it funny seeing him answer questions about his twin. . . Like it was nothing. 

Then came questions about your menstrual cycle. Which were not your favorite to have Josh write the answers to— but you didn’t want to put pen to paper, so you continued to let him write even those, too.

The rest of the process went easily. He’d rattle off a question, and you’d answer it. That was how it’d gone for roughly thirty minutes. 

He’d clicked his tongue, drawing a line down the section about past pregnancies. And then he’d come to a question that made him give you a look. He had one eyebrow raised as soon as he’d read through the last question. 

The last question. The last question that had been slightly unwelcome and less than wonderful to have him fill in for you. 

You didn’t know why you hadn’t thought of it being on the sheet. Your mind had been too focused on other things for the past several days. Like hopelessly depressing scenarios involving your baby’s wellbeing and telling people and eating fucking pickles. . . you just hadn’t really given much weight to possible questions on this initial patient questionnaire. 

You pulled your body back slightly, your own face morphing to one that mirrored his. “What?”

“The last question— they want to know if you’re sexually—,” he cleared his throat, shaking his head once before before continuing. “If you’re sexually active.”

You blushed deep crimson—your cheeks, flaming hot. You knew exactly where his mind went because it was where yours went with the question. 

Are you still having sex with Jake?

You coughed briefly, clearing the awkward air before you responded. “No,” you divulged, your eyes flitting up to his: big, wondering and deep chocolate. “No. We’re not— fuck. I’m not. I’m not having sex. I don’t know if he is,” you rambled, bringing a hand up to slap your forehead. Your heart rate even accelerated the slightest bit, hurting your chest. What in the fuck? That's unnecessary. It’s one question, y/n. Quit being nervous—there’s no need. “But—I’m not having sex. Not sexually active, no.”

Josh brought your hand away from your head, which was suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat. You found his eyes: open and willing to listen and understand. Your heart rate slowed considerably at his expression. “It’s okay, y/n. Either way, I don’t care. It’s your life.”

You blinked away more tears—god, fuck. Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply nodded in response. The response was what you’d needed to hear from the beginning. Would things be different if you’d heard those words from him at the beginning of all of this? 

It was no use to imagine. You hadn’t heard his affirmation before now, and at this point, it was officially too late. You’d hurt Jake. Jake had moved on and proved to you that you really weren’t that important to him.

And, the sad truth: even if Josh was okay with it, you had plenty more reasons to keep your title with Jake strictly roommate—friend at most. 

Also, officially, the mother of his child.

Clasping your hands over your tummy, you watched as he checked the “no” box. Then, you watched his eyes scan the sheet quickly to check for any missed questions, clicking his tongue against his teeth all the while.

Thankfully, it seemed you’d successfully answered all of them when he got up to walk the sheet back to the counter for you, where a nurse now occupied the seat, you’d observed. Scrubs, making that apparent.

You had been too busy spacing out on the many questions Josh had asked of you, per the sheets. You hadn’t the mind to pay attention to where the receptionist had gone.

Josh came back over to you shortly to get your driver’s license from you, along with your insurance card. 

“They’ll need these on file,” he said, flashing both at you once you’d given them to him. He brought them back after they’d scanned them into the system, but went up to the counter to answer any questions they may've had as you waited on the couch. 

He was seriously the best. You, proving to be completely useless, didn’t hinder him from being the most incredible friend whilst you sat, doing nothing. 

Before too long, once (you assumed) the general information from the sheet had been entered in the system, you heard your name called from the door to the side of the desk, and you were steadily ushered to the back by a nurse. (With Josh in tow, of course. He wasn’t going anywhere.)

“Nice day outside?” The young nurse, blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, asked politely, as you stepped off the scale she’d weighed you on. 

“Yeah,” you responded, glancing over your shoulder at Josh. “Nice fall day. But a little warmer than we like it, huh, Josh?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes,” he responded. “Definitely not enjoying my choice of clothing today. . . Not the day for a sweater, I’ll say.”

The nurse hummed, taking in the information as she grabbed a cup from the counter with your first initial and last name on it. “How long have you guys been together?” She addressed you once with a smile, looking between the two of you with a twinkle in her eye. 

You didn’t mean to squawk with a laugh. 

But thankfully you didn’t have to worry about it because Josh did, too. 

The laugh was, once again, exactly what you needed to calm you down. Your shoulders, still releasing their tension from earlier, became more and more relaxed with each giggle you released. Josh was holding his mouth and shaking his head, his smiling eyes closed while you answered the question. 

“We’re not together,” you explained, the laughter dying down as you caught the nurse’s wide eyes sympathetically. “He’s my best friend. Dating my sister, actually.”

“Oh,” she grinned shakily, eyes jumping back and forth between the two of you. “You both just–he’s here with you today—and you two just seem to fit so well together.”

You smirked, throwing a sideways glance at Josh who was watching the woman with the same sympathetic gaze as you. He must’ve sensed your staring, though, because he quickly threw a look your way. 

He winked at you before adding in his two cents. “I mean, you weren’t wrong. We do mesh incredibly well, but her sister’s had my heart for a helluva a long time. However, I am the uncle,” he informed her, pointing to himself before throwing the same pointer at your tummy. 

It made your heart flutter a thousand beats per minute at hearing him say, for the first time, that he’s the uncle. Josh being bound by blood to the little bean growing within you is another reason you feel assured in your decision to keep it. It’s part of Jake, and part of your closest confidant (aside from Elsie) for years. You’ve obviously thought about it plenty of times before now, but finally hearing Josh acknowledge it was something your heart desperately needed.

“My brother is the father. I’m just her best friend–don’t know what he is to her, though," he finished.

Your eyes widened as you were still getting used to hearing Jake being referred to as the father out loud. . .

Better get fucking used to it, though–nothing you could do about it. 

You also weren’t sure what to make of Josh’s last statement–was he still upset with you that he didn’t know anything about Jake’s role in your life? The inflection in his tone sounded a bit more sneering than you would have liked.

Whenever she spoke next, you were able to snap out of it, recovering quickly.

“Whoa,” she said, blowing out a breath. “That’s. . . wow.” Shaking her head, she looked at the cup in her hand, handing it over to you before she continued. She seemed to be done with the conversation, and ready to get back to the task at hand. “Every woman that comes in for her first appointment gets her blood drawn and urinates in a cup,” she motions to the plastic container she’d handed over to you, then taps at her arm as she watches you carefully for her next spiel. “We draw the blood so we can use it to identify your blood type and to look for other conditions we may have to monitor or treat during your pregnancy.”

Damn. That was a hell ton of information. What do I even make of all of that?

It was your turn to just stare blankly at her and offer a simple okay before she was pointing to the room with the open door, across the hallway, for Josh.

“You can wait in that room for her,” she stretched a little half smile over her delicate features. “She will be there shortly.”

He gave you two thumbs up and a reassuring grin before going in the direction she’d told him. Then she was leading you to the nearest bathroom so you could pee in your fucking cup. After giving you a few instructions, along with a sterile wipe, and informing you on how to get an uncontaminated urine sample, she was letting you in to the single-person restroom. 

It definitely matched the trendy environment of the rest of the clinic and was cleaner than probably any other public restroom you’d ever been inside. You did exactly as she’d instructed and made your business quick before handing off the sample to the same nurse from before. She sat it in a window where someone behind immediately grabbed it. 

“Going off to the lab,” she half-smiled, but quickly tipped her finger to signal you to follow her further down the hallway. “Now I’m going to draw some blood real fast, and then you’ll be free to go wait for the doctor in your room.”

Sitting in a chair in a room towards the back, a couple of other nurses went about their business as your nurse cleaned your arm, using a cotton ball with her now-gloved hands. 

“Does getting your blood drawn freak you out?” She apprehensively questioned before she went to insert the needle. “Or these?” She wiggled the needle in the air to emphasize.

You shook your head, pursing your lips. “For some reason, those are two things I’m totally fine with,” you spoke, your voice tilting up at the end. “I don’t know why they don’t freak me out—everything else fucking does.”

God, shut the fuck up, y/n. Let her do her job.

The blonde gave you an odd look, as if you’d spoken too much for her taste. 

And that pissed you off. You no longer felt bad for talking too much. 

You fucking asked me, bitch.

Thankfully, you were able to get rid of her in minutes-time. As soon as she’d bandaged your arm over a cotton ball, she pointed you to the room she’d sent Josh. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled with a small, semi-annoyed smile before making your way to the room where Josh waited. 

His eyes were huge when you made your way into the small exam room. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’ve got it cut the fuck out for you, huh?”

You gave him a look that said Seriously? and rolled your eyes. “Duh, Josh,” you replied, taking in the small room with pretty pictures of babies all over the walls. “I kind of already knew that. Since I am the one carrying the fuckin’ baby and all.”

God, that was harsh, y/n. He doesn’t deserve your anger like that.

Both of his hands went up to guard him as he crossed one leg over the other. “Jesus, y/n,” he sighed, eyes huge. “Give me a damn break. I didn’t even know until today that you were pregnant. Didn't fully know any of it. It’s a lot for a guy, I guess.”

“Damn, I’m so sorry that it’s so much for you as a man, Josh,” you scowled, your voice not hiding any of your irritation with him for his last comment. 

Seriously, y/n?

To be fair, as amazing as Josh truly was, he was still a man— and half of the time men didn’t know their heads from their assholes. Didn’t ever know the proper times to say stupid shit. (Or, to not say it at all.) 

You had to put it in perspective, though . . .because you kind of sucked at saying ridiculous shit, too. So you could only get so angry with him.

“That was a stupid thing to say,” he admitted. “Sorry.”

You tried to laugh it off. You didn’t want there to be unnecessary tension right now—it was the very last thing you needed. “It’s fine,” you encouraged. 

You propped yourself to sit the best you could on the edge of the beige-matted table. The thin paper that covered it crinkled underneath you– made you feel like you were making way too much noise for the tiny room.

“I’m sorry for being short. I need you. For multiple reasons. But right now. . .I just need you to be with me when I find out if this bean actually exists in my loins. . . If I’ve been imagining it the whole fucking time, or if I’ve lost it. . .,” you swallowed. You had to blink back the tears gathering in your eyes as you trailed off at the dreaded possibility. “I just need you to see with me if there��s anything sad to be seen,” you added, voice suddenly wet. 

“Hey,” Josh spoke, softly. “Look at me.”

You swiveled to do as he said. The attempt to not cry was useless. The tears were drenching your cheeks. The fear that had settled so deeply in your bones since the day you’d heard that podcast was coming to light, as you’d just uttered the worries aloud for the first time. 

Barely seeing Josh through the wetness that clouded your vision, you replied the best you could, albeit extremely pathetically. “Yeah?” 

“Why are you worried about those things?” He asked, so quietly, eyes gleaming to bring light. Grabbing your hands, his eyes became suspicious slits when he addressed his next question. “Y/n. . . Have you given yourself any time to feel excited about this appointment? Or have you just focused on the anxiety you’ve built up, surrounding today?”

You bowed your head out of embarrassment. “I’ve been excited, Josh. . .,” you muttered, completely aware of the lie. 

“Mmm,” he responded, rubbing his chin with one hand as the other still grasped both of yours, sure and comforting. “I suspect that’s untrue. . . I know you, my love.”

Gasping on a sob, you closed your eyes to stop crying, covering your face with your hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, squeezing your hands, down and away from your face. He held them still with one of his own, the other helping to slide his chair closer to you. “Don’t you dare be sorry, mama— there’s no reason. This is just the beginning; you’ve got plenty more opportunities to be excited. . . I’m sure plenty of women get worried before this first appointment. There’s a lot up in the air before the first time you see the little thing on the screen.”

You opened your eyes to look at him. And though they were still wet, nothing else was coming from your ducts— thank god. “Yeah?” You asked, desperate to know he actually might understand, tone begging him to tell you you’re not crazy. “You think?”

He nodded with his lips pursed, his new mustache squiggly with the action; his brows, tied together, and eyes, serious. “Oh, yes. I know it. You are not alone, love,” he reassured you, helping your heart rate slow to normal for the millionth time that day. “But that’s why I hope every single one of those women has a person who is there for them on days like today.” He paused, setting his eyes firmly on you before continuing. “Because, today, we are going to discover and conquer whatever we find out from that screen—,” he tilted his forehead toward the monitor screen, “Together.”

Your eyes welled, lip sticking out with a pout. God, you loved him. You truly couldn’t have done today without him. “I really need a hug from you.” 

Without question, he was up and out of his seat, wrapping his arms snugly around you. You tucked your nose into his neck, breathing in his cologne— the familiar smell of his patchouli exactly what you needed to feel secure in the moment. 

You were busy focusing on his breathing, in and out, in and out, when the door received a knock and creaked open behind his back. He must’ve heard, too, and moved away from hugging you and back to his seat as you both watched for the doctor to walk through the door.

But the only person you saw was. . . the receptionist? What was she doing in—? 

“I’m Dr. Rose,” the beautiful lady—who was a doctor apparently, not a receptionist—greeted you with that same, thick Southern accent. “It’s nice to see you doin’ better since I last saw ya, babygirl.”

You blinked several times, feeling immediately at ease with the familiar face. “You’re a doctor? Not a receptionist?”

God, stupid, y/n. Duh. She just said that, you moron.

She chuckled. “Yes ma’am,” she replied, as she clicked on every button on the monitor needed to complete the appointment. Afterwards, as things whirred to life, she went to open the laptop she’d carried in with her, sitting atop the counter. “I’m your doctor, sweet cakes,” she twanged in her western tone. “I’ll be with y’all until the very end of this wonderful journey we call pregnancy.”

You grinned, appreciative of the fact that you were already familiar with her—even if it was from the tiniest interaction earlier. But you couldn’t hold onto that feeling for too long before you got nervous of the impression you’d made earlier with your anxiety attack (or whatever the hell that’d been). 

With concerned brows, you cleared your throat before offering up some words of your own. “I’m so sorry that the first time you met me I was acting like a basket case,” you apologized, extremely self conscious. Crossing your legs tighter, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. When that still hadn’t been enough to contain the nervous energy, you let your hands rest on your belly. 

Tapping away at the small bump, skin tight under your sweater, you waited for her response. 

She gave you a look that immediately eased you. Her brow, raised, and beautiful red lips quirked up in a small grin. “Now, little missy, I told you earlier that we get it and I meant it.” Dr. Rose sat on her rolling stool, wheeling over to the table. And once there, extended it to be higher so she could talk better with you closer to eye level. “You are not the first one to get all nervous at your first prenatal appointment—or any OB appointment at all— and you’re certainly not the last—far, far from it,” she smiled wide, close-lipped and completely empathetic. Her deep set, big, brown eyes— lashes so long and curled to perfection— showed you how much she cared, behind her big black frames. “Now, how about we get to the good stuff?”

There were obviously a couple tears dripping down your cheek, and you pushed them away as you nodded. Your tummy did all of the flips and tosses and turns—your skin was practically buzzing with nerves. 

You were so close to seeing the truth.

Facing this head on.

“Go ahead and lay back for me,” she instructed. You did as you were told, bending an arm behind your head, trying to get comfortable in skin that felt restrictive. As she stood up, clicking a few buttons to get the monitor screen situated, she asked some questions. “Now can you give me a small debrief on your health history? Anything you can think of? Don’t worry about digging too, too deep right now. We have your blood samples and urine sample that will also aid in indicating any abnormalities.”

The word abnormalities wasn’t your favorite thing to hear, but you didn’t let it sit tight in your brain as you pondered anything she might need to know. 

“Um,” you dipped into the more current issues you’d faced. “I guess. . . anxiety? Depression? Do those count?” 

Dr. Rose hummed in approval and gave a small grin as she went to get a few materials from the cabinet.

“I think the anxiety is worse than the depression, but they’re both persistently just. . . there,” you contemplated what else. . . nothing much was coming to your mind. “I also got my tonsils taken out when I was like 12 years old. . .?”

“You say that as a question,” she commented, a lilt in her voice and a smile on her face, showing that she found it funny. 

“I did have them taken out,” you huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself as you pushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen out from behind your ear. “I’m just kind of. . .blanking. I know there’s more, but I’m just–just fucking nervous.”

“That’s understandable, sweetie pie,” she assured, her thick Southern accent making your heart rate settle just a bit.

“I know I’m probably missing a few things. Like, there are parts of my childhood that are hazy at best, so there might be things buried back there that I can’t tell you today,” you informed carefully, hoping she understood. When she nodded, you took that as your sign to continue. “I’m seeing a therapist right now who is actually helping me dig up some of it, so I might have a few more answers for you next visit.”

There was a moment of silence as Dr. Rose continued to prepare the sonogram machine, the obnoxious clacking of keys and buttons covering the dull electrical hum that surrounded you. However, that singular moment of time seemed to carry on and on as the nerves in your body seemed to twist your gut to the point that your organs felt close to pushing out of your belly button.

It was as if simply mentioning your mental health – and whispering of your past – was enough to send you into a mini spiral. The muted lull of the clinic didn’t help anything. . . the almost soundless environment, wrapping you up in its emptiness and choking you.

Tap, tap . . .  Tap, tap . . .  Tap, tap . . .

You tried to focus on the thrum of your fingertips along the tender skin of your swollen abdomen, hoping and praying it would keep your thoughts at bay.  

She was taking a long fucking time–which you were sure was normal and warranted. 

But, God. The room just started feeling smaller and smaller as the thoughts got bigger and bigger. You were in the room that was about to tell you the truth of the matter and you still seemed so far away from finding out. . . You weren’t sure what to think. 

Were you even ready to see what the ultrasound was about to show you?

Josh must have noticed the nervous energy you were exuding as the stoppers on the legs of the chair made a sharp scraping noise against the sterile linoleum tile, making you cringe the tiniest bit. He moved his chair closer to the side of the table next to you, opposite of where Dr. Rose sat on the other side.  His dark eyes made contact with yours and his brow raised as if to say, ‘are you okay?’.

All you could manage to do was nod in response, brows knitted.

“Alrighty, I’m going to put some of this gel on your belly and then you’ll feel a bit of pressure once we start.”

You were half expecting a chill to make you jolt with the application of the thick gel, much like you'd seen in movies - you know, where it’s freezing cold and uncomfortable - but as it fell against your skin, you were surprised to be met with a warm temperature that relaxed you.  The clean scent of the gel overpowered your nostrils, but not in a bad way.  It gave you something else to focus on as a slight pressure from the head of the wand, came to push lightly against your belly, just above your pelvic bone.

The black and white image appeared on the screen and. . . showed you nothing. 

Nothing. 

Emptiness. Empty stomach.

Amidst the gray static on the screen, there was nothing but a big black spot that resembled a the shape of a bean.  You had to force yourself to look away, an all-too familiar stinging feeling in the corner of your eyes, showing up again.

All this time, the acceptance of your pregnancy and the effort and hard work you’d put in to create a better life for yourself (and this part of him inside you). . . had shown to be completely pointless.  The feeling of hope that you'd begun to welcome into your life was on the brink of shattering and it didn’t help that Dr. Rose wasn’t saying anything. . . wasn’t doing anything aside from sliding the wand against your empty stomach.

God fucking dammit. All of your worst fears were coming to fruition and every moment you stared at the bleak screen you felt the emptiness on the screen envelop your heart until—.

Thump thump.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as Josh gently grabbed onto your arm, reassuring, and pointed at the screen above you. On the screen, displayed clear as day right in front of you, was the outline of a baby’s delicate profile.

The soft curve of its forehead, the splotchy spikes of a tell-tale spine, a little belly, the slightest movement of four tiny limbs protruding from the sides and bottom. . . and the tiniest flicker in the center of it all.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away as Dr. Rose started to press more buttons and a bunch of small dotted yellow lines showed over the image of your baby, measuring from point A to point B. She was speaking, but you couldn’t be bothered to listen to the words she was saying. All you cared about was the miniscule movements on the screen as a leg kicked up or an arm pushed out.  

It was beautiful, striking, amazing, wonderful, unbelievable, and real. . . so very real.

What you had found yourself questioning for weeks wasn’t just a thought, but now cemented reality. The concerns you had and the voice in your head doubting you were silenced to nothing - because the life growing inside you, the product of you and Jake, was right in front of you.  

The product of the best night of your life was finally proven to be the best part of you and it was real.

Thump thump.

The steady sound of a little racing heartbeat drew you back to the present and to the words your doctor was saying to you.

“Profile looks darn good, placenta is anterior, there’s the umbilical cord. . .,” She spoke as she pointed with her finger to each shape of white that was mixed into the static. “Heartbeat is 160, there’s the bladder and the kidneys, oh!” Dr. Rose exclaimed with a chuckle as she seemed to record a movement. Upon playing it back in front of you, she explained the movement as a little hand with five fingers moved up towards a space by the baby’s nose. “The little angel is wavin' at you, mama,” she looked down at you with a knowing smile. 

Your heart swelled more than you’d ever felt in your entire life. This was . . . otherworldly. Absolutely earth-shattering. There were not any words you could string together that would do this moment justice.

“Wow,” you muttered, voice officially clogged with the tears that relentlessly poured down your cheeks. You sniffled. “It’s. . . moving?”

“Sure is,” she winked. “Has been for a while. You have an especially active little one – already. Prepare for some monster kicks here in a couple months, mama.”

“Wow,” you repeated.

“Gets it from their uncle,”Josh said, sniffling behind you.

You smiled over at him. You felt the joy he did. All around. More. This was your baby. Yours and Jake’s. God.

“Exciting, huh, babe?” She asked knowingly. 

All you could do was nod. You weren’t sure you could stop smiling. . . it was hurting your cheeks, but you welcomed it. This was. . . this was everything. Everything you could have ever wished for.

“I know it, honey bun,” she agreed, her red lips perked with joy for you. “Also, according to the size of the baby and the start date of your last menstrual cycle, I would say you are at right about 12 weeks, little missy.”

Once she’d confirmed the gestational age, you saw her scoot the cart back a bit and wipe the wand she’d used with a sterile wipe, putting it back in its slot. Then, she cleaned your belly of any leftover jelly. You just watched from where you were still leaned back, head resting on one arm behind it. She stripped her gloves and tossed them in the nearest waste bin.

“Twelve weeks. Yep,” you breathed, pulling your shirt down. Your cheeks lifted even more at officially knowing (relatively) how old your little bean was. “Based on my last period.”

“Yes. Because, oddly enough, that is technically when the pregnancy started,” she explained. “On the first date of your last menstrual cycle.”

Dr. Rose went to grab a packet, a pamphlet, and a few free-flying papers, all paper-clipped together, from the counter. You sat up as she clicked her way back to you on her stilettos. She kept talking as she handed them to you. “I don’t wanna clog up our time today with all of the technicalities – unless that’s what ya want?” She offered. 

You shook your head no. Today, all you’d come in wanting to know was that your baby was alive. And you knew that now. And fuck, it felt nice. Better than. 

Except . . .

“Is the baby healthy?” You asked worriedly, needing to hear her tell you.

“Positively. One hundred percent, mama,” she confirmed, her teeth sparkling behind her red lips. “From what I could see on the scan, you’ve got a perfectly healthy baby squirmin’ around in there.”

You internally and externally let out a sigh of relief that had needed released for a fat second. The baby was okay. Healthy. Moving. Alive. 

Everything was going to be alright.

You looked down at Josh, his face glowing, cheeks glistening with tears. “I’m so proud of you,” he choked. 

Another tear slipped down his cheek as you felt one well in your eye. You didn’t know why he was proud of you, but the words made your emotions spike. You were proud of the little life inside of you. . . already doing its best to live its best life.

“Back to what I was sayin’ before,” Dr. Rose went on. Your eyes found her, clicking off the machine. “In that paperwork you’ll find all of the technicalities and logistics about the pregnancy. Which vitamins you should take. Prenatals our clinic suggests. Recommended foods to eat. The baby’s size week by week. When I say everything, sweetie, I mean ev-er-ything,” she emphasized in her twang. “You can find the same information on our clinic’s website. There is a help tab on there for our mothers-to-be, but I always provide physical copies for my girls. I also recommend downloading at least one pregnancy tracker app to get notified with updates – it’s just convenient and fun.”

“I downloaded one recently, actually. It’s been amazing. Thank you for everything,” you weakly offered. You also had to know. . . “Will you be the one delivering the baby?”

“Sure thing,” she affirmed. “With ya till ya want rid of me. Speaking of that day, our partnering hospital is Cedars-Sinai, so that is where you’ll end up having the baby,” she paused, bringing her eyes to you. “Since you indicated on the form that you would prefer a planned hospital birth over a planned home birth.”

“Correct. Hospital birth for me,” you affirmed.

“Now, we are going to schedule your next appointment for four weeks from now,” she continued, opening her tablet and typing out the information for her calendar, presumably. “How does December 8th sound, honey bun?”

You didn’t check your calendar, because you would make that day okay. Anything you needed to do to make it happen. “Sounds perfect,” you replied, practically jittering with excitement for the next one. “When will I find out the gender?”

“I always have my girls wait until week 18,” she responded, turning buttons off on the machine before scooting it back where it had started. “So, when you come in for your next appointment, we will actually have ya schedule an extra lil appointment in there to see what our little buddy is in there.”

“Got it,” you told her. 

“Your sonogram pictures will be waitin’ at the front desk for ya,” she said, washing her hands. Then, after she dried them, she grabbed her laptop. “And finally, your due date is–at this point, according to what we know–May 23rd.”

The date was suddenly the most important you’d ever heard. 

It was the day you now felt you’d been waiting for your entire life.

Without ever knowing it. 

This baby was already changing your heart for the better and everyday, it seemed like all the little (alive and moving) bundle of hope did was bring you unadulterated joy. 

The most precious gift that you’d made with someone so precious to you.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once you’d finished the appointment, Josh had asked if you had any plans. And when you’d said no, he ended up driving you both to a cute little cafe he'd heard about in SoHo. A place that, even from the outside, oozed with a charming aesthetic. 

The two of you sat there, pointing out every single detail of the sonogram pictures, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the tiny feet, tiny hands, and the itty bitty, adorable body that belonged to your baby. . . You had never seen something so beautiful. You were sure of it.

And after that, you’d taken some time to catch up. You’d talked about him and Elsie, Elsie and her travels, and the fact that you’d started going to therapy. (Next to the baby, he was most excited about this.)

All you’d ordered was a Sprite since you weren’t feeling the most hungry as of late. Josh had followed in your lead and only ordered drinks as well. Honey tea and a glass of water. He’d made sure to tell the waitress to grab you a water, too. 

And after a quick trip to the bathroom to relieve your ever-aching bladder, you were back at the table. 

Back at a table where Josh was giving you a look. His eyes were narrowed, a mischievous grin turning his lips up to show a dimple in his cheek.

Just as you’d sat down, the waitress was bringing Josh a new, piping hot tea, since he'd (apparently) already finished the first. 

And then, as soon as she was gone, he was talking.

“I sort of had a weird inkling of something going on. . .,” Josh noted as he stirred, then took a long swig of his tea, steam still emitting from the top. “Goddammit!” He gasped, a pained expression painting his features, as he coughed over the warm temperature of the beverage. “Hot hot hot hot,” he repeated to himself, finding his ice water and taking an even longer swig.

You couldn’t help the burst of laughter that bloomed in your chest, flying past your lips as he continued to down the water. All you got in response was him flipping you off with one long digit, and a wrinkle, knitting his brow.

The sinking feeling in your stomach couldn’t be ignored, though. . . you’d heard what he initially said. How had he known? God. . . how long? Your mind was a frenzy as you forced yourself to stop laughing to focus on the serious subject matter at hand.

“How?”

“Well, y/n,” he replied smartly, motioning to the cup. “It just came from the pot, I’m sure. Don’t you see the damned thing is steaming? Why did I even take a–?”

“No,” you stopped his rambling to clarify your question. “How did you . . .? Did you seriously know?” As you were still air-quoting the last few words, he was already nodding his head to answer you. “How? Why? What did we do wrong? I-I mean- God. Do Sam and Danny know, too?”

“Now, I didn’t say I knew,” he corrected you, feeling at the sides of the mug to test the temperature. And, yet again, he was met with the scorching temperature, thus hissing and placing his hands around the plastic of the water cup. “In essence, I said I had an idea. And you didn’t do anything wrong. I just– he’s my fucking twin, y/n,” he set you with a stare that said ‘Remember?! Can’t fool me!’, before he continued. “And where you’re concerned. . . I know you very well. You’ve been my best friend for several years. . ." he reminded you. "Oh, and I’m also a fucking empath. Which you, my dear, were the first one to ever point out my empathic tendencies. . .,” he winked at you with a grin on his full lips. “You should’ve known you couldn’t keep that shit from me. Not without me getting suspicious as hell.”

“Are you mad?”

He stuck his lip out, looking down at the tea, running his finger tip along the rim of the mug before he wrapped his hands around it again. Apparently not at a burning temperature anymore, he decided to bring the cup up to his lips, pinky up as he gripped the handle. This time, he closed his eyes in relief at the taste of the honeyed tea on his tongue. When he placed it back down, he continued watching it, lips still pushed out in a pout as he shook his head, brow wrinkled.

“Nah,” was all he supplied, his eyes hyper focused on the white ceramic mug.

Of course, you were not convinced. “Josh. Look at me.”

When his eyes slowly slid up to find yours, you found at least one reason he hadn’t been looking at you. There were wet pools accumulating in the ducts of his deep brown eyes. He breathed in deeply, his chest expanding with the giant breath before he blew it out, a lone tear making its way down his cheek. 

“I–,” he started, shaking his head and messing with the front of his curly mop of hair. He dropped his hand to tap against the table. “It’s not that I’m mad. It’s really hard to make me mad. I’m more mad at Jake. He makes me mad very easily when he wants. Because I know he can do better. . . Like starting this with you and not having the balls to see it through and leaving you with a baby in your belly.” It was as if the steam had been transferred from his cup to his ears, his nostrils were flaring as he shook his head and squinted his eyes shut. 

Damn, he and Jake look very similar when they get angry, you suddenly discovered.

“And now, he’s just been fucking Maya while you’ve had to deal with–.”

The tears came instantly. Your vision was blurry before you were even able to process that the tears were there. 

“Oh my god, y/n. I’m so– fuck. I’m sorry,” Josh tried, his tone willing you to hear him out. 

You blinked furiously, covering your eyes with one hand. But, finding it useless to try to hide the tears, you just let them fall freely as you now took deep breaths, your eyes piercing through the window of the cafe. “Can we please not–?”

“Y-yeah, Goddammit,” he nervously fluffed the front of his hair. “Y/n, please look at me.”

Forcing your eyes away from the clear autumn sky, you found his eyes, earnestly begging for you to listen to him. “He wasn’t– he hasn’t– I don’t–,” he growled under his breath, reaching forward for your hand. Which you only stared at until he spoke next. “Please, just take my hand.”

So, you did as he asked and looked at him with desperately sad eyes. 

He watched you carefully for a few minutes, letting the tears leave as he reassured you and apologized a couple more times. 

He cleared his throat, blinking his eyes a few times before apparently deciding on a new conversation. “When did you guys begin. . .?”

You knew he was asking when you’d started fucking his brother. But he obviously wasn’t going to say it. 

Nice turn in conversation, Josh.

“It’s complicated,” you offered wetly, not in the mood to talk.

He hummed, before raising a brow with searching eyes. He was trying to get through to you. “Was it that night at Baby’s All Right?”

How the fuck did he know that–?

But, like you said, it was more complicated–because, no, it really didn’t start at Baby’s. 

“Technically," you sniffled, swiping a finger, then a thumb under both of your eyes. "It started before and after that night. It was a long, drawn out thing that shouldn’t have ever started.”

Instantly, you felt guilty. 

The words felt wrong to say. . .the first thing coming to your mind – the baby. 

If it hadn’t started, you wouldn’t have the baby. The sweet little bean in your belly with a beautiful, beating heart. You placed a steady hand against your tummy to make up for the harsh words. 

And the second thing. . . you couldn’t begin to imagine never getting to be that close to Jake. . . you were grateful it had started. . . But you also hated yourself for ever letting yourself get so tied up in Jake Kiszka.

Figuratively and literally. God. Stupid.

“Yes, it should have,” he affirmed, your eyes flickering to him. “For my niece or nephew alone.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, eyes filling with more tears at the conversation and the spiraling thoughts in your mind. “But, I guess, if we are getting technical. . .," you sniffed. "It started that night he left the venue so pissed and you were equally as pissed with him.”

He seemed to think on that for a second or two, trying to go back to the night to which you were referring. Once he finally found it, his eyes lit up with a twitch on his lips. 

“He was mad that night,” he remembered, his hand squeezing yours. You decided to pull yours away from his as you felt it beginning to perspire. Wiped them on your pants, waiting for him to continue. “And now I know why. You weren’t there.”

“Essentially, yes,” you confirmed with a tilt of your head. You couldn't help but snicker with the next part. “It started when I got home.”

Josh’s lips stretched to the point that his eyes bulged and his cheeks puffed out. He blew out a breath while his eyes stayed huge. “And that is all I need to know about that night.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his expression and his words, to which he lightened with you, falling into a soft moment of laughter alongside you. 

When the humor died down, he took the initiative to speak. And you let him. You really weren’t feeling like talking. The smells of the cafe, for one, were starting to make your stomach turn. “I could’ve guessed that it started around that time,” he began. You quirked a brow, asking him to explain further. “He . . . he changed around that time.” You didn’t speak, which told him to continue. “You see, when he first got to New York, he was so fucking surly and rude. He wasn’t just like that with you, mama. He was short as hell with me, too. And the other guys got his bad side – especially Sammy. His heart was broken and he didn’t know how to handle his shit. He started coming back into himself around that time, though. . .Middle of summer. He sort of peaked around the middle of summer. And if I am doing the math right. . . that is when it was happening?”

You nodded an affirmation, impressed by the quick math. 

“Yeah, he was Jake again,” he expressed, eyes tearing up again. “He was joyful for the first time in years. I hadn’t seen him act so freely and fun since before he and Amelia started dating. There was always something stopping him when he was with her – she was stopping him. But you. . . you must’ve encouraged him to be himself. You didn’t turn down the challenge. You took a chance on my brother.”

After considering the words, the lightbulb appeared above your head. That conversation the day in the record shop. The same day you’d played over and over again to convince yourself out of being with Jake. You’d focused on the other words so much that you’d forgotten all about the positive things–the possibilities that had been discussed that day.

You remembered it now. You'd been talking about high school. And how Jake had sort of decided to fuck all when Josh hadn't. . . and it had turned into you bringing up your love of a challenge. 

Josh had nodded, lips turned down, his eyes still holding a little glint. “Yup. Get my point now?”

“Yeah, but like I just said, I’m not one to turn down a challenge. Just like you, Josh. And your brother. . .I’ve learned he is nothing if not a challenge.” 

He had nodded, knowing you were right. And he’d known you long enough to know that you did indeed enjoy overcoming any problem life may hand you.

God, what had happened to you? Where had the desire to accomplish challenges gone?

Why had you given up? Had you given him up? Or had you simply been done with that challenge? Had Jake just been ready to fly? Had you done what was best?

But, you sidelined those thoughts and decided there were more important matters at hand. Like Josh telling you more about how he was feeling.

“So. . . you’re not hurt?” You asked, your voice hoarse from not talking. You cleared it, and tried again. “You’re not hurt?”

“A little, I guess,” he nodded, eyes studying you.

“That’s fair,” you encouraged – glad he was sharing his heart. “I’m sorry for not telling you. But I just kept hearing your voice in my head–that same day we talked about challenges– that same day you’d told me something and it repeated itself over and over to the point that I tried to resist things happening with Jake. Mostly for you, Josh. I didn’t want to betray you. Didn't want him to betray his dreams. But then it just became something bigger that I couldn’t control. It was . . . different than anything else I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“Did you want to stop it?”

“I tried to convince myself that I wanted to . . . but I never did. Not really. I wanted him the whole time, but I felt wrong for it. I was totally disregarding what you’d said to me. . . Going against your wishes for him.”

His eyes got big as he took another sip of his tea, that at this point, was probably lukewarm. But if it was, his face didn’t show it. He licked at his lips and peered at you pensively, curiously. “God, y/n. I’m sorry. What did I even say? I don’t remember,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I hate that my words have been just fuckin’ tormenting you, mama. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” you said, pointing your finger at him, your eyes serious to communicate your point. “You don’t be sorry. I’m the one who was in the wrong. Not even Jake, necessarily,” you included the last part, just on Jake’s behalf. “I was the one who did it even after you’d confided in me that you were happy Jake was getting to live life for himself for the first time – without having to worry about being hung up on a girl. And, then I just let myself be that girl you didn’t want for him – I was the girl to get in his way while he should’ve been living for himself.”

“In the spirit of fairness, though, I told him that he needed to take a break from women. He didn’t listen to me either. Well, sort of. . . he actually did follow my advice, I guess,” he encouraged, his eyes searching yours. “Because I also told him that I wanted him to think of what he wanted first.” His tone lifted as he winked at you. 

Your brow wrinkled . . . what was he trying to say? 

He continued, “Which, I guess, my dear, after the dream . . . was you.”

Feeling suddenly lightheaded and loopy with Josh’s words, you let them settle for a minute or two before saying anything more. 

And, the waitress had perfect timing. She filled the open air by asking if you needed anything. First time she’d been back in a hot damn second. Josh asked for a new tea, and you asked for another glass of Sprite. 

All that you could think in that moment was that you really had been the opposite of the right thing for Jake. So, you decided to speak your mind.

“But. . . no,” you declined his words, shaking your head. “No, Josh. He didn’t put himself first – he had a woman – me – that he was focused on instead of learning himself.”

He took a bit to consider your words, his eyes squinted at you as he pursed his lips. The waitress came back to the table as the conversation lulled for his response. 

As soon as she left, though, the two of you were back to it.

“Y/n,” he began, his lips growing into a sure smile. His hands came to clasp in front of him, his hair bouncing with each disbelieving shake of his head. “He did. He moved here. He started pursuing the dream. He got a job he loved by teaching lessons.” Thus meeting Maya, you snarkily thought. “He did put himself first. Did all of that, and then he pursued you.”

. . . you hadn’t really thought of it that way. Not once had you considered that. 

God. What if you’d told Josh a long time ago? Chances were, he would’ve eased your fears and worries. . . but instead, you’d assumed he’d think the worst and let your thoughts derail. 

Would you even be in the predicament you were today? 

You knew the answer. The answer was most likely no. You wouldn’t have the baby because there would’ve never been a night - the night - to relieve your Jake-induced stress. Because you would have already taken the time to talk to Josh. . . He would have reassured you before you even had time to ever get to that depressive point.

Would he have convinced you to be with Jake? 

You didn’t know. . . but. . . it was too late now. 

You were where you were now and there was nothing you could do about it. 

And none of this ever worked in how Maya had already been in the picture – maybe she had been part of the reason he became happier in the middle of summer.

In the end, she could be the one to thank for this– it could most definitely not be you. The sad truth of the matter was, she had probably been filling his cup all along. . .while he was filling yours.

While you were letting yourself get tangled in him, he was feeling the same emotions. . . but for her. Because, in the end, she was easier than you.

You couldn't find it in good conscience to be with him anyway.

Because, well, you still wouldn’t have wanted to distract him from his dream with a relationship. His dream was too valuable to possibly table for you. You were too much of a mess that he could get distracted by, rather than taking the time to fulfill his dream.

She freed up his time with her carefree nature. And you only infiltrated his time with your darkness. She was sunshine, brightening up his paths.

You had to figure you out before you could ever make someone as happy as Maya made Jake. 

Before you had this baby.

However the tables turned, they had already turned. And it was too late to go back and change anything now. You weren’t even sure what you would change–or what you would think if you could turn back time. There was too much filling up your brain–your life– to make the wisest decision. 

It didn’t matter anyway.

So, you told Josh all you could think to say. The same words you’d thrown nastily in Jake’s face, you threw harshly in your own.

“Well, I guess I served my purpose.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

When Josh pulled your car into your space, Jake’s was nowhere to be found. As always, you couldn't help but wonder where he was. He hadn't worked today so he was probably with-.

“I really am most mad at my brother.”

“Try not to be,” you encouraged lamely. You really didn’t care too much about him being angry at anyone right now. . . all you really cared about was getting upstairs to your bed to take a nice, long nap. It had been a day. 

“I’m going to be for a whi–.”

Tap tap tap.

Both of your eyes turned to Josh’s window. Outside of the driver’s side was Jake. You could see all the way down his loose shirt. It was open and tempting his tanned skin and firm chest, while his necklaces hung loosely in front of him, as he was bent over to peek into the car.

But. . . you could see the heated glare from his eyes, even through the tint of his Ray-Bans. His nostrils were flared and his lips had curled into a faux smirk. 

When Josh rolled his window down, you heard Jake's breathy chuckles that had no indication of anything truly humorous behind them. They sounded more bitter than anything else. 

“What have you two been up to?” he questioned, the inflection on the word ���you’ paired with his snide tone told you he was probably less than thrilled to see you and Josh together. Alone, at that. 

But why? Why the fuck would he care?

You were struck completely motionless and silent, feeling nauseous again, desperately trying to swallow down that all too familiar sensation. But this time, it wasn’t due to the hormones wreaking havoc in your tummy, it was Jake’s presence at this incredibly horrid time that had your belly flipping in slow motion somersaults. 

Josh huffed a laugh that nearly replicated Jake’s. Mimicking his twin to further his irritation, no doubt. You knew Josh was in no mood to put up with Jake’s piss-poor attitude, especially given everything he had discovered. You were tightly holding your breath at whatever the hell could possibly come from Josh's mouth, hoping that he would say as little as possible.

“Funny that you should ask, Jacob,” Josh retorted. He turned his head to the left to make eye contact with his twin, his fingers were still gripped to the steering wheel with a force that turned his knuckles stark white.

What was he about to say? Shit. He knew better. . . right?

“Because," Josh began. "I don’t exactly believe it’s any of your business what we're doing. In fact, I know it’s none of your business.”

Ironic. . . because it most definitely was his business. He just didn’t know it. Not yet.

He flashed Jake his classic Josh grin, extra wide with eyes squinted, an extra, added dramatic flair of his fluttering eyelashes to seal his condescending statement. 

You let out the breath you had been holding, thankful that Josh kept from saying too much. This was not how you wanted Jake to find out. Although, you still had no idea when or how you would approach that. 

All you knew for sure, was that this wasn’t the right time. 

Jake had stood firm the entire time, a brow raised with an obviously fake grin that held his lips in a tight line. His first response was a snicker through his nose and a patronizing simper, just shy of a full on scowl. 

“‘Kay, got it,” he sneered. Then, he was patting the side of the driver's door with his opened palm before swiftly turning on his heel to walk away. He forcibly shoved his hands in the front pockets of his black jeans as he sauntered off, and you couldn’t help but notice how it stretched the fabric even tighter against his perfectly, rounded ass. A sight you still fawned over, admittedly. 

How could you not?

But you broke your gaze quickly once Josh turned to face you once again. Even though he finally knew about the special addition that you shared with his brother, you’d still feel awkward (and a little guilty) as fuck if he watched you gawk over him so openly. Especially on a day so sensitive as today.

Josh had let out an exasperated sigh deep from his lungs, his jaw clenched and hard when he finally shut the humming engine off. “I have so much that I want to say to him,” he muttered, mostly to himself as his tone was hushed.

Yeah. Me fucking too, you thought to yourself. Don’t you think I get it?

Without the engine running, the car had become dead silent. The type of silence that allowed you to hear the rapid beating of your own heart clearly in your ears. (You even thought for a moment that you could hear Josh’s, too. That kind of quiet. Like earlier. Right after you'd told him.)

It gave you time to ponder. . . Despite his incredible response to all of this today, you still worried. Because, for the first time in the literal years of having Josh as your safe haven, you feared that things could have changed far too much for him to ever look at you the same again.

But then, your never ending train of overthinking was put to a halt when he placed a loving hand on your knee. When his warm eyes connected with yours, they reassured you that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. At least not anytime soon.

“You ready to go inside, mama?” 

His sweet smile that you had loved for years lit up his once hard features. Seeing the signature grin lifted some weight off your heavy shoulders.

You nodded your head and unbuckled your seatbelt as he did the same. But as you lifted the latch on the passenger door, another thought began clouding your mind, a question that you felt you needed to ask someone. That you needed to ask Josh.

“Hey. . .,” you started as he already had one foot out the door.

He stalled his movements and promptly turned his head to face you. 

“Yeah?” he answered, the same smile still cocked in the corner of his mouth.

“When should I tell him?”

He situated himself back inside, resting his back against the dark leather. His eyes were cast on yours, soft and kind as you’d always known them to be, yet a seriousness found within them. 

“That’s up to you, mama. You have to decide when the time feels right.” His gentle hand reached to grab your shoulder in a reassuring gesture, effectively pulling you away from your burdening thoughts. 

Once you’d finally made your way out of the car, you heard him clear his throat and looked to see what else he had to say. He was squinting at you through the autumn day’s rays when he finished the line of thought he’d started in the car.

“But. . . knowing my twin, he’d want to know sooner rather than later. Don’t wait too long, love. He’s got a good heart, you know that. Give him the chance to step up like I know he will.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Friday, November 11, 2022

You’d missed the show completely. As you knew you would. 

Josh had known you were going to show up later than usual since your school work was (quite actually) burying you. Specifically, it was thanks to a 20-page paper that was due tonight. 

Thankfully, you’d been able to finish it in time to at least meet the boys at the bar (smoke free, Josh had clarified on the phone) they’d decided to hang out at after the show. You hadn’t hung out with them after a show in forever. Hadn’t even been to a show in. . .well, you didn’t even know how long.

The reason could be mostly chalked up to your intense homework load this semester, but part of you knew you’d also been trying to avoid them due to the addition of Maya. 

It just didn’t feel the same anymore. And you knew you couldn’t force yourself to pretend. So, the extra school work turned out to be a pretty good excuse. At least you weren’t fabricating anything when you’d told them you couldn’t make it. (Although you would prefer if you didn’t have so much fucking homework.)

But you did miss watching Jake perform. You missed the faces he’d make while playing his guitar, the ones that so closely resembled the one’s he’d make with you. The way he’d thrust himself into his beloved instrument, or pull it close to his body with a force that left your head reeling and your body in dire need for him. 

As much as you missed all of that, something you missed even more was witnessing how his passion exuded through his entire body while he played. How his love for his art was so wonderfully evident as he put so much of himself into every song he played. 

And with the way your body kept betraying you – literally pulsing with desire for him anytime he was simply near you . . . to the point of needing to relieve yourself with your hands or a toy. . . You were weak as fuck. You figured it probably wasn’t the best idea to watch him perform like that with your hormones going ballistic.  

Too many factors worked together to make you feel rather uncomfortable about being near him in that capacity. But. . . here you were. Waiting at the bar for them to arrive. 

Putting yourself in a situation where he’d inevitably be near – sitting at the same booth as you, most likely. Admittedly, it wasn’t your most incredible idea. But Josh telling you the other guys had been missing you made you realize how badly you’d missed them. 

So. Here you were. Scrolling on pregnant influencers’ Instagram pages for helpful tips and testimonials (and occasionally Jake’s page, just to torture yourself) as you waited for them.

Just as you’d thought to send Josh a text letting him know you were at the bar and sitting at a booth near the back, you felt the urge to pee like no other. Your belly had sort of popped in the few days that had transpired since your first ultrasound. You were learning that twelve weeks on your body was the. . . rounder version of twelve weeks. . . Which was not working in your favor to hide your changing body. 

Thankfully, the rest of your body looked mostly the same as normal – save for your boobs which were still about as big as they were in your Shining twin costume (not growing too much more yet, but continuing to be sore as hell). They weren’t giant, per se, but they definitely looked noticeably bigger and felt fucking heavy.

So, you were officially having to wear looser-fitting clothing to avoid anyone looking at you differently. To be fair, to most eyes, it probably would've looked like some weight gain around your midsection if you wore normal clothing. But to you, it literally just looked like you were pregnant. 

You were definitely getting used to waking up every morning to a body that looked just a little different than the day before. Noticed every little change—but they didn’t feel little to you. . . Anything that changed felt massive to you.  

. . .Hence why you were being overly cautious with the giant sweaters. . . Because, to you, it looked so obviously different that you didn’t want to risk people thinking anything or asking any questions.

And, thanks to your newly expanding uterus and a spike in your progesterone (according to your Ovia app), you were beginning to actually wiggle in your seat from the urge to pee. It was all rather unkind on your poor bladder. . .  You had to fucking relieve yourself soon or you would be peeing your leggings. It would be embarrassing as hell to pee yourself and smell like it for the entire evening.

Though, you realized, as people started filtering in, that you couldn’t get up to pee. . . It was too much of a risk that you’d lose the one big booth to this hastily growing Friday night crowd.

Just as you’d started contemplating your lack of options, a particular laugh you’d gotten (unfortunately) used to, made its way through the crowded bar. Your eyes zoomed to the dark haired, caramel-skinned beauty who’d taken up residence in Jake’s life. 

Maya. 

Her laugh was just as beautiful as she was. . . Directing every eye in the front of the establishment to her as they joined in on whatever she was laughing about. She was a force to be reckoned with and it was obvious anytime you saw her. You were pretty sure you could see her chocolate eyes actually sparkling, all the way from across the bar.

Then, here you were in a giant ass Pratt hoodie with plain black, ratty leggings and your white Chucks. Feeling bloated and gross. . . And still needing to really fucking pee. So you had to put your insecurities to the side and get up from the spot you’d effectively heated up for the last twenty minutes because your one and only solution had just walked in. 

You didn’t want to walk away and lose your spot, so you did the only thing you could think to do. 

“Maya!” You called in her direction, tucking your phone into your hoodie pocket with one hand while the other waved at her. An incredibly forced smile was plastered to your face. 

Is this the first time I’ve ever spoken to her? You wondered briefly. 

Even though you knew the answer. 

Yes, definitely the first time I’ve ever talked to her. Weird. And funny fucking cause for it, too, you giggled to yourself, just behind your close-mouthed grin.

It was as if she’d already seen you, because she looked at you with a knowing look. She sent you a (stupid) wink and a (stupid, yet admittedly kind) wave, along with a wide smile—bright white teeth complimented by her full lips. 

Standing up had caused your bladder to go into emergency mode—a sensation similar to nearly bursting was the only way you could describe it. And, strangely, you suddenly felt sort of dizzy from the overwhelming pressure. 

That’s odd, you thought absently, brows wrinkling ever so slightly with the feeling. Ignoring it, you kept waving. And, the smile slipped from your face as you urgently motioned her over. Getting the hint, she said goodbye to the few patrons she’d been talking with and made her way to you. 

Long, wavy hair, inky as the night sky, flowed in waves around her shoulders as she sweetly pushed through people on the way to the booth. 

Every man she passed had to do a double take, watching her as she passed by them. . . You didn’t blame them. She was a fucking dream. (And you hated it.)

Body positively snatched and voluptuous in her all-black outfit. Her large breasts, exposed just right in her extremely low-cut black shirt. The shirt dipped all the way to the middle of her rib cage, exposing a lot of her perfect, perky breasts and tight abdomen. The tiny waist just below the dip was intimidating at best and had you feeling extremely self conscious of your nearly non-existent waist (thanks to the tiny friend living inside of you). You were glad you couldn’t see her ass, because you knew the exquisitely round part of her would have you heading for the door rather than the restroom. 

God, why did she have to look like a damn model? It was the worst possible thing for you. You were sure of it.

Once she was finally at the table, you didn’t want to stand there and stare at her. She had you feeling ready to jump out of your unfamiliar, changing body. Made you feel like nothing, just by standing there.

And, most importantly, you were nearing the risk of peeing with a singular movement at this point. You really weren’t sure how you’d make it to the restroom, but you had to try. 

You were already toeing around the table, out of the booth, when you spoke to her, averting your eyes and finding the restroom sign instead. “I’ve gotta pee really fucking bad,” you hastily said, taking the final step from the back of the booth. “Can you save this table for me so we have a place to sit?”

“We?” She questioned. “Y/n, I would definitely normally save it for you and your friends, but I have to work on finding my own place since I’m waiting here for Jake and the—.”

“Jake and the guys, I know.” You snapped, eyes flashing as you finished for her, not focusing on your facial expression. You were almost positive you rolled your eyes at her comment. 

Does she not know? Why? Did no one tell her?

Bouncing on the heels of your feet, back and forth, you quickly continued. Matter at hand. “I’m here to hang with you guys, too, but I’ve gotta—.”

“Pee!” She finished, a giggle that was probably supposed to be cute left her lips. “Go! I’ll save it. Go, go, go!” 

You were already walking away with her last sentence, hearing her from behind your back as you focused on not wetting your pants on the way to the ladies room. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you got back out, you were instantly met with the sight of all of the guys at the back booth you’d saved.

Your eyes, sadly, found Jake and Maya first – sitting practically on top of each other in the back corner of the booth. She was wrapped up in Jake, while engaging in a conversation with Sam. And, even though she seemed to only be halfway listening, Sammy kept on talking like she was interested in only him. 

But with the way Jake’s hand toyed with the hair over her shoulder and eventually traveled to squeeze (and hold) her waist. . . you knew why she wasn’t fully listening. Sammy would not be getting her full attention any time soon, and you knew that from personal experience. If it were you Jake was playing with like that, you would have tuned Sam completely out. 

Pushing any emotion down that threatened to boil up to the surface, you kept on walking to the booth. 

And when you got close enough, all of the attention was suddenly on you. The first one to notice you was Danny, who got up from his end seat on the booth to greet you with a giant hug. You sank into him, feeling all of the love that he was emitting sink into your sore body. 

Then, Sam was loudly exclaiming your presence, telling you that he was waiting for his own hug. 

You went around the three brothers who wanted to give you a squeeze. 

Sam hugged you especially hard, making your boobs ache like no other when he pressed hard against you. Gratefully, Josh had been paying attention when you caught his eye with a pained expression and had loudly determined that it was his turn.

After Josh had grasped you from Sam and given a loose hug, you stood awkwardly. Waiting. But for what?

But. . .you knew what. . .knew why.

It was Jake’s turn. 

Though, all you got was a little close-lipped smile and a half-wave with a head nod from his spot next to his supermodel girlfriend. 

You reciprocated with essentially the same response, your stomach falling to your feet as you did so. It was ludicrous to think he’d get up for a hug, too. Especially with Maya sitting next to him with her perfectly-fucking-manicured hand clutching the inside of his thigh. 

God, you needed to feel him close to you, though. You needed your hand on his inner thigh, dangerously close to a place on his body that’d been so accustomed to yours. You couldn’t help the way you yearned for him to be inside of you again. . . It was fucking embarrassing as hell.

And, then there was an incredibly intrusive thought. 

It told you that, for some (strange) reason, the idea of his pecs pressing into your sore breasts. . .sounded extremely appealing. (And the thought of his hands or his warm, wet mouth on them? Fuck.) 

But— you knew at this point, there was a fat chance of that ever happening.

He didn’t want you near him like that. And definitely not his hands or mouth on you. So you were sure he did not want a measly hug either.

And right now? In this bar? At this exact time? Obviously-fucking-not. Why would he move away from perfection? For you? In your frumpy-ass outfit? As you glanced down self-consciously, you even noticed one white sock peeking way higher than the other from your high-tops. 

Small details. Small details that showed how much of a fucking mess you were in comparison to her.

When you heard his laugh cut through the wave of emotion you were feeling, you looked back up at him. Only to see that he was engaged with Maya and Sam in some (apparently) hilarious conversation. 

He didn’t give two shits about you that way anymore. Why would he?

The terrible things you’d said to him in the kitchen were the first reason that came to your mind. Haunted you everyday, reminding you that you didn’t deserve his attention. 

You bet she, in her utter perfection and 'sunshiney' ways, would never tell him the things you had. He was probably relishing in the mental break she provided him. A break from the emotional thunderstorm that was you. 

But what the two lovebirds didn’t know was that you were carrying a part of him within you that she couldn’t do a thing about. No matter what she was to him, she didn’t have what you did. 

Though, the depressing truth of the matter was even if you were carrying his baby, Maya was still the one falling asleep next to him more nights than not. You had a piece of him, yes, but she had all of him. 

Fuck. That felt selfish. Without even thinking about it, you brought your hands up to your stomach as an effort to apologize to the little lemon-sized baby in your tummy. 

You are enough for me, you desperately thought, looking down, hoping to translate the words somehow to your unborn bundle of hope. You give me plenty of joy. 

“Y/n,” Josh spoke, breaking you from your reverie. 

“Mmm?” You hummed.

Then he was leaning over, whispering so quietly in your ear. “You’re about to give particular notice to your stomach.”

Shit. You instantly dropped your hand, looking around to make sure no one had noticed. 

Thankfully, no one had. 

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to your best friend, and scooted into the space he and Daniel had left for you, between them, on their side. 

Sitting again helped to balance you, as the dizziness from earlier kept coming back in tiny spurts. You didn’t know what it was all about, but you knew it was probably something attributed to pregnancy. It was probably something normal that you didn’t need to be worried about. 

But, you figured having someone to lean on would help to keep you steady. So, you found Josh’s shoulder, pressing against him. It was more than necessary, so you let your shoulder lazily lay against his arm. The closeness to a safe person felt overwhelmingly comforting in the otherwise emotionally-wrought headspace you were experiencing. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

About an hour later, you found yourself humming along to the music that had gotten progressively louder over the time you’d been sitting with the guys. Getting lost in the melodies felt nice. And you’d noticed, walking in that night, that it was soul music night, according to the sign on the front door of the bar.

Your favorite.

After sitting with them for only a few minutes, making small talk with Sam and Danny to catch up, you’d essentially let yourself become an observer. You’d just listened to them talk about all of these new, sudden opportunities that were coming around for them.

So much was changing. 

They were essentially done with the smaller gigs. Their label’s management had put their foot down that they were done with those. They wanted them going to more popular, reputable places to get their name out there. The label had taken it upon themselves to work with their manager to put them in bigger venues. They’d even begun advertising the boys with promotional pictures and posters all over active streets in Brooklyn.

“We’ve had photoshoots, y/n,” Sam had boasted in wonder at one point, making sure to involve you in the conversation. “Photoshoots! Like, real rockstar things.”

“‘S fucking nuts,” Daniel agreed, nodding beside you, sending you a small smile. “People working on wardrobe for us and all that shit.”

“Well, you are rockstars,” you told Sammy genuinely, letting your eyes skate to each of the boys (save for one). But, when you finished your statement, you let your eyes find him. And his eyes literally melted into yours. Like he’d been waiting for you to acknowledge him. “You’ve been ready for this for a long time. I’m just glad you are finally getting to live it.”

But you tore your gaze away before it could become too much. Though, the snicker you heard from Maya made your eyes cut to her. You forced yourself to hold your tongue. Didn’t trust yourself with what might come out of your mouth. What had her feeling all bitter and shit? She didn’t get the fucking half of it.

That particular thought had your hands falling to clasp tightly against your tummy, thankfully hidden by the table. 

They’d also begun working on their first album (which you knew about), but its release date had officially been set in stone for May. It was daunting for you and felt huge to you, so you couldn’t imagine how it felt for them. 

It was all moving so fast. . . Which, if you were being honest, terrified you for what was to come in the near future. The little bean that was set to arrive around the time of the album’s release. Because of all of your recent . . .changes, it just felt like a terrible time for things to feel so unsure and abnormal. 

You knew it was selfish to feel that way. You did. It was just impossible to not feel worried and anxious. 

The stress inevitably started climbing up into your upper back, creating tension. And, Josh, being Josh, must’ve sensed a change in your demeanor. He’d wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you started feeling all bunched up and jittery. You’d leaned into it, needing the incredible amount of comfort in his embrace and presence. 

The music was setting your mind at ease from the tension you felt in your body. It also helped to alleviate the awkward air you felt with the proximity of Jake’s guest. Who sat there looking so beautiful all night. Jake’s arm hadn’t left her shoulders all night, twirling her long waves between his long fingers. You had to look away at several points. It didn’t take long for the sight to become too much. Your ever-present nausea only increased by watching them. 

So you didn’t watch. Didn’t allow yourself to look at him.

You breathed in the music. The music saved you. You just listened to the music. The world was a blur. 

But, when they all joined in on mutual excitement, all smiles and voices getting louder, you tuned back in just slightly.

And when you did, they were talking about one particular thing they were all looking forward to: a special event of sorts that was coming up. 

Apparently it was a huge thing for this event to take place. One final step before embracing the stardom. It would happen in a few months’ time — once the label execs heard a few songs, and released them as singles. Then, they would get to preview them to the public. 

It would be an intimate type of event, more like old times, but for a few semi-important people who worked for the tour management team and whoever else wanted to come. It would be a listening party where the boys would play their new music. And according to the boys, it was the label’s attempt to get an idea of touring being a possibility. 

A lot of it was pinned on if the turnout was good. On how the guys interacted with the crowd. How the performed. . . It would be a sort of audition for the tour management team. 

“I have faith that they’ll love us,” Sammy said, buzzing with excitement. “I’m speaking that shit into existence.” 

The rest of the guys agreed.

Your eyes inadvertently snapped to Jake when he spoke next. “And once we start touring. . .,” he said, grin huge and his eyes shining at the other guys. “That’s when it all becomes fucking real. And it’ll be here before we even know it.”

Your stomach fell.

Josh squeezed your knee after he’d said it, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

Your thoughts were fucking spiraling. Looking down, you closed your eyes to will the tears away— tried your best to be subtle with your bundled up emotions. 

You felt so excited for him. You wanted it for them—for him. All along, you’d wanted him to live his dream. The one he’d had for so long. But the idea of him going off and away. . . All of them being so far away, all of the time, right at the time your life would be inevitably changing for the rest of forever. . . It was a lot to wrap your mind around.

It had your stomach tied in fucking knots—the idea of Jake being a dad, but not getting to be one. Leaving you. Leaving the baby. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, per se, but it was going to hurt like hell. 

You swore, right then and there, that you would not let him give it up for anything. Not a baby, definitely not you (not that he’d want to abandon it for you) — it was the last thing you wanted. The last thing that would happen. 

He would live the dream. Even if you had to force him to do so.

No matter how badly you already knew you’d  want him around during that massively  transformative time. . . You were capable of doing it on your own. And Elsie would help. She would most definitely be around, you already knew. 

But. . . Jake. 

You shoved the thoughts down to the tresses of hell, literally planting your feet flat on the floor to center yourself to present time. Shifting a bit, you laid your head on Josh’s shoulder, letting your eyes drift closed after a while. Didn’t sleep, no, but you felt like you could have. Your body felt loose and weak from the night’s stress slowly leaving your body as you focused on Josh’s steady breathing and the music. 

As the night wore on, the volume had ended up getting so loud that everyone practically had to yell at one another to have a conversation, even within the close confines of the booth. 

So, you had to blink your eyes open at that point. It was too much. The over-stimulation was soon approaching. You could feel it. You felt. . . heavier than normal. Like, you were being pulled down to the earth with exhaustion. Which was new, but probably just over-stimulation.

Even with your eyes open, they were hooded. You were so tired, you felt as though you couldn’t open them much more. And the dizziness from earlier was back with force. 

So you focused on swaying your body a little to the rhythm of each song, tapping out the beat of each on the table. Josh had instinctively begun humming along with you while still managing to keep conversation with everyone else. He’d sneak the occasional smile to give a sign of him remaining loyal to your company as well as the others’.

The melodious harmonies of Stevie Wonder’s "Please Don't Go" had been a surprise, as it was a more unpopular hit of his. It was a welcome distraction to listen to a song you knew well over the speakers, for all ears to hear. Nothing beat hearing songs you loved, playing in public spaces. 

Oh, Stevie. His songs had historically been known to bring you peace. Always had. Always would. Stevie's music never failed to meet you where you were emotionally. This song, not being an exception, and hitting extremely close to home for the present time. . . But still, the tension you’d felt all night began to dissipate, sizzling out almost completely with the beautiful ending of the track.

Just as the heavy weight of your anxieties you’d carried all night had lifted, the next song started to ring throughout the building.

Only this time, the feeling it gave you was a far cry from the previous. 

You knew it instantly. You’d be able to hear this song even if it weren’t blaring throughout the building. 

As soon as the first note sounded, it sent a vibration straight to your heart and a swarm of butterflies (that actually felt more like bees) to your tummy. 

You hadn’t looked at him yet, but you felt Jake’s eyes piercing through you. 

You didn’t want to look at him. Not yet. 

Your hormones had been far too out of whack for that. You knew you’d cry instantly upon seeing his face while this song played at a volume that you now wish was much, much lower.

Aretha’s powerhouse voice repeated it over and over again. 

You’re all I need to get by, you’re all I need to get by, you’re all I need. . .

No, you weren’t looking at Jake. But he was still the only vision clouding your mind’s eye. 

You were back on your living room floor. . . his eyebrows bunched together with each heavy thrust into you, the sweat that accumulated between them, the perspiration and exertion that could only come from real intimacy. . .passion.

And it was plain to see that you were my destiny. . .

His coffee colored eyes that bore into you as his body connected with yours in the most intimate way that it could’ve. 

And when I lose my will, you’ll be there to push me up that hill. . .

How he filled you so completely, stretching you the only way you ever wanted. . . How, in that moment, it felt like he was made to fit you. Your body, your heart, your life.

I don’t know what’s in store, but together we can open any door. . . 

Without even meaning to, your eyes met his. 

And while Maya was going on about whatever she felt the need to talk about, he was watching you. His eyes were extremely thoughtful. . . So much being communicated behind them. 

If you were delusional, you’d even go so far as to say he was admiring you. . . The way his eyes flashed a bit as you watched him, too. 

But you weren’t delusional. 

Though, you just knew that he was thinking the same thing as you. . . He knew. He knew this song was special. 

And as much as you attempted to not wear your emotions, with your condition, it was impossible.

You felt your eyes prick with tears as the song came to an end, and you quickly put your head down for what you knew was coming. And when the small drop hit your cheek, as soon as it appeared, you wiped it away. 

You looked back up, sniffing once and shaking your head.

Why did I have to fucking look?

“God, I wish they’d play music from this century here for once. Or at least something halfway decent,” Maya snickered, her attention on Jake, pulling his gaze away from you with her ignorant remark. “This song could put me straight to sleep. Music like this is meant to be left in the past where it belongs.” 

What the hell? What was even the point? 

What she said had your blood boiling with red hot rage. Of course she had to pick this song to insert her disgusting opinion.

And how was Jake, of all people, in a relationship with someone who thought so little of older music? How did he put up with that shit? It would be really fucking hard to hear things like that all the time if you were in his shoes.

A look of pure disgust washed over Josh’s face, and you knew he wouldn’t take her shit laying down. Not when it came to good, classic soul music. Not to mention, Aretha was one of his biggest vocal inspirations. “How can you not appreciate the Queen of Soul? She paved the way for singers of every genre, her voice is timeless and immaculate. To criticize her is to criticize all music.” 

His defensive tone had everyone silent for an almost uncomfortable amount of time.

You wanted to chime in and let her know that you agreed with everything he said. But you felt it best to keep your mouth shut given the real reason you were so pissed. Didn’t trust your emotions to stay steady enough to get your point across. 

This was personal.

To your shock, it was Jake that ended up breaking the awkward silence at the table. “You know, babe, some of us have some pretty significant memories tied back to music like this,” he asserted, sharply, pulling away from her, dropping his arm from her shoulders to look at her better. “This song specifically. . . At least for me.”

Your heart leapt into your throat at what he was implying. Significant? He couldn’t mean. . .? But then he flashed his eyes to you. And you knew. 

Fuck, Jake. The butterflies let completely loose in your tummy at the implication. At the look. 

He continued, his voice growing softer, while staying assertive. “And it could very possibly be hurtful to others when you say surface level shit like that.”

Maya scoffed, rolling her eyes. This was the first time you’d ever witnessed the woman be something other than a dream. “So I can’t have opinions, hm?” 

“I never said—,” Jake tried, getting interrupted by her continuing. 

She was piercing him with a glare, tone biting. “Did you ever stop to think about how it hurt my feelings when you refused to see 21 Savage with me? And after I got us the tickets, no less?” 

You didn’t mean to snort a small laugh at her words. 

But. . . 21 Savage?!

Thankfully, you weren’t alone in finding amusement in the words as everyone else had a similar response. Sammy spit out the drink he’d just taken, some of it even coming out of his nose. Daniel had clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged it down his face, closing his eyes in the process. 

And Josh turned to you as soon as you turned your sights to him. He made eyes at you, raising his brows with a grin threatening to turn into a laugh. If he could’ve spoken, you assumed he’d say something along the lines of ‘oh, shit.’

Sam was the next to speak, barely able to catch a breath as he wiped the leftover drink from around his mouth with a napkin. “Maya, my dear,” he giggled, the words distorted a little by the wipe of the napkin. “You surely can’t have an emotional connection with his music?”

“Maybe I do,” she retorted, scooting away from Jake a little. Crossing her arms over her cleavage, she eyed Sammy, judgmentally. “Maybe it saw me through some really hard times.”

“Did it?” Danny tried, his face seeming earnest in pursuit to find sense in her music taste. 

“Well,” her eyes found Danny’s, but darted around a bit, still. “Not necessarily. . . But I do enjoy his music. . . Which is my prerogative.”

Josh’s brow was quirked. He stared her down, his face a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Maya,” he cleared his throat. Her eyes found him, hard and defensive. But it was obvious she was losing some steam. “There is a difference between enjoying music and having it change the entire trajectory of your entire life.”

Before she could sputter out a response, the waiter was back at the head of the table with the two pizzas the guys had ordered. 

“One pepperoni pizza,” she said, placing one giant tray of pizza on the table. 

Your nose immediately picked up on the overwhelming scent of cheese and pepperoni. You had never smelt something so greasy. This was even worse than the greasy smell at Waffle House on the morning you’d gone with Elsie. And where there, you could find some sort of nostalgic comfort in the smell of it. . . there was nothing that could make this pizza’s smell appealing. Fuck.

“And. . .,” Sammy’s excited tone broke through your nauseous reverie. 

You didn’t look up, only watched in near agony as the second pizza, filled with every vegetable in the book, was sat right in front of you. Every fucking vegetable had it’s own special, rancid smell that you hadn’t ever noticed until now. 

Goddamn. And it just got worse as you let your eyes follow a slice that Sam took off the tray, cheese so disgustingly stringy, to his waiting mouth. The way his teeth sunk into the pizza and the oil slipped down his chin. . . You felt the bile rise in the back of your throat at the sight. The dizziness set in again. Then there was the cheese that came to the corner of his mouth as he chewed his first bite with an open mouth. 

Closing your eyes, you tried your best to will it away. 

But you couldn’t. It was too late. Behind your closed eyes, all you could see was the sight again, but this time, in slow motion. . . more and more repulsive with every flash of the image. 

You found Josh’s leg, hitting it repeatedly to indicate that you needed out of the booth. Your other hand, held tightly over your mouth, which felt as though it could explode with projectile vomit at any moment. 

That would be real cute. A really effective way to make Jake look at you. . . but not for the reasons you’d want. 

At. All.

Thankfully, Josh got the hint and quickly scooted out of the booth to allow you out. 

And as soon as your feet hit the concrete floor, you were speeding to the bathroom once more. This time, immediately landing on your knees over the toilet with a hand clutching your hair, as you retched the (very little) contents of your stomach into the toilet.

It was alarming, to say the least, as you saw only clear saliva goo floating around in the bowl. . . no food accompanying the sickness you’d just produced. 

I haven’t eaten today, you thought suddenly, wiping your brow of the sweat that had accumulated. Nothing to puke out because everything sounded vile.

And then the dizziness was setting in again as you rose from your place on the ground.

You really hadn’t been eating much at all. And pickles, being the only thing you could stand to eat, did not give you proper nutrients. You knew that. 

Have to figure something out, you decided as you washed your hands. Disturbingly, you saw four hands instead of two and it was daunting at best. Need to go home and do some research so I can figure out how to fucking eat something.

By the time you got back to the booth, you already had your keys out of your belt bag. 

Josh gave you a sympathetic grin. He mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ and you just shook your head, reassuring him with a mimicked ‘It’s fine’ in response.

When you snapped your head up from Josh to say bye to the others, you realized that Jake was watching you closely. Pensively. Unsurely. 

You gulped, setting your eyes on him. If only you knew, Jake. . . But, suddenly, anger was flaring in the place of any butterflies. Lack of food and pregnancy could do that to a person. But you don’t know. So quit looking at me. 

“You feelin’ sick, Baby Dragon?” Sam said, breaking you out of your staring contest with Jake.

“Yeah, noticed you weren’t drinking tonight. . . you okay?” Danny interjected. 

“O–Oh, yeah. No, yeah,” you shook your head, which only caused your head to throb. Shit. “Just tired. Exhausted from school.” And from carrying a human life in my uterus. “I wanna get home and rest.”

“I forced her to come tonight,” Josh added. He looked at you before exchanging looks with the other guys, emphasizing his point to help you out. “She has had her nose to the fucking grindstone. I insisted she needed a night out.”

“Forced her?” Jake scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “God, y/n. If you don’t want to come, then don’t come.”

You fumed at his words. What the fuck? Just minutes ago he was jumping to defend your song. “He didn’t force me,” you growled back at him. Don’t test a pregnant woman carrying your goddamn baby, Jacob. “What he meant was that he encouraged me to come since I haven’t been around for a while.”

“And why’s that?” Jake pushed, continuing to jest at you. Is this a game to you, asshole? 

“Jake,” Josh snapped, tone sharp and heated. 

“School,” you asserted (with a partial lie), shutting your eyes when you started seeing two of him. When you opened them to stare back at him, you focused hard as you continued to see four brown eyes instead of two. “But that’s not really any of your business is it, Jake?”

He was silent, his jaw clenching. Then he looked back to Maya, starting a conversation with her, effectively shutting you out. 

You weren’t sure how long you could put up with the hot and cold act from him. You knew that he was hurt, but you preferred the moments in recent times where he’d shown the soft side of his heart. The Jake side of his heart. 

The one flashing through your mind at this moment was on the night of the Halloween party. When he’d picked up the dropped brownies for you and then offered to help you carry stuff to your room. . . albeit he had been drunk. It’d still been him. You knew it. It was something he’d do. . . you knew him. 

And you knew him well enough to know when he was acting like an ass, it meant he was hurt. You weren’t oblivious to the recent hurt you’d inflicted on him. . . but why was he suddenly reacting like this again? Why now?

When another wave of dizziness took you over, you had to once again shut your eyes to keep your balance, and you held tight to the strap of your bag. Your head was also, once again, pulsing.

You opened your eyes and tried to stay steady, as you didn’t want to worry the three who cared. Pulling your phone from the pocket of your oversized hoodie, you shook your keys at the guys who still watched with concerned eyes. 

“Be safe,” Danny offered sympathetically, reaching a hand out. You grasped it, rubbing your thumb over the back. 

As soon as he let go, Sam was up and pulling you into a hug. Once he’d succeeded in killing your boobs again, he held onto your shoulders. “We miss you,” he said, breath thick with alcohol that was making your stomach turn. You held your breath and tapped at his hand politely before scooting back from him. “Love you, y/n.”

You repeated the phrase back to him before Josh got up, presumably to walk you to the door. “I promise I’ll start coming around more often again,” you told them. “I miss you, too.”

And just before you stepped to head toward the exit, you found Jake’s eyes again. 

They were softer now, showing concern he couldn’t hide at your current state. But there was still that fire behind them that you’d learned was purely Jake. And it made your heart thump a little harder in your chest.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The tiredness was unreal. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were so fucking exhausted. Everything that had been happening recently–the therapy, telling Josh that you were pregnant with his twin’s baby, being pregnant with said baby (and worrying that you weren’t), taking sixteen-fucking-hours of classes. . . it had been a lot. That much was obvious as hell. 

And tonight had been emotionally taxing for sure. . . and knowing you, you knew it was more than extremely possible that the emotions alone had been what’d finally done you in. Drained you for all you were worth.

Well, that, and the lack of food in your system. And the persistent barfing.

You'd been poring over the resources that Dr. Rose had given you access to. And, one of the links on their site had informed you that it was extremely possible for the fatigue to peak around this point of the pregnancy–ten to twelve weeks.

And considering you were right about at 12 or so, it was on the mark.

But when you’d read that, you hadn’t been expecting the feeling to be similar to that of being weighed down to the Earth by heavy-ass lead. You were dying to fall into bed and sleep off the exhaustion–right after taking a measly Tylenol for the pounding headache that’d been burgeoning for the past several minutes. 

All you could do at this specific moment, though, was focus on driving–and pulling into the apartment complex with as much precision as possible. The pain in your head was beginning to make your vision blurry and the things around you waved in ways you knew they weren’t supposed to. Goddamn. 

You finally made it to your parking space–by the grace of some higher entity. But, as soon as you tried to move to get out, everything around you began to spin at an accelerated speed. Moaning, you brought two shaking hands up to your eyes as you closed them. You started to count to ten, trying your best to take deep breaths–but even that was getting hard to do. Fuck. 

Finding your motherfucking bearings was proving to be a task and a half. 

And your head was just fucking throbbing relentlessly. 

“Dammit,” you groaned again, the words slurring just a bit. 

Somehow, though, you were able to make the trek from your car to the complex’s staircase–so close, yet so far, from your place. But you could feel the way your heart was thrumming quickly in your chest—just pounding against your ribcage from the basic action of walking.

Everything began waving around you again. You felt like you were floating and your head was becoming lighter and lighter by the second; the only reminder that it housed a brain was the raging, convulsing feeling in your skull. 

Your vision was incredibly blurry at best, as you looked from the base of the stairs, all the way up to the top. The top of the stairs was hardly visible. 

Shit. How the fuck am I going to climb these steps like this?

But, you weren’t able to contemplate it for much longer before everything started fading more and more, until you felt yourself falling and all you saw was a black abyss.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The hand you felt holding yours was the only thing that weighed you down to the white room. The other things that you immediately noticed: the sound of steady beeping (which was incessant) and the smell of antiseptic and bleach wafting from the bedding. 

The bed itself felt reminiscent of high quality cardboard, but the sheets were warmer than you would’ve expected. 

Letting your body relax back into the warm, polycotton sheets, you began to drift back to wherever you’d been. But you felt something hold you to the present. It was the someone with the hand who was helping to keep you conscious. The thumb that swept purposefully across the back of your hand tied you to the real world before you could escape to the one behind your eyelids.

Then you felt the hand holding yours squeeze the slightest bit tighter. Your lids were heavy when you squinted them open–immediately hating the way the fluorescent lighting assaulted your irises. You didn’t know if it was possible, but you were damned sure you could feel your pupils adjusting to the overbearing beams from the bulbs. 

Moaning, you reached your free hand up to cover your eyes. And when you did, you noticed the influx of tubes, taped to and sticking out of your hand. Specifically, the needle connected directly to your vein. What the fuck was going on?

Amidst your confusion, you finally processed who the hand was connected to as you heard his voice.

“Yes, yes,” Josh said in response to something. You noticed that he was seeming to squeeze your hand in little pulsing intervals. When you squeezed back to indicate you were awake, his eyes were immediately on you, abandoning his conversation. “Y/n? Oh, fuck,” his voice was thick with emotion. His gaze became wet as he checked your face over. “I was so worried about you.”

You didn’t know what to say, since you weren’t really sure why you were here or what had happened to get you here. . . All you could remember was being tired and dizzy with a pounding in your head. 

You tried to speak, but it was in vain, as your throat was dry as fuck. All that came from your lips was a measly croak. But, thankfully, Josh was immediately coming to your rescue with one of the hospital’s giant plastic cups, filled to the brim with water. He held the straw to your lips and you sat up a little to have better leverage to take a drink. To your surprise, the pounding in your head was gone, and there was no dizziness accompanying your movements. 

And no nausea – best part of all.

As soon as the water slipped past your lips, you shut your eyes in utter relief. Water had never tasted so good. You weren’t sure if water even had a taste, but at that moment, you swore it did and that it tasted like liquid gold would. 

Once you’d had enough for the moment, almost draining the large cup, you backed away and leaned into the pillows that awaited behind you. 

Sighing in relief, you tried to say words again. And this time, it worked. “What’s going on?” You slowly spoke, your head still feeling slightly airy. You let your eyes trail to Josh’s, questioning him. “Why am I here?”

Then, you started panicking. You shot up from where you’d settled against the pillows, clutching your stomach. The IV’s connected to your hand pulled at your skin, stinging. You ignored the pain though, and felt your tummy. It was still round, but obviously that didn’t mean– oh no. Your deepest fears came to life in your head, piece by terrifying piece. The baby. 

“Oh, fuck, Josh,” you said, your eyes were wild and immediately drew wetness, which ran steadily down your cheeks. No no no no no. “The baby? Is the baby–? Oh–.”

“Yes, yes,” Josh shushed you, running his free hand over the top of your head. “The baby is fine. Already checked and looks the same as it did a few days ago,” his eyes shone with reassurance. “Nothing is wrong with the baby.”

“Heartbeat?”

“Steady as can be.”

You felt your lungs fill with air again. “Okay,” you breathed out, leaning back into the pillows once more. “Okay.”

“But you on the other hand,” he started, his brow raising and eyes burning into yours. “You need to be giving yourself proper attention, mama.”

“I—?” You shook your head. You knew you weren’t the most attentive to yourself, but you’d tried very hard to be more self-serving recently in some regards. Longer showers, Friends, Cosmic Brownies (RIP) and pickles, therapy (if that counted). . . “I’ve been trying. . .” 

But the vomiting is proving some of that to be impossible, Joshua, you thought silently, snidely.

“What your friend is trying to tell you,” the doctor began. Your eyes shifted to her, an older woman with delicate features whose gray hair was pushed back by a pair of readers. Then her brows wrinkled. “Well—friend? Father of the baby?”

You both spoke at the same time.

“Oh, no—.”

“Not me,” Josh corrected with a laugh, his smile bright and humored underneath his new mustache. “That’s my brother’s baby in there.”

Ridiculously, you began to blush at hearing Josh say it out loud. You were learning that any time it came from his lips, it made your breath catch in your chest just a little.

Jake’s baby. 

“Oh, my apologies,” she smiled, her crows feet wrinkling, voice wise with years of experience. “I just wanted to proceed using the correct title to address you. Speaking of which, I am Dr. Stevens. It’s nice to meet you, Miss y/n.”

“Same to you,” you answered with a tiny, unsure smile and nod. “Thank you.”

Dr. Stevens hummed, then came to sit on the end of the bed, same side as Josh. You eyed her curiously as her expression turned a touch more serious. “Miss y/n,” she said, sounding like you’d imagine a caring mother would. “You are here because your iron was frighteningly low,” she said, concerned and checking your chart. “If it had gone untreated one more night, you would have been incredibly ill and unable to function properly at all come morning.”

“What?” You asked, shocked. Anemia wasn’t a new thing to you, you’d always had it. How had it intensified so quickly? “I mean, sure, I’ve always had mild anemia. Just kind of a thing that’s been there . . .haven’t thought about it in years, actually,” (because of some damn triggering, buried memories attached to it). “But I’ve never had – it’s never been as. . . Intense as this,” you held up your hand that was covered in tape and inserted tubes.

“Well, honey, you’re carrying a baby now who also needs those vital nutrients to help it develop,” she counseled. “And proper hydration,” she reminded. You nodded, eyes zoned in on your hands, full with pieces of plastic and tape, and not her face. When Dr. Stevens spoke next, her voice was the most stern it’d been so far. “And prenatal vitamins– those are essential for you and the baby.”

Your eyes flicked up to hers. The way she pierced you with her stare made you lean back like a scolded puppy. Your tail would have been between your legs if you had one.

Why hadn’t you bought any damned prenatals yet? Fuck all.

“Yes ma’am. I don’t know why I haven’t been taking–,” you tried, huffing. You were ashamed of yourself. “God, I feel bad,” you placed two hands on your tummy and looked down at it through the hospital gown you’d been changed into. “How has all of it not harmed the baby?”

“Well, again, tomorrow would have been a completely different story had you not been rushed in tonight,” she reminded, talking you through it slowly. “But we’ve got fluids pumping through you to get you back to normal.” She motioned to Josh, you looked at him with a small smile that he reciprocated. “And your friend has promised to take you for a prenatal run tomorrow morning. To find the ones that you feel might suit you best.” Dr. Stevens smiled, looking over at your bedside table. Your eyes followed, seeing the small medicine bottle sitting there, waiting for you. “For now, I have a couple ready to send home with you,” she assured.

“I’ve never been the best at prioritizing my health,” you mumbled, messing with a loose thread on the hospital gown. Josh held the hand that was anxiously picking at the material, making you stop. You looked over to see his kind, encouraging eyes. “I have ingrained my brain with several unhealthy, learned habits,” you admitted, finally looking at Dr. Stevens again. “So I guess this was a reality check of sorts. That it’s not just me anymore. I can’t just ignore what I need to acknowledge.”

You didn’t know what was inspiring the constant flow of transparently deep emotions to all of these unknown people in your life, but you weren’t totally opposed to it anymore. 

Dr. Stevens’ face contorted to show that she had sympathy. You were relieved. But when she spoke next, her voice was firm. “You’re right. This baby is forcing you to take care of yourself so he or she can survive and come out healthy and happy. I believe this baby is teaching you some proper life skills. But you need to be eating well to help this child have a good, healthy time in the womb. . .help him or her thrive at this vital stage in its life.”

God. She was right. You had seen the words Failure to Thrive on multiple sources you’d checked out about pregnancy. . . .always just skimmed past them, as it didn’t seem to pertain to you. But, of course it did. The vomiting. Not taking prenatals (seriously, what the fuck, y/n?). The lack of eating anything (save for the baby pickles). . .

You’d been so in your head about the present state of your health that you hadn’t taken nearly enough time to consider the baby. 

“I’ve just never been bad about eating. This is new,” you confided. “And it’s just gotten worse this past week or so. . . I haven’t been able to eat. Everything has made me want to vomit.” Then you decided to add, “Well, everything besides pickles. They’ve been my only source of any nutrients – which I know is pathetic, by the way – I just–just can’t even be in the same room as most food, much less eat it.”

“You’re experiencing a severe case of hyperemesis gravidarum, which is just a fancy way of saying that you’re excessively vomiting during your pregnancy. It’s due to a drastic change in hormones. Your HCG levels are through the roof, where they’re usually not. Most women just have to suffer through it,” she said in response, handing you sheet with the fancy medical term at the top. “That is an information sheet. Keeps you informed on the ins and outs of why you might be experiencing it.” She sighed before going on. “It will pass, honey. Give it a few more weeks and you should be over the worst of it – if not before. But being anemic makes it that much worse,” she explained, flipping her readers over her eyes and looking through the papers on her fancy clipboard. “You’ve just gotta stay on top of those preexisting conditions.”

“And not taking the prenatals. . .,” she scolded, making you look up from scanning the sheet. She gave you a look. “Is what has you in this condition. You should also be taking an additional iron supplement. I’m. . . sure you didn’t tell your OB about your previous anemia?” She wondered aloud. 

“No,” you murmured. “I really haven’t seen it present itself since I was really young. And it wasn’t really severe. . . at least I don’t think,” you rubbed your forehead, suddenly experiencing several sad moments in time. From a long time ago. So, once again, you bared your heart and explained.  “There are things from my childhood that I’ve forgotten. And even though I do actually know I experienced bouts of it during that time, I haven’t ever really acknowledged it because I just kind of forced myself to forget about it.”

Really, for some godforsaken reason, thinking about your anemia only brought back very unwelcome flashes of your mother’s house. . . and other dirty places you didn’t want to think about. Hence why you’d blocked it out.

Josh squeezed your hand– tried to bring you back.

Thankfully, Dr. Stevens continued before the thoughts could take over. “I am sorry, honey,” she said, empathetic. But, she continued on professionally. “The hard truth is that some of the things that have always sort of laid dormant can come back with a raging force during pregnancy. . . simply considering that the pregnancy is essentially a revamp on your body,” she paused when you chuckled at the word ‘revamp’. Yeah, right. She smirked at it, too. “I know, funny word choice. Doesn’t always feel like you’re revamping,” she flipped to the next page in her chart. “What I mean is, things can come back up and be bigger–stronger–than before. One more thing that is changing and increasing in your body. Medical conditions from the past may come back and get more ‘intense’,” she winked at you, using your word from earlier. “But, it’s important: now that the anemia has shown itself again – so aggressively –  at a time that your body is already very vulnerable. . .” She sighed, flipping her readers back into her dark gray hair before unclipping a paper from the chart and handing it to you. “It’s time we get a handle on all of it before it possibly shows its ugly face again.”

The sheet she handed you included several foods that you could eat to remedy the morning sickness. Some of which had made you feel like puking – or actually puke. But, there were a few things you didn’t have at home. Boring, bland foods. Things you just never bought. A few fruits and vegetables. . .

And a shit ton of vitamins.

“A lot of plain Jane stuff on there, I know. And vitamins, vitamins, vitamins,” she acknowledged. “But those supplements and bland diet are what will see you through the dark ages of this morning sickness. We need to treat that first. And then, you should be able to ease yourself into other foods and get your iron levels healthy again for you and your baby. Please focus on following that guide of foods and vitamins and just call my extension – which I attached to the top of that sheet – if you have any issues.” 

She then passed one more sheet over to you and added one more piece of information. “This sheet will include the Hemoglobin Kit I’ve ordered for you and it will be sent to the address your friend provided for us within the next few days. Please be using it to check your hemoglobin levels. Hemoglobin is the main component of red blood cells–a protein– that we need to see at normal levels. I’ve included where your levels should be on that sheet. They should never be too low or too high. Please read the information on the sheet and in the kit to answer any additional questions you may have. This will help you to track of how your levels are doing and if your anemia is spiking again,” she said, her voice seeming to drone on and on in your ears. “And again, call if you have any questions or concerns.”

As you continued reading through the paper, she unclipped another and handed it over to you.

You really were thankful for the documents, really, but dear god there were a lot of them. Virtually and physically. From your OB visit and tonight. It was overwhelming . . . made your skin feel tight and overheated.

It was also a lot of information for you to over-fucking-think. 

I’ll have to take them to Gia. She’ll help me sort through them, you reassured yourself, taking a deep breath in and out to calm the nerves. 

“And the morning sickness should. . . pass sooner rather than later?” Josh’s question broke through your reverie. Your eyes shut to refocus on the present moment and not the papers.

“It should, yes. For most women, it does,” the graying doctor confirmed. “You’re. . .how far along? I’d estimate about eleven, maybe twelve weeks?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Twelve weeks according to my OB.”

“Yep. You should only have a few weeks – or less – left. Just try the foods on that sheet. The vitamins. Stay hydrated. There are several recommended supplements the sheet provides. You can find most all of them on Amazon.” 

You handed the sheets over to Josh, needing them away from you for the time being. You needed to be in the now. Needed to focus on anything else the aging, wise doctor may need to say. 

To put it plainly, tonight’s event landing you in the hospital had you scared shitless. And learning as much as possible from her would hopefully wind up putting your mind at ease. . . though, at this moment, it just had your heart rate increasing rather quickly.

She eyed the monitor next to your bed, moving closer to it as she observed something. “There goes that heart rate again,” she squinted at the vitals once more before pushing her glasses into her hair. She looked down at her chart, her lips pursing and readers going back on as she checked it over. “That’s another thing I want to address,” she hummed, sitting next to your legs, facing you and Josh from her seat. “Have you been under a lot of stress lately? A major change? Besides the baby? Mentally, perhaps? Emotionally?” She questioned. “Because while your iron levels were scarily low, your heart rate was also dramatically high. Which, yes, is related to the iron levels. . . but, I thought I’d go ahead and check as more often than not, it can pertain to an extreme amount of stress your heart is under from other sources.”

You stuttered out a response that involved you beginning therapy for the first time in years. You tried to touch on how you were experiencing a lot of emotions around what you would eventually be talking about in therapy. . . how you’d already bared your heart to Gia and opened up every single gate possible to effectively begin therapy. 

“I wanted to do it. Still do," you explained, needing Dr. Stevens to know that. “I would do it all over again right now if I needed to. She’s already helped me so much – after only one session, just with me basically projectile vomiting my past and emotions all over the room.” You took a breath, before finishing. “It doesn’t make it any less difficult though. It hurts. Physically, it hurts to talk about it all. I know it will all come together in the end. I trust the process–I trust my therapist. But it was extremely taxing – on top of everything else I’m feeling right now.” You glanced over at Josh before adding, “The baby’s father is. . . he’s just. . .”

“A lot,” Josh finished with a half-chuckle. “He’s a very good guy. He’s just a lot.”

“I have a lot of feelings about everything happening in my life right now, I’ll just say that,” you ventured to tell her. “And I had somewhat of a handle on my anxiety and depression before I got pregnant, but it’s also been something to resurface in a brand new way with the pregnancy hormones. Without me even knowing it sometimes. And before I know it, my heart is actually hurting my chest from the amount of pressure I’m putting myself under.”

Josh scooted his chair over closer to you and wrapped one of your hands in two of his, holding on tightly.

“It hasn’t all really clicked until now. . . that all of it might be related to my. . . issues,” you confirmed aloud, peeking over at Josh just briefly before looking back to Dr. Stevens. You’d just spilled your entire heart and it was making you feel extremely uneasy. God, she hadn’t asked to hear all of that. “I’m so sorry about spilling all of whatever that was,” you waved your hands around before combing them through your hair, trying to breathe deep breaths. You found her eyes, which you now realized were green. “I really–god, fuck. I’m– that was a lot for you to hear and you didn’t ask for the whole–.”

“I needed to hear it all,” she consoled you, tapping a comforting hand on the top bed sheet, rather than your leg. “It helps me assess the situation. . . and from what I’ve heard, it sounds like the most probable cause of you fainting tonight was due to the iron deficiency and your heart.” She assessed the numbers on the blinking monitor yet again. “It just hasn’t slowed much since you’ve been here, sweetie. Even with the medications we’ve given you to temporarily alleviate it, it’s still been sitting at around 120 beats per minute. And since you’ve been awake, it’s spiked enough to cause some concern to this doctor.”

As she expressed her concern again for your thrumming heart, (which you had noticed an increase in it’s pounding as of late) it began beating a little harder once again, causing an unpleasant tightness within your sternum. You winced. 

Josh noted the change almost as quickly as you did. His hands that held onto yours began squeezing even tighter, the skin of his palms now wet and clammy. He brought your hand, wrapped in his, up to his chin. The hair on his chin was unfamiliar to the last time you’d touched his face (who even knew when you last did that), but it still felt familiar enough against your knuckles to calm some of your nerves.

You couldn’t help but look at him with wide, fearful eyes. His eyes were steady on you, his attention only breaking from you to look at Dr. Stevens with a nonverbal note of worry for you. 

She stood from the bed and came to stand beside you, inserting the buds to the stethoscope around her neck, and held the circular part to your back. “Cough for me, sweetie,” she told you, her calm demeanor forcing you to come back from your momentary freak out. “Make it a big one.”

You found it to be an odd request, but you weren’t in any place to question this doctor who had shown you nothing but kindness. And offered help when you, apparently, so desperately needed it.

You did as she said, and forced the best cough you could muster. It instantly relieved the tension in your chest, even lowered your heart rate a bit as you watched the blinking numbers begin to drop on the screen. 

“Wh-what was that? Am I having a heart attack?” You felt silly asking her that. . .but you didn’t know any better, it may as well have been your body plummeting straight into a cardiac arrest. 

This was all a lot, and now you were very hyper aware of every little change in your heart that you felt, saw, or heard from the screen.

She chuckled softly, taking the stethoscope away from her ears, hanging once again around her neck. She watched your vitals intently as the blood pressure cuff attached to your left arm (that you hadn’t noticed yet) began squeezing you rather uncomfortably. 

“You’re not having a heart attack, my dear. Not even close,” she reassured. Although, you still felt the worry present in the pit of your tummy that you were unknowingly clutching again. “I am no stranger to the intense effects of anxiety. I’ve seen it time and time again. I think that was a big part of the palpitation episode you experienced a few minutes ago and the persistent increase in your heart rate I've seen so far tonight. However, I would like to conduct a little further testing. Just want to be sure your heart is nice and strong – for you and for the baby.”

You felt the air from Josh’s lungs release against your knuckles as he let out the breath he must’ve been holding, squeezing your hand just as tight as before. As terrified as you were, his presence provided the safety net your spirit needed to not be thrown back in a massive panic attack. 

She sat down on the bed next to you once again, her kind eyes offering little comfort right now as you start to feel overwhelmed with the sudden discovery of so many things that were apparently wrong with your body.

“If you can remember, have you ever been rather sensitive to the heat? Maybe suffered from heat strokes during your youth?” 

Her question had your mind yet again returning to your past that had been kept securely behind a locked door with no key. A place you didn’t venture often. 

But it did bring forth some hazy recollections of your days as a child, playing outside in the thick,  dry summer heat. How you couldn’t stand to be out in it for very long without feeling. . . faint. And dizzy. So fucking dizzy. 

A long since forgotten trait of yours that you never thought to pay any mind to. 

“Um– yeah, actually. Now that I think about it, Summers were always a challenge. I couldn’t stand being outside for much longer than a few minutes some days without feeling like I could pass out or throw up,” you huffed a humorless laugh at the memories playing back in your head. Miserable times. “It was. . .fucking awful.” 

You’d suddenly started to remember all the times you felt faint as a child. But it wasn’t always from the rise in temperature. Sometimes, it was from the stresses your mom tossed your way, the fights, the troubles that brewed in your home. It became more and more clear that fainting was most definitely not new to you. You just couldn’t remember. 

“Okay,” Dr. Stevens continued, her hand now patting your shin as she seemed to pick up on the unease of remembering your past. “What about when you go to stand up after a period of being seated or lying down, does your vision become a bit obscured at times? Like you’re seeing stars? Tunneled vision, maybe?”

“I mean, y-yeah,” you stuttered. “Sometimes. But it doesn't last for very long. Doesn’t everybody experience that, though?”

You had no clue where she was going with all of these questions— questions that she seemingly already knew the answers to. Of what it all meant, you weren’t sure. But you knew you needed her to cut to the chase soon before you began plummeting even further down the anxious path you’d started paving. 

“What does it mean? Is this something I should be worried about?” You asked through newly developed tears you had no control over. 

Your mind was running rampant with only one singular thought: the baby. What does this mean for the baby? 

“You don’t need to worry, sweetie. This is actually a lot more common than you think.”

She stood up from the bed, unclipping one more piece of paper from the board she’d been holding prior to sitting down. She handed it over to you, the paper weighing your hand down with what you were to find on it. 

But before you could begin to worry about what was on it, she was explaining it to you.

“That sheet is going to inform you on the ins and outs of Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, most commonly referred to as POTs,” she seriously informed, her eyebrows dipping to show concern for your worries that you knew were painted all over your face. 

“That’s a funny name,” Josh giggled, the breath from the laugh he’d let out fanned against your knuckles. “Like pots and pans. . . you know?”

You wanted to slap him because, shut the fuck up, Josh, now is not the time, but. . . try as you might, it actually calmed you down a bit. You couldn’t help the tiny ghost of a grin that floated over your lips.

Dr. Stevens glared at him, causing him to stop his little joke, before she continued on. “POTs,” she enunciated the name while flashing her eyes to Josh, “is nothing to be concerned with, but it is a valid heart condition that does require a bit more testing to confirm if it’s present or not. Just to be safe.” 

You peered down at the sheet in front of you and the bolded print that you tried so fucking hard to not be too overwhelmed by. It wasn’t the worst possible condition, but it was still a fucking heart condition that you could possibly have. And with everything else that’d happened tonight and your current life predicament. . . it was causing your head to spin.

Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS) is a condition that causes a number of symptoms when you transition from lying down to standing up, such as a fast heart rate, dizziness and fatigue. While there’s no cure, several treatments and lifestyle changes can help manage the symptoms of POTS.

As you read the small print across the page, she told you exactly what it was she suspected you had. “To put it plainly, your heart can’t pump blood quickly enough to your body, resulting in a higher heart rate and a lower blood pressure that can sometimes cause you to faint.” She came close to your bedside again, “If you don’t mind, I am going to need to listen to your heart again.” 

It took you a bit to come to, but when you did, you finally nodded in response. She placed the cold end of the stethoscope against your chest while securing the buds in her ears to listen to you.

“This, combined with your lack of eating that caused the extremely low iron levels could have developed from your pregnancy. Although, I’m willing to bet they’ve been present your entire life. Certain instances can trigger them. Stress, severe anxiety, or pregnancy. In your case, dear, I’d say it’s all of the above. A bit of a trifecta, you could say. The ingredients for the perfect, terrifying storm.” 

“Jesus, mama," Josh breathed, his lips faintly brushed over your knuckles as he continued to hold your hand close to his face. “You have got to start taking care of yourself. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

You knew that. God, you knew that. It had always been easier said than done. But it was no longer all about you anymore; the moment the life began growing within you, it gave you a newfound motivation to take care of yourself for the little life you were now responsible for.

“What other testing needs to be done?” You asked. You were hesitant of what her answer would be, but if it provided a step in the right direction towards becoming the healthiest version of yourself that you could possibly be, you were all ears.

“There’s a specific test, a tilt table test, that must be done to provide us with a little more insight to the specifics of your case. However, it’s not safe to perform it while you're pregnant,” she explained. “So for now, I’m just going to send in for a heart monitor that will be delivered to your house in the next week or so. You’ll wear it for four weeks and that'll give us plenty of information in the meantime. I’m also going to refer you to one of the best cardiologists we have on staff here.”

A heart monitor? That sounded utterly terrifying to you. 

“I am also going to insist that you keep track of your hemoglobin levels daily,” she continued. “You can also buy your own blood pressure cuff to partner with the hemoglobin kit we have set to deliver at your doorstep. You should be able to apply your insurance to the purchase of the blood pressure cuff, if you decide to include that step as well,” Stevens took a deep breath before going on. “Keep a daily journal to log your numbers. Just a notebook to track your blood pressure and hemoglobin levels. It’s vital that you do these things, y/n. Fainting like this can not be a normal occurrence. It’s not good for you or the baby.” When she spoke next, you felt your heart leap into your throat. “The lasting effects on you or the fetus could be life threatening if you’re not careful. . . could be terribly detrimental to the baby’s development—specifically his or her little body or brain development.”

Life threatening. Detrimental. Baby’s development. Little body or brain development.

You heard your heart rate go up on the monitor, but you weren’t about to freak yourself out any further by looking at the changing numbers. You literally felt your pulse quicken and your breath become shallow in your throat as you struggled to take full breaths.

Focus on the now. Focus on what is real. What is right now. Baby is not in trouble yet. 

You have time.

You brought a thumb and middle finger up to your temple, rubbing away furiously to relieve the oncoming headache that had been simmering at the surface for the past several minutes. Your other hand found its home on your swollen belly.

It was all so overwhelming–staggering, really, and you weren’t prepared for any of it in the slightest. 

But, then again, how would someone prepare? You felt as if you were living in a brand new body, much different from the one you’d lived your whole life in up to this point. There was so fucking much out of your control and unknown. It was all pushing down, heavily, on your already-tense shoulders.

“Relax, mama,” Josh sensed your tension, and knowing you as well as he did, he knew it was time to start helping you articulate the right questions. He brushed his thumb across the back of your hand as he calmly asked, “What do we need to do if her numbers aren’t. . . normal? What are some measures we can take to get them to where they need to be?” 

The fact that he was willing to stand alongside you during this whole thing, that he wanted to, it was such a comforting thing to know at this moment. Not that you had any doubt in your mind, but hearing him say something as simple as ‘we’. . . it just warmed your heart completely. 

“Lots of fluids,” she answered through a sincere smile. “And an increase in your salt intake to help your body maintain those fluids.” She handed you yet another sheet and sat back down next to you, looking you in the eye with a stern, motherly expression. “That should help you out with foods to eat and fluids to drink, in addition to the sheet from earlier. But, honey, you need to change your diet. It’s essential that you incorporate healthy eating habits at this point in your pregnancy. After you’ve gotten your body accustomed to the bland foods on the other list I’ve supplied you, you need to start adding lots of iron heavy foods to your meals. Meats, leafy greens, rice. . . things of that nature.” She searched your eyes, hers kind and knowledgeable from years in the field. “Alright?”

You nodded your head in confirmation, wondering how the hell you were going to make that happen with the way normal food left you utterly disgusted at the present time. 

“We’ll make sure of that, doc,” Josh responded in your place, throwing a wink at you as he knew damn well how horrible your food aversions had been. 

“M-my therapy,” you found your voice. “It’s going to be intense. It will cause my body stress.” Dr. Stevens looked at you quizzically before you went on, “It’s called EMDR therapy. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing; although, I’m sure you’ve heard of it in your profession. I don’t know all of the logistics yet, but I know it’s not a conventional form of therapy. What do I do if I wish to continue that? Should I continue it?”

“It should be safe, as long as you make sure to have a thorough discussion with your therapist after each session. That is dire in helping your body and your mind process it all in a healthy manner. In order to have a healthy body, you must also take care of your mind, especially in those circumstances. I do want you to consult with your therapist over how much stress you’ll be able to handle at any given time. Don’t let your mind go too far. If you have a good therapist, they’ll know the signs if you’ve had enough, though, don’t be afraid to tell them.” 

If there was one thing you did know about all this uncertainty, it was that you could trust Gia to not lead you astray, or towards anything that would be detrimental to your mental health. 

Dr. Stevens smiled, her clipboard once again tight in her grip before she stepped further to the curtained room you were shielded by. “Do you have any more questions?” 

Josh glanced at you, waiting for you to say anything or waiting for you to communicate something for him to say on your behalf. You were sure you had questions, but you were just fucking flooded with stress to the point that all you wanted to do was sleep. . . just ready to get home.

Also, seeing as it was an emergency room, the idea was to get patients in and out. Wasn’t supposed to be the length of a standard visit. 

You’d taken up too much of her time.

So, you shook your head at Josh and then looked to Dr. Stevens to tell her no thank you.

And when you did, you glanced down at the name on her coat and the name of the hospital stitched into the white fabric. You hadn’t even noticed. . . .  Cedars-Sinai.

Same hospital I’ll have the baby at, if all goes according to plan, you suddenly realized, the thought bringing you a weird sense of peace. And it will go according to plan.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Josh went about gathering up all of the documents that had been handed to you and the prenatal pills provided as a nurse came in to disconnect all of your tubes and shit. He'd waited outside the curtain. and asked the nurse a few more questions as you'd changed back into your clothes.

And on the ride home, he’d put on peaceful music over the speaker of the car. He was used to doing it when you rode in his car as you hated riding in it. But tonight? Tonight you found comfort in the hunk of creaking metal. 

Because it meant you were going home. 

When you got home, Josh helped you up to the apartment and went about opening the front door and setting up your bed for you. All while you brushed your teeth, pulled up your hair that smelled like hospital, and changed into your comfiest PJs. 

Just as he’d tucked you in and was about to leave, you pulled on his hand and begged for him to stay. You really didn’t want to be alone for the night, mumbling as much to him. 

So, like the perfect friend he was, he set up a pallet on the floor as you tossed him a pillow from your bed. 

And to your solace, sleep found you as soon as your head hit the satin of your pillowcase. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 14, 2022

Every Monday being your therapy day was honestly the perfect way to start your week. You’d decided that on the way to the counseling practice on the chilly November afternoon of your second appointment.

You already knew it would be like it had been before. Before, (on your first and only other visit before today’s) it had just felt like a breath of fresh air to talk to a licensed professional like Gia. She was just fucking amazing. And you knew every week would be like before: a fresh start with a confidant who could give you killer fucking advice. A little date of sorts with a licensed professional who was positively eager to help you get through your week (life, generally) the best you possibly could.

Well, at least your therapist was eager to do that. 

Even as you sat on her trendy, camel-colored leather couch for your second appointment, you felt completely comfortable and at ease with Gia. She had already become one of your favorite people. 

You’d spent the first thirty minutes or so filling her in on telling Josh, your first prenatal exam (also showed her the sonogram pictures, which she’d loved), and the emergency visit. No details had been spared and you made sure she had time to give you any advice or words of wisdom she deemed necessary. But she’d really just let you have the floor and talk. 

Once you wrapped up your scary details from the night of the E.R., handed over all of the documents you wanted to sort through with her, and talked through them until you felt more ease about all of the anemia and heart shit, she’d looked at you seriously. 

Pinned you with a stare, her eyes sparkling like emeralds as she thoughtfully assessed you. 

She sat down her tea, and then wheeled herself over to you. Her oversized sweater was a turtle neck that matched the color of her couch, and the too-long sleeves of it touched your hands as she grasped them loosely in her hands. “Y/n,” she began, peering at you openly through her circular, wire framed-lenses, “We do not have to do EMDR. I want to remind you, it is entirely up to you if you choose to go that route. If you are fearful of it causing too much stress, I understand wanting to venture down another therapeutic route.”

“No,” you shook your head, a small smile curled the corner of your lips to reassure her. “I want to do it. I believe it’s what will work best to get to the heart of things. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she agreed, brow knitted. “I just don’t want you to feel any unnecessary stress during this vulnerable time in your life.”

“As long as you promise to help me wrap it all up with a good talk at the end of each appointment,” you suggested with hope evident in your tone. “To wrap it up as much as we can for me to make it through the week.”

She grinned. “I can do that,” she affirmed with one certain nod, her loose bun, full of her soft blonde hair bounced with the action. “Did the doctor recommend continuing it?”

“Yep. Said it shouldn’t be an issue if we manage to discuss it all at the end of each session,” you offered. “Doesn’t want me carrying around anything unresolved that could make my stress levels increase.”

“Well, that’s definitely doable,” she confirmed with a wide grin. Scooting back, she grabbed her tea from the repurposed desk in the corner of her office before propping her ankle on top of her bent knee. “So, if you do wish to continue with EMDR, I’ll go ahead and explain it a little better than I have yet.”

“I do,” you said as a final agreement. “What should I know before we start?”

So, Gia proposed EMDR and all of the benefits that could come from the specific form of therapy. You listened to every detail readily. Were you scared? Yes. Were you anxious to begin? Also yes. It was intriguing and a little exciting to be so close to finally diving deep into the curves and corners of your mind and memories. 

Once she’d finished with that, she was rolling her chair back over to you and placing her elbows on the ends of her thighs as she bent to talk intimately with you. When she spoke, the smell of spearmint on her breath was oddly calming. “There’s something I feel I should mention before we begin. A bit of a warning that you should heed. Some clients experience this, some don’t. But something to be aware of, nonetheless.” 

Your eyes widened at her use of the word ‘warning,’ and her sudden change in tone made you believe this was something a little more serious. You knew there were risks involved with this somewhat unconventional form of therapy, but you hadn’t let yourself delve into all of them just yet. You had tried your best to leave the ball in Gia’s court to explain it all to you. 

And you knew that anything deemed risky, Gia would let you know of them before you agreed. Any online research wouldn't be nearly as viable as it would be coming straight from Gia’s mouth. 

Still yet, your heart beat just a little faster in preparation for whatever she had to tell you.

Deep breaths, y/n.

“Tell me,” you asserted. In search of some extra comfort, you placed a hand on your belly, the pulse vibrating in your palm also immediately triggered the fear in you that your heart was possibly over exerting itself.

Deep. Breaths. Gia’s got this. She won’t let you do anything too risky to your health. She wouldn’t let you.

“Some people report experiencing rather intense flashbacks that can come unannounced. And when I say intense, I truly mean just that, y/n. If they come, they can be debilitating.” 

This was the first you had seen her eyes downturned, a picture of worry painted within her emerald green irises. “There have also been accounts of severe nightmares—well, more along the lines of night terrors. The kind that can wake you up in a panic. I just want you to be aware of these possibilities before we begin. I need you to promise me right now, that if these things do happen, you’ll call me. I don’t care if it’s in the middle of the night or the middle of the day, you have to call me, and I will answer.” 

Middle of the day? They could come then, too? Shit.

“Is it. . .  really that serious?” You took a moment to ponder your question, not entirely sure what to make of it all just yet. (And you couldn’t help but wonder if Jake found out about these little occurrences during his research before bringing the idea up to you.)

“It can be,” she noted with a stern tone that sent yet another wave of anxiety through your tense muscles. “That’s why I need you to make me that promise. That isn’t something you should ever experience alone. As I said, it can be debilitating.”

Your mind began turning furiously with the thought of having to experience flashbacks. Would they be flashbacks to things you already remembered? Or worse. . . things you didn’t? Both?

If you were being honest with yourself, you knew the answer and it was honestly terrifying to you.

For a split second, you started to doubt whether or not this was the right solution for you. But, you couldn’t deny any longer that you did need the help. You had to be better. For you and for the life that was growing inside of you. The baby needed a healed mother. 

And you knew Gia was the perfect person to guide you through it. You trusted her, and that was something that has never come easily for you. 

“I’ll admit,” you began, still holding tight to your belly, reminding yourself of the growing reason why you needed to do this. “I’m nervous. But I still want to do it. I promise I’ll call you when— if— that happens. . . but, what if you’re not available?”

“Don’t be nervous. You’ve got this.” She flashed you her sparkling white teeth in a smile that put your spirit right back at ease. “And I do my best to answer. It’s my job as your therapist to see you through this. Some don’t take it as seriously as I do, but I know that you’ll need me in your corner and I’m happy to be there. I signed up for this, just like you did,” she grinned, once again using her feet to scoot her back to her desk, in her plush, light pink chair. “But, on the off chance I’m not able to answer, I would immediately contact someone you trust to see you through it. Hold you. Talk to you. Just be there with you. Whatever you need. Someone who would be willing to do that.” She opened her laptop before turning to you, an idea seeming to spark in her mind. “As a matter of fact, before our next session, why don’t you make it your assignment to think of the person you’ll go to in situations like that? Just one person for now and if you think of more, then double whammy.”

She winked, and you just sent a barely-there grin back to her in response. As she went about clicking open tabs on her computer, you knew you didn’t need until next session to think of your person. 

Because as soon as she started talking about that person, you were back in the hallway of your grandparents’ home – right outside your bedroom. And the person next to you right then and there. . . he was the one you wanted with you if the terrors hit. 

Not Josh. Not even Elsie. 

But Jake. 

Would he be okay with that though? Would it be worth asking him?

Gia was once again speaking as she clicked through a few buttons on her laptop. “Y/n? You okay, love?” 

You looked up, finding her eyes waiting for yours. “Oh–oh, yeah,” you stretched your lips to make the best smile you could. “Just being an overachiever and already brainstorming my person to contact.”

She hummed, giving you a sneaky smirk. “Does it happen to be a certain roommate of yours?”

Eyes bugging, you were shocked that she’d guessed. But were you really? She sorta kinda (definitely) knew the depths of your heart. She'd probably known who you’d want to pick as soon as you'd known it. 

Nodding sheepishly, you decided to ask, “Is that a bad idea?”

“I don’t believe so,” she assured. “From what you’ve told me about him, he seems like a pretty good guy and I think he’d be more than willing to help you if you needed him.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s also super convenient because he lives with you,” she insisted with a final wink before she said, “Anything I might’ve forgotten will be in the PowerPoint I’m about to send to your email. But, I’ve gotta say, I’ve done it enough times with enough clients, I think I’ve covered every base for today.” A few beats of silence passed before she triumphantly pressed a button. “Aaand, sent!” 

Then, wheeling back over to you, her pristinely white Nikes made the smallest squeak on the stained concrete floor of her office. “Okay, so today,” she began. “How are we feeling?”

“Really good,” you confidently responded, wiping your palms against your leggings before a true smile fit to your features. “When will we start?”

“I think next session we will find your safe place,” she said with a raise of her brow. “I will explain what I mean by ‘safe place’ next time, and directly after, we will send you there. Try not to worry about it until then, okay?” She requested, eyes searching yours for an answer. To which, you nodded. She continued with a grin. “For today, I want to call it quits with the EMDR talk. . . Let you rest. Unless. . . you have any questions, of course. . . .”

You wracked your brain, and when you couldn’t think of anything immediately, you told her you didn’t have any questions. 

“Come with some next time if you think of any. And, my email is always open in between visits if needed–even if it’s just a minor inquiry you have,” she reminded. “Oh! And I’m not sure if I mentioned this yet. . . but, if we need to ever schedule an emergency visit over Zoom or in the office. . . that is also always, always on the table. I know that these things get heavy, and I want to be here for you through all of it, y/n.”

“Got it.”

Although, something did come to your mind as you were both standing to leave the session. You hadn’t given the question much thought in your own mind (shockingly). It had entered your wave of thought the day of your first prenatal appointment. When you’d asked Josh. 

But since then, your mind had been too preoccupied with everything else that had recently happened that this thought had been put on the backburner. 

But, you were curious what her opinion was on the matter, now that it had resurfaced. 

Right before she opened the door, delicate hand on the handle, you grew sweaty. But you needed to ask the question, because if you didn’t do it now, it would be tormenting you until next Monday. 

So, you asked her the same question you’d asked Josh.

“When should I tell Jake about the baby?”

She turned her shoulder, her eyes stern when she responded. “Soon. . . sooner rather than later. Just focus on what is real.”

Sooner rather than later. . . same exact words Josh had said.

-🌼🌼🌼-

It had been a long day of classes and the short shift at the Black and Gold after your classes had completely wiped you out. 

When you got home, all you’d wanted to do was take a nap to sleep off the exhaustion from the short day. Before pregnancy, you wouldn’t be hitting a wall so early in the day, but now that you were, you could hardly function after going nonstop for more than a few hours. 

Your body was functioning in overdrive, trying to produce enough energy to sustain two lives. . . and you were still getting used to it. Honestly, you weren’t sure you would ever get used to it.

But before your nap. . . you wanted to take some time to release some of the soreness in your changing body with a warm shower. You were sure to grab a towel from the dryer because, even though you knew Jake wasn’t supposed to be home for a few hours, you still didn’t want to risk him seeing you. The idea of him seeing any slight changes on your body made you cringe. You weren’t sure if you felt comfortable in your body yet, so you definitely didn’t want him seeing it. 

There was also the enormous, glaring factor of him seeing the changes and realizing what was going on. You really still just looked bloated (albeit very, very bloated). . . but you had a feeling that he would catch on. He’d gotten very used to what your body looked like for the better part of the summer, so you could see him noticing your stomach protruding more than it ever did before. 

He’d know. . . you just had a feeling.

After a day of trying to wear regular jeans, you’d decided it was a bad idea to wear your normal sized jeans anymore. The tight waistband had cut into your abdomen all day and squeezed you like a motherfucker. Thankfully, there’d been a lull in customers before the end of your shift, and the oversized sweater you’d worn had provided enough coverage for you to unbutton the jeans when you were alone in the store. 

But when you finally got to take them off, you breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the confines of the stiff clothing. And the big, fluffy sweater had gotten to be too warm by the end of your shift, so taking that off had also been extremely relieving as well. 

After you’d tied your hair back and heated the shower a little cooler than your usually steaming hot showers, you had to get used to the temperature as you stood and lathered up your belly, giving yourself your daily time to just observe how it was growing. Ever since your visit to the E.R., you’d become more conscientious of how it was growing.

You were new to this pregnancy thing. You didn’t know if it meant your baby was okay or not if your belly wasn’t growing at a certain rate.

To your utter relief, over the past few days, you had finally been able to eat more–following the lists of food Dr. Stevens had given you. You occasionally got nauseous, but the puking had limited significantly with the suggested bland, healthier foods and constant Ginger Ale (which you’d actually found much more delicious and helpful to your twisty stomach than Sprite). 

Then there were the Preggie Pops and the heaven-sent PregEase: both of which had been fucking life savers. (Both stayed safely locked away in your room, on a shelf in your closet, right next to where you’d pinned the sonogram pictures.)

Once you’d let the quick shower relax your muscles exactly like you’d needed, you took your time drying off. And once you’d washed your face and changed into bike shorts and a giant t-shirt, you weren’t so tired as before. So, you’d settled into the couch with your phone, a book, a fluffy blanket, and a delicious bowl of sweet red peppers and pretzels.

It had become a go-to snack as of late. 

You were looking forward to finishing the steamy romance that had popped up on your BookTok a few weeks back, but you wanted to look into BookTok reviews for the second book in the series before you finished the first. Just to prepare yourself. 

Though, when you opened your TikTok app, you didn’t look into the book. No, instead, you found your fingers searching ‘13 weeks pregnant’. You wanted to see how other women looked at this point in the game. You couldn’t help wanting to compare your progression to other women. It wasn’t a healthy course of action – you knew that. You just had to see. . . get an idea.

You saw a lot of videos of them talking about entering their second trimester. Which, like your Ovia app had already informed you today, you knew you had officially passed the first trimester. . . which was a massive thing to you. Passing the first trimester meant several exciting things. A few being: the chances of your baby surviving the pregnancy increased tenfold; the morning sickness started screeching to a halt (thank god); and you’d be able to find out the gender of your baby in a few short weeks.

Though, the other glaring thing at the front of your brain was how you needed to tell Jake. Because of the fact that you were already in your second trimester.

The main thing you were concerned about was staying healthy, though. . . you were really hoping you were doing okay at keeping yourself healthy; you needed your baby to be healthy. All of your numbers seemed to be getting back on the right track as you’d been tracking your hemoglobin for the past few days. It was all very comforting–-you felt better.

Just as you clicked on a video about symptoms at week 13, the front door opened to show Jake coming through. You quickly shut the app off and locked your phone, pretended to be reading as sweat accumulated in your arm and knee pits. (Lovely.) 

Though, you couldn’t help but turn your body to peek at him in his peacoat, with a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a beanie covering his ears. Much like he’d looked on the night of the macaroni and cheese and therapy talk. 

He had a little chill in his bones, it seemed, as he shook them out when taking off his coat and scarf. His hat was next, leaving his long hair staticky in its wake. He smoothed it back with one more chill before he was off to the counter, dropping off the mail and his keys. But he didn’t immediately go to his room. He went about opening a drawer, finding a pair of scissors and heading to the mail on the counter. 

You did notice a package now that you looked closer. And he was hurriedly going about cutting through the yellow protective packaging.

Out of nowhere, you decided to speak. No idea where it came from. Curiosity killed the cat was all you could come up with.

“Whatcha got there?” Whatcha got there? Okay, first of all, what the fuck?

He peered over at you, raising a brow before lifting the now-open package to display it to you. “New guitar part I ordered.”

“Oh,” you blinked, not sure what else you’d been expecting from him. Of course he wasn’t about to make pleasant conversation. Not when something had apparently climbed up his ass where you were concerned for the past several days. 

Once again, you were right back at square one at the most inopportune time. It made you question your idea to make him your go-to person for your expected night terrors. . . but you didn’t want to let go of the possibility yet. Not yet. 

“Have fun with that,” you offered, turning back around to the book you most definitely didn’t want to read at the present time. Instead, you took a nervous bite of a pepper. 

“Um, y/n,” he said your name with a question in his tone. “What the fuck is this?”

Your heart tripped over itself in your chest. What had he found? Without looking at him, you decided to just go ahead and get your ass off the couch to survey the situation. 

He was holding the box containing your heart monitor in his hands.

Fuck. You really didn’t want him to be privy to that part of your life. For whatever ridiculous reason, you were embarrassed by it. 

Deciding honesty was the best policy, you decided to just flat out tell him. “I went to the Emergency Room the other night,” you started. “And the doctor just wanted –.”

“The Emergency Room?!” His voice raised a decibel, obviously alarmed at the new information. “Wait . . . is that why Josh had to leave the bar–? The same night you were gone all night.”

“Wait. . .how do you know I was gone all night?”

“I live with you, y/n,” he scoffed, talking to you like you were an idiot. 

You felt your blood pressure rise, your heart beating in your ears. “Yes, Jake, I know this,” you matched his tone, the hormones working in your favor this time–making you angry rather than sad. “But why the fuck were you awake?”

“I was waiting for–,” he stopped, clearing his throat before starting over. He looked down, a crinkle in his brow. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He was waiting for. . . who? Waiting for. . . what? Your curiosity peaked, but you ignored it for the time being. 

“Well, not that you need to know, but yes. I was at the E.R. that night,” you explained. “Something happened that landed me there and it resulted in them wanting to track my heart activity. Nothing huge.”

And for once, you didn’t feel bad for lying to him. Your nerves were lit on fire with irritation towards him. 

He doesn’t need to know.

“You got a heart monitor in the mail,” he stated, not dropping the possible severity of the situation. "And you're saying it's nothing huge?"

Without a second thought, you were yanking the package from his hands. 

“It’s. not. your. business, Jacob,” you squeezed the package until the plastic wrap squeaked from the tight grip of your fingertips. Then, something else clicked. “Why the fuck were you not looking at the name on the package? Remember, like you said, you live with me. You know that not all of the shit that comes in the mail is yours.”

“I just wasn’t thinking–.”

“Kind of fucking invasive, Jake,” you interrupted hotly. “Don’t you think?”

“Well, it helped me to know something was wrong with your heart. You wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t opened the package,” he argued back. 

“You didn’t need to know!” You said, your voice raising at the same speed as your blood pressure. “Still don’t!”

“But Josh sure as hell does, right?” He demanded, swinging his finger towards the door, his jaw clenching. “He needed to be your knight in shining fucking armor, huh?”

“Why the hell do you care?!” You fumed, the question exploding from your chest with the same emotion that had tears gathering in your eyes at the question. Angry tears. Confused tears. 

“I don’t!” He snapped, his beautiful, brown eyes, hard. His jaw, set and tight. 

His words sat in the air for a few minutes. Your stares were intertwined; swimming with tangled emotions. The air felt hot and heavy as it surrounded you. It was taut with newly spoken (and still unspoken) surmounting feelings and disequilibrium. Nostrils were flaring. Both of your chests heaved, the sound of his breathing mixed with yours in a way that made you want to slap and kiss his pursed lips.

You didn’t let yourself stand there much longer – needed to get away from him. Without speaking to him, you tore your eyes from his, gathered up your stuff from the couch, and tried to walk with as much dignity as you could to your room. 

Somehow, you were able to get the door open with your hands inexplicably full, and after you’d entered and before you could shut it behind you, you shot a glare his way. He was still watching you.

“Fuck you, Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 17, 2022

The next night saw your ass in the shower again. 

Except this time, you were sitting in the tub, legs drawn to your chest as close as possible with your rounder tummy, and chin on your knees as you let the warm water soak you through. 

You’d already shaved and washed everything. So, now, you were just letting yourself be.

Your thoughts had been spinning since last night. So, in an effort to help your heart, you’d invited Josh over for a movie when Jake left to give lessons for the day. And, of course, he’d said yes without question. 

You’d spent the day drowning yourself in popcorn and Canada Dry (Josh surprised you with a new 12-pack when he’d arrived) as you’d watched all three Bridget Jones movies. Back to back to back. They weren’t Josh’s favorites, but he humored you by trying to indulge in the trilogy – even managing to laugh at the funny parts. 

Between movies, he’d let you cry on his shoulder. Or, intermittently, during the movies. . . By the time he’d left, your tears had positively stained the white long sleeve tee he was wearing. 

He didn’t ever ask what it was about – who it was about. And you never told him. But you knew he wasn’t oblivious to who caused your emotional episode.

Now he was gone. Had been for about an hour. And Jake wasn’t home yet. Not that you fucking cared. 

You’d meant it when you told him what you did. Fuck him.

Though, the devastating matter was that you couldn’t decide if you were more mad at yourself or him. Everyday was a replay of the day in the kitchen. And you were sure he replayed it everyday, too. . . and he was definitely allowed to feel hurt after the horrendous shit you’d thrown at him.

But what was with the back and forth? Hot and cold? How he’d been okay the night with the mac and cheese? How he’d spent his time researching therapy for you to try? How he’d been quick to defend your song to his girlfriend? 

And, just as quickly, he was snapping at you. Getting upset out of nowhere. Instantly angry with you when you’d come out of the bathroom at the bar. Getting pissed for no reason at you and Josh for sitting in the car. Telling you last night that he didn’t care about you. 

Was that true? Did he not? It fucking killed you if it was true. But you couldn’t blame him if he didn’t care. Why would he?

You took the moment to stretch your legs out in the shower, watching as the water painted your skin with droplet after droplet. Then, you looked down at your tummy, extra round after a day of pigging out. 

Placing a pruned hand on it, you looked down at the part of your body that housed your human. Surprisingly (not), tears clouded your voice as you spoke to it, rubbing the skin reassuringly. “I’m so sorry that your mommy and daddy are so fucked up.”

After letting a few tears fall to meet the tight, rounded skin of your tummy, you forced your legs to stand up. The feat was proven a little difficult as they’d fallen asleep, but you still managed. Regretfully, you’d turned the water off. You didn’t want to leave the shower but you were officially prune-y as hell.

And, as you gathered a towel to wrap up in, you realized you were also very fucking tired.

You carefully attached the heart monitor’s adhesive to your chest like the instruction manual (and multiple videos you’d watched) told you to, and followed it with the monitor itself. You then checked to make sure the phone you’d been given with the kit was ready to track what it needed.

Finding your phone on the counter after you’d washed your face and brushed your teeth, you decided Josh deserved a thank you after putting up with you the last several days.

Especially after you’d just rocked his motherfucking world . . . and he’d been so cool about it.

God, you just loved him.

You, 10:17 p.m.: I’m so glad I have you. I mean it from the bottom of my heart that I wouldn’t make it through this pregnancy without you. And your love and amazing fucking support. I’d be lost without you.

And after you sent it, you began towel drying your hair, then brushed through any tangles the best you could. 

When you heard a ding! sound from the living room, you spent a few minutes thinking it was your imagination. But when you heard it a second time, you realized it was most likely not in your head, and that Jake was home. 

So, checking your appearance once more, you wrapped the towel as tight as you could around your body before shutting the light off and opening the door. 

You glanced up to see if he was in fact home, and the sight that met you had you stop in your tracks. 

Josh’s white phone case with the little triangle symbol he’d drawn on it one day at the B&G. 

In Jake’s hands. 

Jake’s face, looking at the screen of said phone, mouth open in shock.

And as soon as you closed the door to the bathroom, the smallest sound of it shutting, made his eyes slowly slide up from the phone to your face.

He held the phone up, showing you just what he’d seen. Fuck. 

“You’re pregnant?”

You took a careful step forward, the blood in your veins frazzled and vibrating. Deny deny deny. As long as you can, y/n. “What gives you the right to be in Josh’s phone? Your invasiveness really knows no fucking bounds these days,” you clipped, voice shaking in spite of yourself.

He blinked a couple of times, a smile forming on his mouth. A wide, sarcastic one, which turned into an astounded scoff. “Really? That’s what we’re going to focus on right no–?” He shook his head, clicking the phone shut before taking a few cautious steps towards you. “His face I.D.; it opens to me. I’m his fucking identical twin.”

“Prove it,” you challenged. 

“Was already planning on it,” he snipped. And right in your line of sight, he opened the phone, putting his face in front of it. Then, it was turned to show you. The same tantalizing screen as before. “Proven.”

“Well. . .,” you faltered, scrambling. “Why did you have it?”

“It was laying on the counter. I went to grab it and my keys,” he jingled the keys in his other hand. “I was going to take it to him,” he explained, sounding exasperated and patient all at once. An anomaly. “But when I picked it up, I looked down, and it opened.”

He took two steps back, once again, holding the phone up to show you the text screen. The gray bubble had never looked so horrifying as it did in that moment. The sweat accumulating on your forehead proved your entire skin care routine pointless. You were shaking. Your skin felt like it was going to fall off from the vibrations taking over underneath it.

“Now,” he started slowly. “Will you answer my question, please?” 

His voice broke on the last word and it triggered a single tear to trickle down your cheek. 

“Yes, I am.”

“Whose?”

“Really, Jake?” You questioned, the question making your heart break. How could he–? 

His eyes went soft momentarily, pleading with you. “I just need to hear you say it, y/n.”

“It’s yours, Jake. The baby is yours. Who the fuck else?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: this monstrous chapter was a fucking doozy and you already know i wanna talk about it!! come to my asks and we shall chat <333

oh, but i'm just wondering........ what do you think reader's safe place will be? ;) a place? a person? both? hmmm....

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

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

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98

(and, due to t*mblr’s shitass guidelines, i will be adding the other tags in a reblog of the story!)

[somany-fandoms-solittle-time]

“What’s so Special About the Moon?”

Jamil Viper x Mac

Ch. 1 – Ch. 2 – (Ch. 3) – Ch. 4 – Next – Previous

I never thought I’d finish this chapter…. LIKE HOLY SHIT I HATED OPENING MY NOTEBOOK BUT THE TIME HAS COME Y’ALL!!! I was planning on posting this before Valentines Day, but I got kinda busy and then almost a whole month passed lol! I’m also convinced I no longer know how to write two characters interacting with each other properly… Maybe the break was needed? No song in this one, but there’s so Mac lore and somewhat talking about feelings! The next (and final) chapter of this will be like a romanticized epilogue. Since I’m not sure how much I want to actually write and plan out for this oc, specifically regarding timeline stuff, it’s not gonna be considered “canon” [p.s. The most beta this gets is a quick read through of a 2nd draft after I finish typing it up so there may be mistakes or sentences that don’t make total sense]

The cream stone walls, lined with gold and crimson ceramics, provided an open, airy atmosphere to the Scarabia’s main Kitchen. Gentle breezes shifted Jamil’s long, dark hair while his busy hands expertly prepared baked pakoras. Their delightful deep-fried scent filled the air, making Mac’s already dry mouth water. Another beat or two of awkward silence oppressed the two as the Ramshackle Housewarden lightly sipped at the nearly empty glass of pink lemonade (including a few tiny chunks of dragonfruit).

“If you would like a second glass, there’s plenty left in the pitcher; second fridge to the right, middle shelf. I’d offer to pour but I must make sure these don’t burn.” Jamil finally broke the silence with more than the single-worded responses Mac was using. Xey supposed they couldn’t run away, least they be called out for being a hypocrite.

“No worries, I mean, I wasn’t really expecting you to serve me hand and foot,” they attempted to joke as a way to ease back into conversation.

“Scalding Sand hospitality would say otherwise,” Jamil easily shot back with a hint of mirth in his tone.

“Well,” Mac dragged out in a tired sigh, “I’m not royalty or a wealthy merchant. Besides, I’m not exactly fluent in any desert customs, Twisted Wonderland or otherwise… Kinda the opposite in fact! So, really, it’s no problem between us. I mean! You don’t need to feel like you have to go through any extra effort or ceremony for my sake.” Their hesitant eyes flicked fervently between filling the lemonade and the calm, sturdy back of the Vice Warden. A panicked symphony of little anxieties added an extra depth to xeir already drooping eyes.

Jamil remained calm. So fucking calm and put together that the Ramshackle Perfect could feel xeir anxiety almost turn to frustration. Almost. That deep well of guilt and shame kept them ‘grounded’ while waiting to hear some type of response.

“No need to concern yourself so much, it’s more force of habit than anything else.”

Mac huffed hardheartedly, “Trust me. I’d rather kill myself than even consider being a bother.” It was meant to be a more lighthearted joke but from Jamil’s reaction, he wasn’t used to such crude self-deprecation. A wide-eyed panic flooded his own eyes quickly as if mentally preparing to start damage control.

“Relax,” Mac continued with a snort, “nihilism is like breathing where I’m from.” A domino effect went through xeir body following their wave of flippancy. A harmless eye-roll, followed by a slightly less strained side-smile, the finishing with a light shrug into a slouch. “Besides, you can only have so many near-death experiences before beginning to think about death with casual indifference. You should try it sometimes… might loosen you up a bit!”

“It seems I’ve gotten too used to Kalim’s more literal style of speech.” the Vice replied through lightly gritted teeth; completely omitting any comment about how he did almost die during his overblot. The forced politeness remained and insisted on the reconstruction of his peripheral walls. It was really starting to piss Mac off. Good thing ze were a nosy bitch!

Fiddling in their lap, they sent a quick message to the ‘Ramshackle Freshies’ group chat letting them know not to wait up. Ze suddenly had a new, and challenging, job to do.

“… Considering how well you two got along I thought you shared that similarity,” the second year whispered under his breath, likely meant just to himself. Seriously, Mac thought, was he really meant to be sneaky? How’d he ever get away with it in the past?

“I was a lot like Kalim when I was younger,” xey replied just to watch Jamil startle out of his thoughtful pout. “Yeah, back when I was 15 before… a lotta things happened. It’s why I can, well, I think I can understand your whole dynamic.” They started rambling again and sporadically moving their arms. It was too easy for him to overshare nonsense that had nothing to do with the conversation at hand.

At least xeir slip of the tongue caught the desert snake’s attention. These two working-class students were both so emotionally huddled up in on themselves, manning their defenses, to properly have a conversation. Both desperately trying to claim secrets and information from the other. (The elder trying to understand and provide comfort while the younger planning to gain back some trust, solve their puzzling nature and…. A little of something else).

Becoming so lost in their own thoughts that the clinking ice cubes in xeir drink began to melt. The only other sounds were of the occasional Scarabia students shuffling path the doors, unwilling to enter the dorm kitchen. It was well-known that the kitchens were Jamil’s domain and kingdom. Add-on the weirdly tense vibes emitting from the two beyond the door. Yeah, this wasn’t the ‘Dorm for Mindfulness’ for nothing. No one would be stepping a foot inside until the other two were long gone.

Looks like it was cafeteria of food from the Lounge this weekend.

By this time, the deep-fried delight was finished and barely cooled down before being devoured. Continuous awkward silence would give the poor magicless Perfect indigestion at this point. I guess I’ll bite first, xey thought, making up his mind.

“This…,” a deep, yet hollow sigh, “isn’t gonna work.”

“What won’t work?” Jamil cautiously prompted, taking his time to search Mac’s body language.

“If we can’t chill out and come to some kind of understanding, everyone will be bugging us for weeks. Or worse… they’ll come up with some stupid, half-baked plan to force us to work it out.” They both felt a disturbing shiver imagining their resident idiot(s) locking them in a closet, or something equally cliche. Not that Mac hadn’t tried the same exact thing before realizing set-ups only work in movies and shojou anime. That would be ridiculous.

“And what do you suggest?” He replied after thinking it over for a moment.

“Twenty questions.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.” zeir shit-eating, mischievous, obnoxiously lighthearted grin was practically audible at this point.

“You think some adolescent party game to learn each other’s favorite color will smooth over our interactions enough to fool Vil or Rook?” was the apathetic, snarky argument the Vice Warden shot back.

Mac released a playful gasp as xey jumped to reply, “How DARE you mock the sacred ritual of 20 questions. Or how much a favorite color can provide a little insight. I would know, I passed my Intro to Psychology class in High School.” Their easy wink was all the transition needed to put the testy air behind them. Besides, there might’ve actually been a small bit of truth in xeir joking attitude.

“You’ve tested it?”

“Online dating was a complete bitch and a half. Any ‘simple question game’ keeps the conversation going and vets out creepy weirdos.”

“But I already know how strange you are,” Jamil scoffed out the quip like second nature.

“Sorry, Babydoll, but you have no idea how much of a Freak I am.” Mac shot back with a laugh at the embarrassed look ascending Jamil’s neck and over his face. He seemed to tense on instinct, but decided to push through while he could still look his older underclassman in the eyes.

“Did these type of lines actually work for you?” He asked, standing up to try to brush of his initial reaction and to get started on their dirtied dished.

“If that’s your first question, then yes! I’m pretty good at adjusting to all sorts of personality types, which is great for a hook-up but doesn’t last long when it comes to serious relationships.” Xey answered somewhat matter-of-factually but still tasted of insecurity. Mac wasn’t ashamed, per say, of the occasional good time, but was borderline unhealthy with their distraction of choice.

With that the young servant raised a judgmental eyebrow that arched with a misplaced possessive jealousy, before becoming slightly thoughtful. Jamil had gone through extensive training in order to gain (and retain) a similar skill, he supposed. Not that it was anything he’d revel to the Perfect sitting across from him. Nor did he have to explain or like the venomous feelings he was actively shoving down the back of his throat. Just another poison to keep from spilling over, he thought trying to ignore the blatant irony of the whole situation.

“How about you?” Never mind!

Mac motioned xeir hand out expectantly. Behind his smudged glasses were gentle, pleading puppy dog eyes meaning to encourage Jamil only made him curl in on himself all the more.

“Is that you’re question? Seems hardly fair to just project the same question back,” He responded in a jilted, caved-off taunt. “Shouldn’t you have enough braincells to think of your own questions… instead of making me do all the work.”

Instead of backing off—or acting offended or snapping back with an equally sarcastic response—they simply laughed. Just… laughed. It wasn’t a patronizing huff like his own or a naive giggle like whenever Jamil said something that went over Kalim’s head. Xey laughed with a heavy nostalgia and in relief of finding the groove of conversation once again.

“Sorry, sorry! The version my… friends, I think, played we’d always have to answer whatever we asked. Prevents anyone getting ganged up on or an imbalanced type of questions.” Xe replied with ease.

Jamil answered dryly in response, “I spent the majority of my life following in Kalim’s shadow; we did grow up together after all. When I wasn’t by his side I either had work, chores or school. This didn’t exactly leave a lot of room for deeper friendships, let alone dating.” Surprisingly, the majority of what he said was the true.

It wasn’t the whole truth, but true nonetheless. Equal measurements of shame and embarrassment for being a servant always made the young Viper hesitant to pursue any real relationships while in middle school. Casual friends were one thing, superficial and somewhat difficult to maintain, but achievable. Dating, however, would take his focus away from his duties to Kalim (and possibly endanger the heir)

While Jamil’s thoughts were grim and filled with resentment, the other student hummed in consideration. How the two connected to people; how they both learned how and when to respond to the people they’re forced to be around felt oddly similar. Not the same, not by a long shot, but definitely similar.

“Well isn’t that just completely depressing,” Mac started to say under her breath before quickly transitioning to their own question: “Okay, well, how ‘bout your favorite type of music?” The answer they received back was a ‘cut-the-bullshit’ type of frown. Clearly, he didn’t consider it an equal exchange.

“Okay! Fine! What was your dream job as a child?”

This time Jamil couldn’t control his reactions so seamlessly. The Vice Warden’s eyes bulged as the startled intake of breath entered his body. His entire body took on a different type of hardheadedness to guard compensate his apparent embarrassment. He’s been feeling embarrassed a lot lately.

“Oh c’mon~ Every kid had a silly dream job! I probably went through a dozen, at least. So just spill already.” Ze said, trying to urge him to uncoil the tension from his jaw.

“It doesn’t matter! I knew I was destined to remain a servant my whole life, there was no reason to bother making silly plans.” Jamil hurriedly snapped in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

“Doesn’t mean some 5-year-old Jamil didn’t want to be a firefighter at some point.” Mac countered.

“I never dreamed of being something so foolish and mundane as a firefighter…” Jamil said, raising a defiant eyebrow.

“But you dreamt to be something or the other! C’mon, Viper, throw me a bone here wouldja?”

The two stared the other down, prepared to go back and forth. Clean-up had already been finished by the end of the first question and now Jamil brought out two, small fruit plates. It was a nonverbal offering to keep the conversation going despite his own dodgy replies. How was it possible that relatively harmless banter could be pulled from a subject as touchy as his lack of childhood?

Mac’s ease and understanding, even with their awkward or overbearing, of conversation had charmed the Viper’s unsettled and distrusting nature. If xey weren’t painfully honest (and particularly bad at keeping secrets for long), Jamil would have been worried she was a spy. Whatever I tell them—Kalim’s probably already told his club members, so there’s little harm to be done, he thought begrudgingly.

“A dancer,” his soft whisper blew past the lightly dripping faucet and over the desert’s dunes. In the heart of his answer—an unexpected level of raw honesty—cascaded over the billowing heat in a brutal, stubborn calm.

Mac wasn’t surprised, but he smiled at the second year anyway. That soft look, a fresh morning dew covering the forest floor in the late spring, both cooled and energized the flustered boy. It was an expression he wasn’t often familiar with; such genuine patience and pride over 3 short syllabus was uncalled for when it came to a servant like him. Such an insignificant moment held so much weight when they looked at him like that. A sight and experience that a much younger Jamil would’ve thought impossible to even dream of.

“I’m pretty sure I wanted to be a ballerina, for a time.” A hushed excitement at their shared interest.

“Really?” He’d seen them dance and… never got that impression before.

“Yeah, for like a week. Then it was a police officer, before I found out how much running around I would have to do. After that it was an engineer; who knew there was so much math involved? For a little bit I was dedicated to become the President.” Xeir answers tumbled out easily with plenty of humor behind each one.

“… President of what?” Jamil asked in confusion.

“Of the country! There’s not a whole lotta royal families back on Earth, but anyway, Politics is messy and absolutely soul-crushing. I would probably have twenty breakdowns a month even attempting to jump into THAT cesspool!”

“Ah…” Jamil mentally noted the casual explanation over the bewildering differences between Mac’s world and his own. It wasn’t the easiest to wrap his head around a country with no king, queen, or Sultan.

“Right?! Felt like I wanted to try a little bit of everything, but I always came back to performing on a stage…” For a moment there was a wistful look in their eye before quickly being pushed away.

“… In what way? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, anyway I can. A pianist, an actress, a singer; all I wanted to do since I could remember was to entertain a crowd of people on a stage while I felt those warming lights beaming down on me.” The wistful expression was back with a small tug of a smile.

“Why tell me all of this in the first place?” Jamil knew he had already asked multiple questions at this point, but he had to know. He had to know everything that made up the strange magicless student across from him even more than he wanted to conceal himself. There was just an insatiable need to be their confidant, an archive of Mac Trivia, to just be anything xey let him be. It was strange and powerful and scared him almost as much as they intrigued him. It was an emotional tight-rope he never expected to need to walk, even now, as he studied his companion’s reaction.

“Because even if I do forget it all again, maybe I won’t have to loose myself entirely. Maybe then at least a part of my story will live on and be remembered. Why would people tell stories or gossip or do anything at all, if not for it to be at least remembered by someone?”

They both took a quiet moment to contemplate the sudden serious tone. It wasn’t the fighting or finger-pointing from earlier, but the air felt different from before. Like the next topic, which was Jamil’s to choose, would make or break the tension that was floating around all day between the two of them.

But what in the Twisted Wonderland was he supposed to ask zer after all that?!

There were so many things that still remained a mystery when it came to who Mac was or where they were from (or even why they were sent here in the first place). An uncountable amount of possible questions sped through the 2nd year’s head, trying desperately to pick the right one.

But this—this moment—was an opening to move forward from any awkwardness. Moving past the caring, nosy nuisance to a bond made of understanding. And if Jamil was honest, something he rarely was but making an effort today, than there was really only one specific he needed to know in the moment:

“The sun or the moon?”

“Huh?”

He had blurted it out less like a question and more as an overall demand. An unconscious hiss slipping from between his twisted lips and tempting tongue. Truly, an oversight considering how much the Scarabia resident was overthinking his options… he somehow lost control of his words.

“Sorry! Um… I meant to say, are you a day or night person? Basically do you prefer the Sun or the moon?” Jamil internally cursed himself as he back-pedaled. The earlier courage lost and desperately hoping to skirt passed awkward tension that might follow.

“Bullshit.” Oh for Seven’s Sake!

Mac slowly let xeir eyes glide over each of Jamil’s facial features. Thinking. Analyzing. Committing to memory the very real, very vulnerable intensity the original question had posed.

“The Sun and Moon are considered two halves of a whole, even if they aren’t necessary opposites; why should they be compared in the first place? Why put two celestial bodies against each other? Figuratively or metaphorically.”

Suddenly, the non-native Twistian held the same intensity as Jamil’s initial slip had if not more. It was the stubborn authority he felt in the laundry room—the same focus and need to understand. To be understood. To struggle with the truth while desperately, insistently, needing it to be said.

It scared him. More than hostage situations or poison testing, Mac scared and impressed Jamil more than he could describe. The fact that they were saying exactly what he needed to hear since he was 6-year-old.

“What’s so special about the moon? The sun will always outshine the moon—it can’t even make it’s own light. Then forced into the shadows without the Sun’s light.” He stated in response, trying to opposing his shaken heartbeat, but his tone sounded recited. It was a line he’d told himself time and time again as a mantra from his parents.

“I don’t think so,” the Ramshackle Perfect answered as simply as breathing, “because the moon is beautiful and mysterious and needed. It can do things even the sun cannot. Yes, the sun is beautiful and lovely and celebrated—but I don’t think you understand just how important the Moon is!”

Jamil responded in the last possible way either students expected him to: laughing his ass off. It was hand to describe any undertones of his laughter, but it wasn’t cruel or crazed like when he overblotted. A familiar bite of bitterness lingered in the air while the body of his laughter rang with astonished sincerity.

This was not the same Vice Warden that had tried to scheme against his childhood friend for a small taste of freedom. It wasn’t the snippy, exasperated retainer simply building back his reputation. Nor was it the frustrated, closed off second year that had been yelling all bout how the Perfect didn’t understand him.

He finally felt a little more free, placated and relieved, now that he’s taken a moment to grow. To learn. To feel and be validated in being his own person. Allowed to be better and show it to someone; show himself, at least partially, to Mac.

------

I hope you’ve enjoyed the story so far!! This is one of the longest fiction works I think I’ve committed to! I’m between two different songs to round this story out (Blue Moon by Billie Holiday or Here Comes The Sun by George Harrison) but I have an ongoing playlist of songs that remind me of Jamil. Some of them are jokes or ironic, some a little bit more spiteful, and others that really embody aspects of his character… at least to me lol! Feel free to add random songs that make you think of Jamil and if it’s not already in the monster of a thing.

[lonewolflink]

Hey, Link! Got some super important questions I need you to answer! 😉

- favorite itzy variety show?

- wdzy or twinzy? who looks most like their cartoon counterparts?

- favorite title track? favorite era?

- favorite solo covers/performances from each of the members?

-any concepts you want itzy to try in the future?

Love your writing and I'm eagerly waiting for the next update! 💕

hi!!!!! omg i think this is the first non-anon ask i've ever gotten lol I'M EXCITED! and very glad you're enjoying my writing...next chapter of wsc is a real doozy so look out!!

answers after the jump :)

favorite itzy variety show?

easily it'zzz. oh my god it's been so good. i literally imitate yeji yelling "MAC" into the void on a daily basis because it makes me giggle every time. my one true wish is for it'zzz season 2 when lia comes back

wdzy or twinzy? who looks most like their cartoon counterparts?

prefacing this by saying i do genuinely like twinzy, i think they're super cute! that being said it's easily wdzy. members were more involved in their creation, the designs are more unique/distinct, and honestly just more fun. for twinzy i think kkengee looks most like yeji, and for wdzy it's gotta be my fav tuk (when ryujin's got her ears popping out the hoodie) or lya!

favorite title track? favorite era?

fav title track is SO tough there's so many good ones. ugh. honestly it might be cheshire?? that was the first itzy title track that got Stuck In My Head and then i had to listen to their entire discography lol. my favorite era as a whole is easily kill my doubt.

i think that entire EP is phenomenal, and it's what made me really hop on the itzy train in a permanent way (i became a fan during that comeback). bet on me and none of my business are the reason i survived the last year of my phd program lol

also like...their styling in that era (esp their hair)? ELITE. (blonde lia...i'm on my knees...wtf...)

favorite solo covers/performances from each of the members?

this is so tough oh my god uh...

lia - can't take my eyes off of you

hearing lia sing this is one of the major things that made me want to look into itzy in the first place. i wish lia would sing more jazzy/r&b stuff, her voice is so suited for it

yeji - river

idk if dance covers are included here but if so then obviously river. her stage with hyunjin was insane too. if no dance covers then...hotter than hell

ryujin - every second

i love every second, and i especially love ryu's cover of it. i legit listen to it all the time. lemon might be taking over its spot but we'll see

chaeryeong - 10 minutes/chitty chitty bang bang

ok i know this was a catz line (+yuna) performance but i literally go back to it constantly specifically for chaeryeong oh my god SHE!!!

yuna: u-go-girl

i mean. it's yuna's Statement performance. feels wrong to go with anything else

any concepts you want itzy to try in the future?

this is also tough! itzy has proven they can basically rock any concept so it's hard to say really. in terms of styling i would really love to see them go a little more masc (like the airport fits in the algorhythm mv) and do at least some r&b (like stuff in the direction of mr. vampire, especially when lia comes back)...i guess like to see them do a darker more mature concept but not girl crush bc i feel like we've seen them do that.

more than anything i'd say what i want is for the girls to have more creative control of their direction in concept, styling, and music. i think they have all shown themselves to be incredibly thoughtful and talented in those respects, beyond performance, and i'd be really interested to see what they come up with together if given the opportunity for input. fingers crossed that the solo projects on born to be were indicative of that becoming the new norm.

[vaultscavver]

wasteland, baby!

falloutober days four and five: DADDY-O & THIS THING CALLED DEFEAT ( 3.8k / eventual sole x hancock x maccready )

a/n: i'm so so late but i'm catching up! here's a well due day four, with an included day five :) this chapter is dialogue-heavy but i tried to smoothen the pace a bit just to make it easier to read, but there still might be a few mispellings and weird spacings because i was rushing to post. enjoy! xx, scavver

synopsis — a few weeks into traveling together, nora discovers that this arrangement means more than just caps to her new bodyguard-turned-friend and doesn't quite know what to make of his unveiled story.

─ ─── ──── ─── ♠ ─── ──── ─── ─

"More caps, huh, hotshot?" 

MacCready rolled his eyes at her over the corpse he was looting. "Is there a reason you're bringing this up again?"

Huffing a laugh, Nora didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. She just rocked her head back, resting it against the metal beam behind her, looking out at the view of the wasteland. Miles and miles of dead grass and dry trees, lit with the dim orange glow of the wasteland's sunset sky, the sun so large and bright against the horizon that it washed the world in a warm glow that shone through the heavy clouds and the layer of fog that sat upon the world like a blanket.

Atop Mass Pike Interchange, the overpass crumbling around them, they could even see the distant lights of Diamond City, the ballpark so alit that it looked like boasting. They had more electricity than they knew what to do with, and yet the majority of what was left of Boston was left starving and freezing as winter rolled in.

Around Nora and MacCready, the corpses of a dozen Gunners were sprawled around the overpass, still-warm blood pooling out onto what used to be a busy bridge.

"I thought it would be a harder fight." Nora admitted, adjusting her gasmask. "Especially with that robot."

"The assaultron? Yeah, it was probably the most dangerous thing here." MacCready stood and dusted off his beige duster, counting the bottlecaps as he dropped them into his old military backpack.

"Winlock and Barnes, though… they couldn't kill a squirrel with a rocket launcher."

Nora snorted as Mac fell next to her, the two of them perched on a broken slab of concrete. They'd been travelling together for weeks, and she'd more than paid off his two-hundred cap fee, but he was still scrounging for every cap they could get their hands on. 

And Kellogg was still out there. 

The thought was a constant weight on Nora's mind; she'd found him easily enough, with the help of Valentine and the inside knowledge from Hancock, who seemed to know everything about everyone in the Commonwealth. They'd tracked him down to an old military bunker, but they had been unable to win the fight against his army of synths. Evacuating the building was one of the hardest pills for Nora to swallow. Admitting that she wasn't capable of finding and saving her son was too much to bear, so much that she couldn't even face Valentine or Hancock again.

They'd understood when she told them to go back to their homes, but they hadn't wanted her to travel alone, so they had instructed her to track down RJ MacCready, a relatively loyal hired gun, which seemed to be rare in the Commonwealth. Hancock himself had said that Mac had good aim, a good heart, and wouldn't choose a higher bidder over Nora… probably. So long as she told him about her son.

Apparently, he had a soft spot for kids that ran deeper than his greed. 

"Impressed yet?" The merc in question knocked his shoulder against hers, pulling her out of her worrying. MacCready always seemed to know when Nora was overthinking. "I told you I was a damn good shot."

Nora rested her weight against him, head lulling back against his shoulder, her tired eyes drifting closed. She'd learned early on that he was just as touch starved as she was, and as their friendship grew, she found it easier and easier to be comfortable leaned or pressed against him, knowing that if he had a problem with it, he would always tell her. "I dunno. Haven't really noticed."

"Oh, come  on! You've got to know talent when you see it!"

"Mhm. Guess so."

"There it is. Wasn't too hard to admit, was it?"

Laughing, Nora picked herself up and turned towards him, his crooked smile a familiar sight through the circles of her mask.

"Actually, I am impressed."

His smile faltered. He turned to his gangly fingers, suddenly flustered, and started fiddling with a cap, voice weak. "Yeah. I thought you might be. I'm… I'm completely self-taught, you know. Picked up a sniper rifle when I was ten and never looked back. Always thought it was smarter to hit my targets long-range. I mean, why take chances, right? Besides, I had to come up with every trick in the book to survive the Capital Wasteland."

Sensing his mood shift, Nora matched his posture, her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward, head ducked close to his. She tried to joke around again, to take them back to the lightheartedness they had before. "I'm sure your parents were thrilled with that hobby."

"Never knew my parents."

"…Oh."

"I was born in the wastes. It…" He turned to her, searching her mask for an expression he'd never see. "It wasn't so bad. I wasn't alone. I grew up in an underground place called Little Lamplight with a bunch of other kids. Left there when I was around sixteen. We had a policy… no adults. When you were sixteen, you packed up and left. It sounds crazy, but having adults around was something those kids couldn't trust."

Nora's heart constricted in her chest, squeezing with worry for tiny children with weapons, forced to survive and live in a big, scary apocalypse. "How could kids survive without help?"

"Everyone pulled their own weight, just like any colony. We had jobs and we watched each other's backs. Can you believe I was actually their mayor for a while? Me?" He scoffed out a laugh, a nostalgic smile pulling at his mouth. "Sounds crazy, I know. But everything is. Nothing makes sense anymore. We just… roll with the punches. Always have, always will."

"Pretty brave, a bunch of kids living alone like that."

"I dunno." MacCready squinted into the distance, the sunset lighting his sea storm eyes into melted honey, casting a warm glow over him. When he spoke again, his voice was rough, like he had to force the words out. "I think we were just lucky."

Silent, Nora stayed as still as possible. She often felt like her and MacCready understood each other on a level that shouldn't have been possible. He was a hired gun from some underground club, and she was a pre-war lawyer thrust out of time on a manhunt for her son's kidnapper. But there were too many layers to both of them, too many similarities next to wide, abstract differences. 

Clearing his throat, MacCready looked down, tugging his hat lower, casting a long shadow over his face. "Anyway, when I hit sixteen I ended up wandering the capital for a while, taking odd jobs here and there. But things were pretty hot with the Brotherhood of Steel running the show, so I hitched a ride with a caravan and made my way north until I ended up here and heard the Gunners needed some sharpshooters. Biggest mistake of my life. They were animals, killing anything that got in their way. I… Well, I went with it for a while because the caps were good, but, I dunno, I guess it all started to catch up with me. So I quit. Which… pretty much brings us to now. And that's… my whole life in a nutshell, I guess."

Not knowing what to say, Nora looped her arm around his, intertwining their fingers. It wasn't a foreign movement; she often held his hand, especially when she got too freaked out around ferals, or when she couldn't sleep and needed reassurance that she wasn't alone. 

He turned their hands, running his thumb across her pale knuckles, red and raw even from the gloves she'd been wearing, now strewn on the rubble-covered ground in front of her, covered in the blood of a dead Gunner. After a long moment, he turned back to her mask, his voice quiet. "I don't… I haven't been able to rely on anyone since I was a kid. Everyone has either ripped me off or tried to plant a knife in my back. But you…"

"Me?" Her voice was too-quiet, rough as the word choked out.

"You're different. We see eye-to-eye on almost everything." A slow smile grew on his lips, the light returning to his eyes. "I have a funny feeling you actually care about what happens to me."

"Don't get cocky, 'Cread." She smiled too, even though he couldn't see it. "But... even though you're an ass, the road can be a lonely place. I'm glad to have met someone to share it with. Being alone scares the shit out of me."

"I know." He squeezed her hand, "I'm beginning to realize how much I missed having someone around that I can depend on. I… I couldn't have done this without you."

They both turned to look at the carnage before them. Nora rested her head back on MacCready's shoulder. "Do you think they'll retaliate?"

"No. There's nothing to worry about. For the Gunners, it's always about the bottom line. They just lost an entire waystation and that's costing them big. Besides, they have no way of knowing I was involved. Everyone who knew my name is dead." 

They both went quiet again. 

Nora couldn't articulate just how much his word struck her like a stake to the heart, ripping her apart from the inside out. Everyone who knew my name is dead. Did her son ever know her name? Was he even alive, out there in the wastes? 

"Anyway," MacCready said quickly, pulling his hand from hers. "I owe you a favor. You're the one who hired me, but I dragged you all the way out here."

"You don't have to. It's okay."

"Nah, I don't like these things hanging over my head. Tell you what, I'm giving you back the caps you promised me in Goodneighbor." He dug around in his pack while Nora sat, speechless. Pulling out an old lunchbox that rattled as he sat it on her lap. "I'll still stick with you, but now we're even."

Shaking her head, she pushed the box back to his hands, "You don't— you don't owe me anything—"

"I'd like to keep everything nice and even."

Forcibly putting the box back into his military bag, Nora just kept shaking her head. "You don't owe me anything. How about you just buy me a drink, Hotshot? It's not like I was about to let you have all this fun alone anyway."

He laughed, giving in and letting her situate the caps back into his bag. "Glad you enjoyed yourself. Lead on, Boss."

~~~

MacCready always knew where to get the best drinks. It was probably Nora's favorite thing about traveling with him.

The Dugout Inn, a little bar and hotel in Diamond City, was run by the Bobrov Brothers, Vadim and Yefim. Vadim, who ran the bar, snuck MacCready two bottles of his specially distilled "Bobrov's Best", which was the strongest moonshine Nora had ever tasted.

The building was in the city's southern dugout, a single-floor structure with a lobby bar and several rooms. A wanted was posted on the wall by the entrance corridor leading to the lobby, where Vadim's bar was located, it up with a single lightbulb. To the left was another hallway leading to the bedrooms that Yefim ran, and to the left was a small area with closely packed tables and a loud radio playing some sad repeats of old songs. A few city residents loitered, drinking and talking softly, each looking exhausted and scared to make too much noise.

Beyond the tables, farther to the right, was the illuminated kitchen where fluorescent lighting pooled out, reflecting off the cracked tile flooring and catching on every metallic surface in the lobby. But, tucked away in a dark corner was a faded corduroy sofa, the faded brown and red fibers patched and stitched up in multiple places. It was away from everything else but not isolated, just a private little couch where two friends could share moonshine and softly spoken words.

"Swindled your way into another one?" Nora asked with a quiet laugh as MacCready came stumbling back over to that brown and red couch where they had been loitering for the past hour.

His shins bumped into the coffee table, and he cursed reflexively and nearly dropped the two blue bottles he held. Shushing himself, he fell onto the musty sofa next to Nora, nearly sitting on top of her, sending them both into another fit of giggles.

Watching MacCready struggle to uncap his third bottle of Bobrov's Best, Nora fought back more laughter.

She had removed her coat and gloves, leaving her in just her mask and blue jumpsuit, her Pip-Boy heavy on her left wrist, the green glow dimmed in the low light. She'd been drinking through an oddly bent metal straw just so that she could keep her gasmask on, but the straw just made the unholy flavor of Bobrov's Best somehow worse, the moonshine burning down her throat and settling uneasily in her stomach.

"Freakin' finally." MacCready grumbled as he finally got the cap off, taking a heavy gulp as Nora was sent into another fit of giggles.

"Cursing doesn't offend me, yanno." She teased, rolling the lukewarm glass bottle between her bare hands.

MacCready's smile fell, eyes becoming distant as his entire being seemed to darken, to sober up in seconds. "Didn't think it did."

"Hm… then you ought to let it go once in a while. It's good for the soul."

He snorted, half-turning to her and searching the lenses of her mask. He slung his legs over her knees, leaning against the sofa's back with a false look of comfort. "Believe me, I know."

Nora tried not to get too jittery at the heaviness of his legs over hers. "Then why…?"

"I figured you'd ask sooner or later." With a huff, MacCready leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, knocking his hat askew. The two bullets tucked into the rim gleamed in the dim light. "I… It's not about you, I just…"

He fell silent, hand covering his eyes as he mulled over his words. Slowly, he straightened on the couch, pulling his leg from hers and putting distance between them. One of his hands formed a fist and rested against his collarbone. Like the alcohol had risen from his stomach and was filling his chest, drowning his heart. Like he couldn't fake the comfort anymore. Like he was too drunk to pretend that he wasn't in pain.

Nora didn't press for answers. She took a glance around, taking in the peeling paint on the walls and the few patrons that lounged around, each looking more miserable than the last. The radio was buzzing lightly, filling the room with the sound of a young man sounding way too awkward for his occupation as a radio host.

"It's about a promise I made." MacCready finally managed to say, lifting his moonshine to his lips again. "When I left the Capital Wasteland, I didn't just leave Little Lamplight behind… I left my family. My actual family. A wife, a son. Duncan's the one I made the promise to. I told him I'd clean up my act and be a better person." Laughing hollowly at himself, MacCready heavily sat the bottle down on the coffee table in front of them. "I guess that sounds pretty stupid coming from a guy who shoots for a living."

A cold feeling rose through Nora, the hairs on her arms standing up. Bile overtook the flavor of moonshine in her throat. The blue bottle felt too heavy in her hands, and as she set it on the table next to MacCready's, her hands shook.

He had a family. A family waiting for him at home while he spent weeks at Nora's side, helping her hunt down her own son while abandoning his own. He had a wife, but he'd slept next to Nora for weeks, sometimes so close that they'd wake up curled around each other — and she didn't know much about apocalyptic society and their rules, but Nora was pretty sure that they had crossed more than a few lines in their weeks together.

His son… holy shit, he'd left his kid behind. Nora was tearing apart the entire fucking world looking for her son, but MacCready had just left his own. Was it for greed? For the caps? Did the Gunners really pay that well?

The irony pulled a startling laugh from Nora's chest, the moonshine making her unable to bite it down.

MacCready tensed, just as drunk as she was but handling it easier. "You think this is funny?"

"Yeah, I do." Nora's modulated voice was deeper through her mask, and as she laughed through her icy rage, she sounded utterly mechanical. "You left your kid at the capital, hundreds of miles away? You just left him?"

"I didn't have much of a choice!" MacCready threw his hands up as he spoke, face flooding red. "Duncan is sick! I don't know what's wrong with him, nobody does!"

"So your solution was just to run away? To leave?" Nora's voice was rising, and her entire posture stiff and tense, a million uncertainties running through her. She thought she knew MacCready. She thought she had a solid grip on his character — but now her memories of Nate were clouding her judgement; every anger she'd held onto regarding her dead husband leaving her alone with a newborn was resurfacing. How dare he leave her? How dare MacCready leave his own family? What if MacCready died out here, like Nate had died? What if MacCready's family never got to see him again, just like how Nora had never seen Nate again?

MacCready's hat was off. He ran both hands through his hair in a lame attempt of self-soothing.

Nora fought to keep her voice down, body heat rising as she drowned in too many emotions to handle, especially after two bottles of specially distilled moonshine. Her voice was a gravelly whisper when she finally managed to speak, "You left your family behind to come fuck around with raiders in Boston?"

A sudden sob tore out of MacCready.

Nora froze, her anger freezing with her.

Wiping at his eyes in frustration, MacCready was trembling. She'd never seen him cry before.

Yell, yes, and get annoyed and frustrated with her at what felt like every turn and every mistake until they both got more comfortable around each other. He'd once gone a whole two days without saying a single word to her. He'd once threatened to leave her in a hoard of ferals because she'd dropped her gun. He'd been cruel, frustrating, rude, greedy, and as they warmed up to each other in the last few weeks, he'd shown her a softer side, a funnier side, a happier side of himself that he kept hidden under layers of green turtlenecks and sniper rifles. But she'd never seen him cry.

His voice was uneven when he finally managed to speak. "I don't… I don't know how much longer he has. Every doctor I've talked to has been useless. Nobody's even heard of his disease, I've… I've done everything I can think of, hired a hundred doctors that ask for too many fuckin' caps just to tell me that they don't know how to help. And Duncan… One day he's playing out in the fields behind our farm, and the next he took a fever and this blue rash showed up all over his body. Last I saw, he was too weak to walk. I couldn't ask him to come with me. I wouldn't dare travel with him and risk worsening whatever the hell's going on."

"I…" Chest aching, Nora tried to piece together what he was telling her, quickly realizing that her perception and understanding didn't matter. He was hurting, his son was hurting, possibly even dying. Nora's judgement meant nothing compared to those stakes. She might not ever find her own son, but if she could help MacCready save Duncan… "I'm so sorry, 'Cready. What can we do?"

He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes, his baby blues so wide and hopeful that it chiseled at some icy part of the iceberg in Nora's chest. "You're serious?"

"Yes. Whatever you need, I'm there."

"I need someone like you." He blurted, still drunk as he clumsily grabbed her hands and squeezed with both of his. "You've already done so much for me, I… I feel horrible asking for more, but if you're willing to risk it, I'd be… I'd be really grateful."

Maybe she'd never get her baby back. But MacCready could get his. All of their abstract similarities started making sense, like a puzzle piece coming together. "How risky?"

"It's no walk in the park," He breathed, "If it was easy, I would've done it already."

"Count me in, partner."

He grinned, wide and slow, turning to his military bag and pulling out a bundle of papers. "A few months before we met, I bumped into a guy called Sinclair who claimed his buddy caught some kind of disease. I thought he was wasting my time until he said his partner broke out into blue boils. They dug up information about a cure at a place called Med-Tek Research. They even managed to grab the building's lockdown security codes, but Sinclair's buddy died before they were able to break into the facility. I mean, there's no way that's a coincidence, right? Med-Tek has to be the place!"

"I hope so." Nora squeezed his wrist as he gave her a pile of papers held together with a rubber band. "If there's a cure, we'll find it." His shoulders relaxed, and he rushed to wipe at his eyes again. Nora pretended she didn't see him cry. "Thanks, partner. For Duncan's sake, I hope so too."

Knowing how it felt to abandon her hunt for Kellogg after being attacked by a swarm of synths, Nora bit the inside of her cheek, hoping that MacCready never has to feel like that. "Just… Let's not get our hopes up too much, okay? This could be a dead end."

"I've been disappointed so many times in the past, nothing gets my hopes up anymore." He retrieved his bottle and took a long drink. "What you're doing, Noor… No one's ever cared that much for me in years. At least, not without expecting something in return."

What about your wife? Nora wanted to ask, but kept her mouth shut.

"Even if it takes the rest of my life, I'll repay this debt to you. I swear it."

Not looking at him, Nora unbound the papers and glanced through them at the clumsy handwriting she knew to be MacCready's, at all the notes he'd taken on Med-Tek and of Duncan's illness, of any hint of a cure and of the letters Sinclair wrote to him.

Some of the pages were scrawled with what looked like crayon drawings done by a child, of a tall man in green next to a small boy in yellow.

And, again, Nora squeezed MacCready's wrist, saying the same words she felt like she'd be saying for years to come. "You don't owe me anything, MacCready."

[nanlaria]

2023 Fanfic Wrapup

How many stories did you post?

Since this was the first year I’ve attempted posting anything of my writing online, I had a pretty easy answer: 32, with a whopping 186,402 words, according to AO3.

2. Which ones were your favorites?

My favorites to write have to be the ones for Rurouni Kenshin. As much as I enjoy the characters, I really enjoy the history and doing the research for the era. I find the Bakumatsu era fascinating. The coincidence of two completely unrelated countries (Japan and USA) having their internal Civil Wars at nearly the same time – without any form of relationship – blows my mind. The culture, the language, and the intensity of the times are engrossing.

3. Which one was the most satisfying to write?

Oof. They were all satisfying in some way. The most satisfying of all? That’s so hard to even weigh. For different reasons, I could say Bombs, because physics and chemistry are fun to learn; Walking Wounded because it’s one of the longer ones, but still coherent and complete; I’m Fine because it was the first one I managed to keep under 2k words!

4. The most difficult?

Through Fire and Shadow – and it’s the most difficult because it’s not complete; it is original characters based on a D&D campaign I ran for the previous two years. The campaign may have ended, but I have yet to complete the story. It’s also one of the more … adult themed stories I’ve ever written. Awkward, but yet completely appropriate for the story I want to tell.

5. Rec something that you're proud of.

I’m ridiculously proud of Ring of Fire, Ring of Horror. The six part/chapter (whichever) story is a MacGyver (2016) fanfic not based on any particular episode. I did a lot of research for this one, including maps, trade statistics, regional history, times, travel ability, distances for different vehicles, not to mention botany and chemistry (because Mac has to use some chemistry to blow something up). I put a lot of effort into that story, and it made me happy to have it come to a conclusion.

6. Wow us with whatever big thing you might want to work on next!

Next big thing? I still have several things to finish! Whumptober 2023 gave me so many ideas that I started and have yet to complete. I guess my ‘next big thing’ would be to finish all the loose story lines I have dangling!

Thank you @rosieblogstuff for the tag! I'd tag people, but I think you already got the ones I know.

[thelightsandtheroses]

WIP GAME

The rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how ridiculous or non-descriptive. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it.

thank you to the lovely @mvtthewmurdvck for the tag, i love your writing and it’s been brilliant chatting to you and getting to know you more recently. Like you I’ve shamelessly also made it a new post so I can use it as a reference to remind me of what I’m doing and try and stay on track and included some brief little summaries. Some of these are extremely early ideas or WIPs

My Current WIPs

secret smile - [javi p x f!reader] slow burn fic for s3 and beyond. javi returns to Colombia and is asked by his childhood best friend to keep an eye out for his sister who has also been stationed in the same embassy. The only thing is, she’s been assigned to keep an eye on him. I have the first two chapters drafted and am on number 3 now.

call it what you want chapter (you drew stars around my scars) - [frankie morales x f!reader] frankie and tom davis’ estranged sister become roommates a year after TF. In the next chapter, the two of them getting together hits a hurdle after a surprise visitor or two at the reader’s workplace.

you’ve got the love [dieter bravo x f!reader] - loose follow up one shot to for you, i would ruin myself. You’ve weathered the scandal together with dieter and kept out of the public eye, but now it’s time to start the publicity machine for the movie where you both got together.

hey brother (fuel to fire series) - [joel miller x f!reader] you make it to Jackson and find both of your brothers, but the reunions don’t quite go as expected

peace - [frankie morales x f!reader] you were losing him before the mission, now you’re scared he’s never coming back. Or how you all put the pieces together after TF

the bodyguard one- [frankie morales x f!reader].- bodyguard trope if you couldn’t tell by the oh so creative file name.

yesterday’s gone - [joel miller x f!reader] - Jackson era! A patrol leads to unexpected discoveries; a working copy of fleetwood mac’s rumours and you getting on with joel miller. (This was almost my first fic instead of into the fire)

JMNO Long Fic Draft One - [joel miller x ofc] - no outbreak au! The file name for this is truly spectacular, it might beat out ‘the bodyguard one’ for best file name.

This was so much fun!

No pressure tags: @pedgeitopascal @wildemaven @goodwithcheese @morning-star-joy

[apocalypticavolition]

The USA Trilogy

So I've been reading John dos Passos's USA Trilogy and despite being only 500 pages away from finishing I'm thinking I might not be able to. It's a highly recommended trilogy - some peope say that it's the Great American Novel - but my god.

The novel has four different sorts of sections: biographies of various American figures, collages of newspaper headlines and articles, an apparently autobiographical section with a horrible postmodern aversion to capital letters and punctuation marks, and the actual story, which follows about a dozen people over the course of the early decades of the twentieth century.

First, the pros: the newspaper collages work quite well, giving a taste of events in the world at large as the narrative advances. The biographies are sometimes quite interesting when focusing on lesser known figures or, the absolute masterpiece of the trliogy, "The Body of an American Soldier", which is something of a multiple choice past for the man interred in the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. It's incredibly written and a genuinely touching critique of the senselessness of war.

Further, there's a few interesting main characters. Mac, the first one introduced, is about as sympathetic as a drifter can be with the values dissonance of a century between us and has a storyline that has a relatively traditional arc of rising action, climax, and falling action. Eveline getting re-examined by the transition from Eleanor's friend to POV character of her own works very well, to the point where I will miss not getting to see her from a third POV in the next novel since I'm cutting it short.

That said, the flaws are a lot. The "Camera Eye", the autobigraphical stuff, is completely unreadable because skipping half of the necessary steps of English writing leaves an incoherent, unpleasant mess. E. E. Cummings (yes, capitals included) and all who humor him are a blight on the English language.

The other biographies are hit or miss because so many of them barely seem to have anything to do with the narration. Eugene Debs works because every character is a socialist (more on that in a mo'). Thomas Edison has nothing to do with anything except in the sense that many scenes in the novel have lightbulbs present.

Then sadly there's the main narration. The work is very existentialist, stuff just happening for the sake of happening, and while that's not necessarily a problem, it turns out I can't really take the better part of 2,000 pages of it even spread out among 12 assholes.

And they're basically all assholes. Some only barely - Daughter seems to be capricious mostly in that "male writer feels women are incomprehensible" sort of way - some entirely so. Frankly, with all the talk of socialism and revolution and pacifism that comes out of their mouths while they drink, party, and look for ways to screw everyone over makes me long for THEM to be lined up against the wall. And of course they're all sellouts to boot, which again isn't exactly a problem it's just that it leaves me with even less reason to stick around. I know how this ends: the ones who get rich like Moorehouse abandon all pretense of caring for their fellow human beings and the ones who stay poor look for any excuse to avoid taking responsibility for their behavior.

If the books had some broader point than the upcoming failure of the socialist movement in the US, I might be able to stick it out. If I could get more than a chapter without seeing a racial slur, I could stick it out. If the dialogue wasn't written with every accent spelled out, I could stick it out. But honestly I think that getting to "Body of an American Soldier" is victory enough and I'm done. It's a shame, but I've spent the last two nights avoiding reading because I absolutely did not want to open "The Big Money", and since I'm just getting back into the habit again I need to move on.

[sammy8d257]

NPC!Purple (aka Sammy8D’s headcanon Purple backstory)

You know, with the release of AvM ep. 29 on the horizon,

I realized I don’t think I’ve ever publicly shared one of my most precious and long running au/headcanons

I mean, I’ve definitely share it on the AvA Enthusiasts server but never here on Tumblr, and let me tell you, I have a LOT of created for this

Including a 9 chapter long origin fanfic (3 chapters already written out!), a whole character arc for Purple, and even a future arc for them that expands out their world

Unfortunately, I never felt like this idea was ready to be made public but with the fabled Purple and Green episode so close, you know what? Why not just get it out there!

Now is the best time before this episode absolutely destroys any sense of “canon” to my story asldkgjls

Without further ado, here is a rough summary of 

Sammy8D’s NPC!Purple AU/Headcanon Backstory!

So to preface this, the premise of Purple’s backstory was created back in 2020 after I officially got into the AvA fandom, so at that point, we didn’t know about King and what his involvement with Purple could entail

So just keep that in mind when I start talking about things

Alright to start off, 

This is my interpretation of Purple’s potential backstory that quickly grew into AU territory the more I started developing it. (Listen, Alan gave us a stick figure with little to no backstory and then didn’t mention them at all for the next 2 years. You expect me, guy known to love lore, to just let that stand? /lh alskdlgjs)

The premise is this. 

Purple was originally from a Medieval themed RPG game on the StickPage website. They lived in the main village and worked as a Shopkeeper, buying and selling item from the Hero (aka the playable character). Aside from being a shopkeep, they were also friends with the town’s blacksmith (Pink) and the members of the Hero’s Party, Gray (the tank) and White (the mage/healer). They also had a friendly rivalry with a travelling merchant known as Navy.

All of this is to say, they were living a happy life.

Until the Dark Lord and the Chosen One arrived and destroyed their game. 

(Alan jokingly said Purple had a rough childhood once, and I took that seriously)

In the panic, Purple was accidently ejected from their game and crash landed on the MAC desktop we find them on in AvM ep. 9. Unfortunately for them, due to Dark and Chosen’s attacks, the StickPage website went down for maintenance and Purple couldn’t return back to their game.

So they wait, and when the website finally returns?

Their game is no longer there. As it turns out after the attack, the game files were partly corrupted and the game’s creator decided to not risk further corruption and removed the game from the site.

Now Purple is stranded and homeless, having lost everything they’ve ever known in a matter of minutes.

Of course, things don’t stay bad. Eventually Minecraft is introduced to them and the rest is history, but this is pretty much the jist of how I imagined Purple coming to live on the MAC.

The main problem I’m facing rn is that I don’t know how King would fit into this picture. I currently have 2 working ideas to add King in but it all kinda depends on if Purple meets King before or after the events of AvM ep 10. 

The first idea is if Purple and King meet AFTER the events of AvM ep 10. In this route, Purple would have fled from their desktop into the Nether and met King. Purple decides to join and follow him under the promise that King can help Purple regain everything they’ve lost.

Alternatively, the second idea is that Purple and King meet BEFORE the events of AvM ep 10. In this scenario, King is actually the one who introduces Purple to Minecraft. This would be shortly (like a few months) after Purple loses their game so when King comes along, they kinda latch on to him.

Either way, I think I have enough ideas for both scenarios to work. I just need to figure out with one I want to do more.

Also, I heard through the grapevine that we might be getting ACTUAL purple backstory soon so you know what? I’ve been working and thinking about this particular headcanon backstory since Showdown, so whatever happens happens. I’m happy to say this is an AU when the time comes. It won’t make a difference to me! ^^

[thestalwartheart]

Mac, What a LoVeLy time you + the FanFam had yesterday/last night conversing back + forth on 00Q / Bond meta! LOVED reading through them this morning. It might take a second reading to fully synthesise what was shared, but let's take a moment to savour how you created a space for opinions + ideas + reflections to be shared. Brava! Here's my unpopular opinion: JAMAICA. I think James' time was a rich, full time in his life and, if I may be so bold, a meaningful beginning of his retirement. You + I have talked about this a bit in DMs; I'm going public w/it here to see what your thoughts are on this point now, as well as see what others think.

... We saw in NTTD Nomi disparaging his life there + this often gets picked up in fic. My question is WHY? Why is the default interpretation that James had nothing to live for in his, as she calls it, bubble? ...

My possibly unpopular opinion (we'll see from responses to this post if that's in fact accurate) is that a legendary agent who left public service, first with a woman he thought he loved + imagined he could make a life with and then, later without her, crafted a chapter of that life for himself on the shores of Cocoa Walk Bay close enough to San Antonio, Jamaica.

I posit he went to Jamaica not to lick any wounds, not to hide away, but to do what he just.could.not.do while he was an MI6 employee: invest time to heal, recover, even --honestly-- restore his soul. To have made it out of field service aLiVe + with all his limbs + mind + spirit (mostly?) intact is a HUGE accomplishment. Why not find or build himself a beautiful residence that matches his practical sensibilities? A place where he can tie up his sailboat right out front of his living quarters and sail it whenever he desired.

I mean: LOOK AT THIS PLACE!

Isn't it possible that the Daniel Craig!James Bond we got to know over four previous movies would have the capacity to take some extended time to unwind + unravel his experience of life so far in order to figure out how he might like to continue into the future? My imagination can picture it + I'm grateful for several fic authors who have taken this idea + run with it.

Include me in the column labeled James Bond Goes To Jamaica to Heal + Then Discern His Life's Next Steps.

Love,

One of your fans

P.S. It's funny, I started to type that I'd like to think I base this opinion on what we see in NTTD. But this is MetaLand, so I can choose any justification I want for this pov. In my case it's projection. Because even though I never was a Double 00 agent or anything REMOTELY SIMILAR, when I got to similar age I did something like this. After doing a lot of therapy + StuFF to be able to dive into raising two interdependent human beings, on top of spending decades doing interesting work in a variety of fields, I was f*%!ing mentally + physically exhausted. So I took myself out of society to do what I imagine Bond did in Jamaica: heal, recover, etc and it mostly worked.(Jury's still out on the next chapter)

Damn, though. I didn't have a shower like this one.

Perhaps it's not too late to cobble one together in my urban garden? 😂

Hey FSC!

This is such a good unpopular opinion because I think it goes against the fandom hive mind, and anything that does that is so worth hearing about.

But a note before this - you mentioned wanting to see if this was accurate. I would gently suggest that this whole exercise in airing unpopular opinions/headcanons/meta isn't to see who's right. It's to expose all the different ways we see the same characters, and maybe learn from each others' perppectives.

Okay, Jamaica.

Personally, I have mixed feelings on his time there, and my headcanons are full of contradictions. I wrote a chapter in the fly in the amber where I tried to make sense of it all, but I'm not sure it was the most convincing take in the world, so I'll try and do better here.

Firstly, I do believe it was probably healing, or at the very least, cathartic. That house is beautiful, the surroundings even moreso, and it's well-known throughout the wider canon that Bond's spiritual home is in Jamaica. He feels at peace there, and I can certainly see why he'd be drawn back to somewhere he used to spend a lot of time when life was a bit simpler. I think that's something a lot of us have felt before - the urge to return to a place where you really became yourself or realised who you were.

I like what you said about it being a meaningful beginning of his retirement. Why should it have been the be all and end all? It didn't have to be. Another one of the reasons I detest the end of NTTD is because it gave us no chance to see what might have been beyond it all for him. There were hints (at least to me) in his NTTD character of him being a lot more well-adjusted in some ways, which I would put down to taking some time out of "life" and heading to Jamaica.

I think he probably spent a lot of time revisiting his past, writing journals, and having some really hard conversations with himself. Spending time with own mind is the hardest, most painful thing you can do sometimes (even without having Bond's past!), and I'm sure Bond felt every minute of it for all the good and bad it did him. If you'll allow me an indulgent tangent, there is a wonderful Australian mini-documentary series called The Beach where an indigenous filmmaker took himself off to an extremely remote shack to detox/get away from it all/connect to country again for six weeks. Watching it was simultaneously the most joyful and harrowing thing I've ever witnessed. Not to ascribe an indigenous man's experience to a fictional white man, but I've always imagined Bond's time in Jamaica was probably similarly painful and peaceful in tandem for very different reasons.

At least Jamaica was certainly no Turkey (where he did run and hide, to his own and others' detriment). Having a place to tie up his boat, do some fishing, shower naked amongst a lush canopy of trees…I mean, at least part of the intent there is to heal, I think. And there's no doubt James sees beautiful places as a way to help him see the good in the world again. We saw that in his desire to travel with both Madeleine and Vesper.

But - and maybe I'm the one projecting now because of what pandemic life has been like for me - for all of that, I can never get past the fact he was alone. For five years. You and I have spoken about taking time out for various reasons, but I've certainly never done it without some kind of support network readily available. Bond doesn't have that, or if he does, he's ignoring it because he's been functionally alone since he was eleven and his parents died. There was the brief stint with the Oberhausers, of course, but after that, he shuts everyone out. And it can't be good for him. Because, at least to me, it really seemed like when he returned to London, he hadn't moved on at all from where he was in Matera.

I think his relationship with Madeleine is an indicator of that. Undoubtedly, this is partly the writers trying to make us care about that relationship in the limited stretch of time cinema gives us, but let's forget that for a moment. He meets Madeleine again and falls right back into that love, as if it were yesterday that he saw her and not five fucking years. To me, that's a sign of someone that hasn't had very much to focus on beyond what happened in the past.

The difference between you and Bond is that you had therapy and took the time to heal. Bond slept with a therapist, it all fell apart, and he took himself away to deal with it on his own. Different strokes for different folks, but I don't see one working as well as the other.

Of course, that's just my personal opinion. And I loved reading about yours. Thank you so much for the ask ❤️

Chime in in the replies or reblogs!

[remakethestars]

Being Batman’s Daughter Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Listen, Robin. At their core, people are cowardly and self-serving. Trust no one until you know them. And even then, never completely.❞

— Bruce Wayne, “The Lesson Plan”

TRIGGER WARNING: Plant murder. Mentions of drugs/tranqs (stopping dealers), violence/physical harm, broken bones (knee cap), limb dislocation (shoulder), (Jason’s) death, smoke, waterboarding/drowning?

Headcanon masterlist.

You know how every teenager has that paradigm shift because as much as they love the people around them, they’ll never know the inner workings of your psyche? And they realize they’ll never truly be known? And it makes them feel really lonely?

Yeah, you never come to feel like that because you know Bruce digs so far into everyone around him he probably knows you better than you do.

Honestly, he probably reads your diary. At least, he reads the fake one you hide under your mattress. And the second decoy in the A.C. vent above your dresser.

If you’re as paranoid as Bruce, you probably don’t have a diary, and the aforementioned “decoys” are just to mess with him.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was practically your Bible growing up.

You’re torn between giving yourself the tactical advantage of being underestimated & being non-reactive, which — besides giving you the lioness role in the lion–gazelle dynamic — gives you the advantage of having time to think carefully on the repercussions before speaking.

Because, as Sun Tzu said in chapter seven, verse twenty-one, “Ponder and deliberate before you make a move.”

Seeing as Bruce and Damian both have eidetic memories, I’m guessing you do too. 

Which means you totally read the dictionary when you were young and whip our big words nobody’s heard of.

Bruce always assured you it’s okay to be scared. As a matter of fact, like he told Dick (seen in flashbacks in “The Lesson Plan”), he taught you to “Let terror embrace you. The better you know fear, the better you can use it against others.”

And we all know Bruce is the paragon of using fear against people.

Take that, Scarecrow!

(See, I chose that gif because earlier in that move, he displays a fear of bats, & in that scene, he summons them to use as a distraction and walks through them completely unperturbed. No? Okay, I’ll see myself out.)

You started into the vigilante business young, a little bulge under the back of Batman’s cape that made the rest of the Justice League in the meeting think Bruce was host to an alien parasite until your little mask-covered eyes poked up over his shoulder.

The League’s known you since you were young, so they kind of all see you as their niece. That just quadruples the amount of people who are overprotective of you.

Eventually, in your tweens, you think enough’s enough and start out on your own — being underestimated may be an advantage, but it’s getting ridiculous — and you tackle unsolved cases.

You set up various safe houses around the world for your own disposal (using the zeta tubes) and anyone who sees the inside of one in an emergency is always surprised. You don’t really understand why; what serious vigilante doesn’t have secure, state-of-the-art safe locations scattered across the planet?

Sometimes, it gets you into danger, but you always get yourself out of it. If there ever comes a time you can’t, well, you’ve got a direct link to Batman, and if communications fail, you can always yell for your Uncle Clark at the top of your lungs.

If the latter ever comes to fruition, you ask Bruce if he’s disappointed you had to call for back-up or that you called Superman instead of Batman, and he says, “It takes a strong person to admit when they’re weak, [Y/N]; if anything, I’m proud of you. Besides … you’re not the only one who yells for Uncle Clark when they get in over their head.”

Your training entailed hacking and mechanics, so you like to fix computers and sell them on the internet Hugh Jeffreys style. It started out with Macs from the dumpster behind Gotham Academy and turned into a surprising side hustle. Large portions of your profits go into either savings or funding your extracurricular activities. 

You’re using a MacBook that’s running Linux and an iPhone 4 that’s running your own program. 

At some point, your phone falls into the wrong hands, and someone asks why it has such high security. You deadpan and say, “I have three older brothers.” No further explanation required.

One such solo case led you to a ring of drug dealers working in a small town outside of Gotham. You made some tranquillizers and heavy-duty smoke bombs and busted out your shinobi-iri training.

After sliding on a mask covering the bottom half of your face that filtered out smoke, you set all of the bombs off at once in the ventilation system, filling the building and using the infrared in your domino mask to sedate everyone before the cops arrived so no one got hurt (because there would inevitably be a firefight if the cops got involved).

You never go into a situation expecting to go hand-to-hand with someone; you always have a plan to take our your targets quickly an efficiently.

One night, when you’re working on a cold case in Gotham, you stumble across some intel that Poison Ivy’s been stockpiling chemicals and is going to wipe out all human life on Earth.

Luckily for you, Bruce’s paranoia is hereditary; you just happen to carry some white kryptonite in your belt, so you won’t have to go all the way back to the cave to obtain some.

You type out a quick debrief on your wrist computer in case you end up needing to send out an S.O.S., pop on your bottom mask to filter out spores or pheromones she might send in your direction, and bust out your shinobi-iri training again.

Of course, you try the peaceful approach, explaining to Ivy that you agree with her on the tree-hugger front to build rapport (T.B.F., who doesn’t?), but it comes to physical confrontation. You kill every vine that comes your way with a quick punch from your kryptonite ring, toss an expanding polyurethane foam bomb (see Batgirl #38) at her feet, and manage to get an inhibitor collar on her.

Gordon takes her away, and by the next morning, it’s on the news.

“You took down Ivy by yourself?” Bruce asks when you come down for breakfast.

“… Yeah,” you say after a moment, expecting a tongue-lashing.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. She didn’t get a hit in. And before you ask, I had a contingency set up in case things went sideways.”

“… Good job.”

Your dad has the article framed in the batcave, which is the bat-equivalent of having your drawing on the fridge or getting a sticker back on a test.

You’re fighting a grin for the rest of the day.

It bugs you you can’t tell anyone why you’re so happy, so you visit Dick in Blüdhaven while he’s on patrol and give him a play-by-play. You even get a hair-ruffle!

Deathstroke targets you at some point. One of Batman and Nightwing’s worst villains, and he targets you because he knows they love you. You’re the smallest bat at the time, the weakest; he thinks you’ll be the easiest to take.

Boy, was he wrong.

He was trained by the League of Assassins, so you know dropping a smoke bomb’s not going to give you cover (and his mask probably has infrared). His brain processes faster than yours, so tricking him is improbable. He’s probably done enough research on you to know you favor foam bombs and has fast enough reflexes to dodge before they go off.

And he’s jammed your comms so you can’t call for backup. You’re worried he’s got kryptonite on him and will hurt Superman if you call for help.

It’s just you and him.

He has enhanced stamina, so he tries to wear you out. You maintain distance to avoid taking damage and wearing faster.

You always admired Tim for his ability to plan ahead (see, like, the entirety of the Red Robin comics). He doesn’t know how he does it; he just does. He can’t really teach you, so you just watch and learn.

You realize your fight with Slade is just a matter of managing the distance and immobilizing him, so you strike. You duck behind a pillar or grab onto a railing or something and shoot him through the thigh with your grappling gun, reeling him in. He, of course, draws his sword or a knife to cut the line, but you’re already throwing high-density expanding polyurethane bombs.

And, just like that, you’ve single-handedly taken Deathstroke.

It sends a clear message to the rest of the Gotham villains, Blüdhaven’s villains, the League of Assassins — don’t mess with the bat’s little girl. She can hold her own.

Now it’s time for you to come up with another plan to take him down; you doubt the same method will work twice, and you’ve just made a very powerful enemy.

As Wonder Woman’s said, “Do not mistake a desire to avoid violence for an inability to deal with it.” You might go into most situations with a plan to take down your opponent already in motion, but when it comes to an all-out brawl, you’re perfectly capable and don’t pull your punches.

You’re working on an unsolved case in Blüdhaven (Dick’s got enough on his plate) when you get an S.O.S. from the aforementioned along with the feed and recording from his mask. You listen to the mission briefing while you ride back to the cave and then the audio from the Young Justice mission. They got jumped by the League of Shadows in an abandoned factory, and Talia’s trying to coerce Damian into joining the League or whatever.

The usual dropping some smoke bombs and tranqing everyone isn’t going to work on thirty armed League assassins who were trained to fight blind, so you load up on polyurethane foam bombs and call Jason and Cassandra.

The three of you take out the guards outside before splitting up and taking either end of the building (Cass stays with you). You meet in the middle, in the room the team’s being held in.

You highjacked the speakers, so they’re blasting AC/DC’s “Shoot to Thrill” upon Jason’s insistence. You wanted Zayde Wølf or Alice Cooper’s “Hey, Stoopid,” but big brothers will be big brothers.

Jason pops them with rubber bullets from above to slow them down for you while Cass demolishes them and you drop foam bombs, slinging your signature custom shuriken, bonk them over the head with Tim’s staff you picked up along the way, dislocate their arms, or shatter their kneecaps. 

You and Jason get a couple slices from swords that got a little too close, but it’s nothing compared to what you’ve had before. 

When the fighting’s done and the building’s quiet, the team’s, like, “Who the heck are you guys?” 

And Dick’s, like, 😏 “They’re our siblings.” 

Speaking of siblings, you’re older than Damian, and as such, you take upon yourself the honor of teaching him all things pop-culture.

“I have a lot of amazing older siblings. I want to be a good big sister.”

First things first, you give him one of your refurbished e-waste phones and take him to Target to pick out an OtterBox or a LifeProof case or something that’ll keep it safe in the pocket of a vigilante.

Vigilantes are always coming to you when their phone’s broken anyway; you’ve got a stack of spares you’ve repaired.

Then you help him set up a Spotify account (follow me at @remakethestars 😉) and try to help him find his rhythm.

Poor child’s never had Oreos before, so you drag a pack of Double Stuffs out of the cabinet and a glass of milk and show him the best milk-dunking method you know.

You think about handing him a cookie and telling him to waterboard it until the bubbles stop coming up, but cookie-dunking is something every kid does; it’s sacred, and you don’t want him to associate it with violence.

You show him how you and Alfred feed the bats in the batcave.

And you show him Vine compilations and your favorite shows and movies and as many classics as you can, and you put up with him pointing out the inaccuracies and calling them stupid.

Every time he doesn’t get a reference, you write it down so you know what to show him later.

If anything ever happens to you, Damian finds your list and makes it his personal mission to watch/read everything on it. It makes him feel close to you.

You build a relationship with him that’s similar to his and Dick’s, and he comes to you with things he might not be able to come to anyone else with.

Plus, since you live in the manor still and he doesn’t want Bruce to think less of him, it’s you he comes to after a nightmare.

If you know Alfred has pictures of him curled up in your side, you ask him to send them to you. Not for blackmail purposes; just to have.

You’d never use the need of comfort or the sharing of emotions against him because (A) it’s perpetuating toxic masculinity and (B) you don’t want him to think it’s wrong or confirm any of the stupid “strength” things the League of Shadows taught him.

You gave him a stuffed cat that looks like Alfred (the cat, not the butler) with some of your perfume spritzed on it. He verbalized his revulsion when you gave it to him, but on nights he has a bad dream and you’re not home, it brings him comfort.

Titus comes to get you when Damian’s upset. 

Even when he’s not with Damian, he seems to know. Pets are like that.

You’ve learned to trust Titus’s instincts. Damian thinks it’s suspicious when he’s feeling down and you just happen to call.

You never realized it until a long time later, but Ace was acting weird the day Jason came back from the dead.

And he was acting weird the day Jason came back to Gotham too. He ran to the door and began barking. Alfred swept security, but nothing seemed to be off. The whole family was on edge that day.

You were the reason Jason knew he wasn’t completely forgotten; he spotted you through a café window, and you were wearing his jacket.

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

[the-al-chemist]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 59

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

Song lyrics used in this chapter are all from Fleetwood Mac’s Songbird, written by Christine McVie. Talbott Winger’s bodyguard Talia Hayes belongs to @whatwouldvalerydo. I’ve been pretty nervous about publishing this specific chapter. Enjoy.

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: smoking (cigarettes), brief mentions of alcohol/drugs, language, and Artemis gone completely rogue…

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @lifeofkaze

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell @thatravenpuffwitch @anthamariemayfair @whatwouldvalerydo

And the songbirds keep singing

Like they know the score

~ Fleetwood Mac - Songbird ~

Artemis wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She knew she couldn’t go back to the soundcheck, and she didn’t really want to go back, either. She left the wings of the Pyramid Stage, and kept walking, not knowing where she was going, or why.

She stepped outside and found the quietest spot she could, and stopped there, her breathing still shallow, her heart still racing. She lit a cigarette, and felt her chest move slower and more widely as the smoke burned its way through her lungs. While one hand held the cigarette, her other remained on her lighter, and she fiddled with it, watching the little flame bob about in the morning breeze.

With each inhalation and exhalation, she felt her anger start to dissipate, and give way to a sense of regret. What had she done? What the fuck was wrong with her? Why had Ethan’s words bothered her so much? Why the fuck had she been so stupid? In shouting at him, she had risked losing a job she had grown to love, with people she had grown to… enjoy the company of. Like. Trust. Why did she always have to ruin everything that was good in her life?

She had an overwhelming urge to get away from reality. Luckily, Glastonbury Festival was as good a place as any for her to lose herself in the crowds. After she finished her cigarette, and pulled herself together somewhat, she set off again. Lunchtime came and went - though Artemis felt too sick to eat - and still she was not ready to return to the yurts, or to spend time with anyone she knew. Instead, she spent the afternoon exploring the less mainstream areas, where she’d be less likely to bump into anyone who knew her.

Even in the quieter zones, crowds had gathered. There were families doing arts and crafts, a group of bohemian-looking people in their middle age doing yoga in the mud, and many teenagers barely out of sixth form already on the alcohol - or, more likely, stronger substances.

Unable to settle in body or in mind, she didn’t stay anywhere for long. The scents of stale alcohol and weed hung in the air, and a mixed cacophony of sounds swam past Artemis’ ears as she meandered past the various tents and stages: the strumming of acoustic guitars, heavy beats of drum and bass, a cheerful-sounding ukulele, the harmonising voices of a gospel choir, and Latin music that, at any other time, might have made her feel like dancing. But not today.

It wasn’t until the evening, when she heard a group of girls a few years younger than herself talking about going to the Pyramid Stage that she remembered that she still had to work that night, and that she had left her morning’s work unfinished. Not only that, she’d agreed to watch Talbott Winger perform with Charlie and his girlfriend. Ava.

Although she still wanted to put off seeing everyone for as long as possible, she had been looking forward to seeing Winger’s set. Frowning for a moment, she decided what she would do. She had a pass to get backstage, and there was bound to be plenty of crew around. No one would notice her in the wings if she kept herself to herself.

She took a route to the back of the Pyramid Stage that avoided the areas where any of the members of Equinox or their crew were likely to be, and flashed her pass to a security guard on the gate. Her head held high, as if she were meant to be there, she walked straight through the backstage areas to the sides of the stage itself. No one stopped her.

In the wings, Talbott Winger was preparing to start his set, taking deep breaths and smoothing his tawny brown hair back off his tanned, pointed face.

“You’re not meant to be here.”

The voice had come from directly behind Artemis. She turned around to see Winger’s red-haired security guard bearing down at her, her face passive but hardened. Artemis shrugged, and took out her pass.

“Not yet, but I’m allowed to be her,” she told the bodyguard, refusing to be intimidated by her cold stare.

“Most people prefer to watch from the crowds. Better view. Better company.”

“I don’t want company.”

Perhaps it was the tone of Artemis’ voice, or something in the expression on her face, but something made Talbott Winger’s bodyguard relent. Although her eyes remained narrowed, she nodded her head.

“Any trouble, and you’re out,” she told her. “I don’t give a shit about that pass.”

She backed away, and Artemis set herself up by a speaker from which she could see most of the stage, and a large section of the arena, trying to make herself as small as possible. The noise from the crowds echoed through to her as Talbott Winger walked out onto the stage, and started to sing a selection of his new songs.

Listening to the music, far from the crowds, hidden from everyone except the taciturn bodyguard, Artemis finally felt almost free from the niggling feeling at the back of her mind, and the tightness in her abdomen that had lingered with her all day. But, now that she was becoming relaxed, she felt a strange pricking sensation at the backs of her eyes. She blinked, and focused her sight on the wings that were embroidered on the back of Talbott’s jacket, watching the way the stitches caught the spotlight.

A scuffling noise from behind her pulled her attention away from the stage, and she turned her face to see what was going on. By the doorway, Winger’s bodyguard was having a hissed conversation with another person with red hair.

Artemis’ stomach flipped as Charlie and the bodyguard looked pointedly in her direction, and the bodyguard reluctantly waved Charlie towards her.

“I thought you might be here,” he whispered as he approached her. Not wanting to look at him, she turned her face back to the stage without saying a word. “Is he any good?”

“He’s okay.”

“Right. And you, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Artemis lied. She could feel Charlie’s eyes boring into the back of her head, but she didn’t look back.

“Artemis.”

“Yeah?”

“Look, I’m really sorry,” Charlie said, his voice soft. “I let you down earlier, I know. I’m sorry.”

Artemis said nothing. She had nothing to say. Charlie continued:

“I didn’t want to bail on you like that, I swear. And I’m sorry if you didn’t think the meeting went well. I’m sure it went better than you think.”

“The meeting went fine,” Artemis told him.

“Oh,” said Charlie, a note of surprise in his voice. “Oh, right. That’s good. I thought that maybe because you came back so upset that you might have… You know, it’s only natural that you’re nervous.”

“What?”

“About the display tomorrow. It’s a big deal, and a lot of pressure, I get it. It’s no wonder you’re feeling-”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Right. Yeah,” behind her, Artemis heard Charlie sigh before he started whispering again. “Well, about your cousin and the rest of your family, I’m sure they’ll be so happy to see you. You don’t have to be worried about this barbecue-”

“I’m not worried about the fucking barbecue, Charlie.”

Artemis hadn’t meant to raise her voice at all, but she heard Talbott’s bodyguard clear her throat, and turned to see her glaring at her. Charlie must have seen the threatening look in the woman’s eyes too, because he placed his hand on Artemis’ elbow and pulled her backwards, away from the stage and deeper into the wings.

“Alright. So what’s up?” he asked. They were standing face to face now, so Artemis couldn’t avoid eye contact. She shrugged, and shook her head. Charlie tilted his own. “Obviously something’s bothering you, the way you went off on one at Ethan and went AWOL all day. What’s the matter?”

Artemis closed her eyes and inhaled.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I just… I really don’t know.”

“That makes it harder to find a way to help,” Charlie replied. Artemis opened her eyes and nodded slowly.

“Yeah. That’s the problem.”

Charlie frowned, silently thinking for a few moments.

“Have you eaten today?” he asked, eventually. Artemis blinked, staring at him incredulously, and he shrugged. “What?”

“For fuck’s sake, Charlie. I’m not just fucking hungry.”

“I just thought that maybe… I don’t know. Never mind.”

Artemis watched Charlie’s eyebrows furrow even deeper.

“You genuinely don’t know what to do now, do you?” she asked him, and he shook his head. In spite of herself, Artemis laughed, placing her hand over her face and lowering her gaze to the ground. She sighed. “I can’t believe that’s really your solution for everything.”

“In my defence, it usually works,” Charlie smiled sheepishly. “You know, I think you’re probably just more stressed about tomorrow night than you realise. It’s a massive gig, after all.”

Artemis frowned. She didn’t think that was it at all, but she nodded anyway. “Maybe. I dunno.”

“I bet you that’s what it is,” Charlie leant back against the speaker they were now standing behind. “Trust me, I know. I had my first solo run as a pyro on the Pyramid Stage.”

“You did?”

Charlie nodded, and Artemis turned to lean against the speaker next to him, tilting her head expectantly.

“Six years ago. Same year Equinox made their debut at the festival. I was shitting it,” he looked at Artemis out of the corner of his eye. “What are you grinning about?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Artemis. She hadn’t even realised that she had started smiling. “Sorry. Just… That was the summer I came to Glastonbury, just before I started training as a pyro. That’s all.”

“You were here?”

“Technically, I was out there,” she gestured in the direction of the arena, “but yeah. I would have seen your effects. I saw the band’s set, too. It was brilliant. Was a fan of Equinox from there on in.”

“Who would have thought that from the way you were when you first met them in person?” Charlie muttered, with a smirk. “What about my pyros? Did you like those, too?”

“Well, I decided to train as a pyrotechnician after watching them, so…”

“Really? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. I saw them and thought that I could do a much better job than that.”

Artemis raised her eyebrows at Charlie, who laughed and shook his head.

“I’d take offence, but it’s true,” he said. “You definitely could. And you will. So you don’t need to be all aggy, alright?”

“Alright.”

“No more shouting at Ethan or calling him a… see you next Tuesday?”

Artemis couldn’t help but laugh at that, but she nodded, “I’ll try.”

“Good enough for me,” Charlie smiled, and stood up straight. “Come on. Shall we go back and see the others before we have to be here to do actual work?”

“I was listening to the music,” Artemis said. Charlie looked in the direction of the exit with a hesitant expression on his face. Artemis tilted her head at him, her eyes wide.  “We were always going to come and watch Winger. And the set’s nearly over, there can only be a couple of songs left.”

Charlie sighed and nodded, and they both walked back around the right hand side of the speaker to where Artemis had been standing watching before. She got as close to the stage as she could without physically standing on it, and Charlie stood slightly behind her, the left side of his chest just touching her right shoulder blade.

It turned out that there was only one song left, and to perform it, Talbott Winger had picked up a semi-acoustic guitar. He plucked a few strings, checking the amplification, before speaking into the microphone.

“This is a song you might know,” he said, and his eyes flicked momentarily to the side of the stage where his red-haired bodyguard was watching, her arms folded across her chest, her face unreadable. “It’s a very special one to me.”

He looked down at his guitar and started to play a set of chords. Artemis smiled, and turned her head to the right.

“Told you we should stay until the end,” she whispered over her shoulder. “This is a great song.”

“I don’t think I know it,” Charlie replied, his voice equally low.

“You do. Everyone knows this song.”

As the intro finished, Artemis turned her face back to the stage. The sweetly melancholic tune had started to give her a very strange sensation, one that she couldn’t place, and the feeling only grew as Winger lifted his gaze from his guitar to sing into the microphone.

“For you, there'll be no more crying.”

All day, she had felt like she was about to cry, and now she was fighting back the tears once more. Don’t cry, she told herself. And she didn’t cry.

“For you, the sun will be shining.”

The sun was setting over the hills in the horizon, and in front of the Pyramid Stage a thousand people were waving lighters above their heads, the tiny flickering dots of light dancing in the dusk like fireflies.

“And I feel that when I'm with you…”

And here she was, with Charlie, again. But why did her feet want to carry her far, far away from him?

“…It's alright, I know it's right.”

She didn’t feel alright. She didn’t feel at all right, she felt… wrong. This was all wrong. She shook her head, trying to clear it of thoughts.

“To you, I'll give the world.”

Her head started to spin, though she stood stock still. Perhaps it wasn’t her head spinning, she wondered, vaguely. Perhaps her head was still, and she was feeling the world turning on its own axis, switching days into nights and nights into days as it rotated. It never stopped. She wished it would stop. It was making her dizzy.

“To you, I'll never be cold…”

She’d always been a cold-hearted bitch. She knew that. For fuck’s sake, she’d been told that. But recently, she’d felt the ice around her chest start to melt, and now she realised it had gone too far, that her heart was so warm it was burning, like something inside her had ignited in her very core. She barely dared to breathe.

“…'Cause I feel that when I'm with you. It's alright.”

Now she could feel the fire inside her heating her whole being, the warmth spreading through every inch of her, from her heart to her lungs, through her diaphragm, up to her collarbone, through the pit of her stomach, in her throat, in her groin, her mouth, her knees, head, feet, hands. The roots of her hair felt as if they were being lifted with it, and she could feel her fingertips tingling.

“I know it's right.”

And Charlie was still standing to her right, and she could feel him, too, and she didn’t know if he could tell what was going on inside of her. Did he know about the fire that was currently blazing, lighting her up, making her feel as if she were about to explode? She wanted the feeling to stop, but she couldn’t make it stop…

“And the songbirds are singing…”

…because the song on the stage was playing through the speakers just behind where she stood, and its lyrics were branding themselves on her brain; she couldn’t stop thinking about the music, and the quick beat of her heart, and the fact that she wanted to run, but somehow she knew that her feet wouldn’t carry her, even if she did manage to get past Charlie.

Charlie…

And just like that, the fire was extinguished, and the burning heat was replaced by an icy chill that sent a shiver all the way up her spine.

“…like they know the score.”

Oh, no.

“And I love you.”

No.

“I love you.”

No.

“I love you…”

Her heart dropped like a stone.

“…like never before.”

Never before had Artemis wanted so much to… Never before had she wanted so much, and yet, so little, all at once.

The soft guitar melody started to play the instrumental section, the gentle tune drifting through the air, wordlessly. Finally, the lyrics had stopped, and now that they had, Artemis couldn’t help but miss them. Her own thoughts were flying around her mind, too fast to catch hold of. And Charlie’s hand was so close to her own, and she couldn’t take hold of that, either. She couldn’t. But she wanted to. God, she wanted to.

“And I wish you all the love in the world…”

She did. She really did.

“…but most of all, I wish it from myself.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She wasn’t the one who could reach out, touch him, love him, even.

“And the songbirds keep singing like they know the score.”

This was it. This was what she’d been trying to ignore all day. Maybe longer. How long had this feeling been there, stirring like a bird on a branch, just waiting to take flight? She didn’t know. All she knew for a fact was-

“And I love you.”

Fuck.

“I love you, I love you…”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Like never before.”

Before she had thought her heart was racing, but that was nothing compared to now.

“Like never before.”

Before she couldn’t bring herself to breathe, and now she wasn’t sure if she even was able to breathe.

“Like never before.”

That was it. The song had ended. The crowd was cheering, clapping, roaring, and Artemis was soaring, and falling, both at the same time. She was weightless, and she was heavy, and she was whole, and broken, and tired, and yet she was alive, so very alive.

“We should go back.”

The sound of Charlie’s voice snapped Artemis back to where she stood to the left of him. She trembled at the feeling of his breath on the nape of her neck as he whispered in her ear.

Charlie must have mistaken her silence for her not having heard him, because he repeated himself, “Artemis? We really have to-”

“I know,” Artemis said, somehow. She was surprised by her own ability to speak; her throat was so dry that she hadn’t thought she’d be able to make a sound. Yet, her voice sounded distant and unfamiliar to her ears, with a hollow quality that she hated.

Her heart heavy in her chest, she closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath. When she opened them, the bright shine of the spotlights from the other side of the stage stung the backs of her eyes and made fuzzy white spots appear in her vision. Still, she kept looking at them as she brought herself to speak once more.

“Ava will be wondering where you are.”

[sitp-recs]

The Secret Keeper by @the-fools-errand​ / Artwork by @razielim​

Harry/Draco (2021, Mature, 225k)

On Halloween 1981, Albus Dumbledore made a decision that would change the course of history, concealing Harry Potter’s survival at the hands of Lord Voldemort underneath a Fidelius Charm. But when Harry comes of age in the Muggle world, Dumbledore realises too late that the fate of the world may depend on a boy who has never held a wand.

“While I am naught but ghost when by your side,

A shadow o’er your radiance concealed,

Your burden to be seen and mine to hide,

I’d give to you my curse to be your shield.

Are we without the other incomplete,

Or bishops, forced to pass but never meet?”

As someone who a) hasn’t felt any interest in canon rewrites since the glorious Hermione’s Hogwarts Crammer and b) hasn’t read anything over 200k in pretty much a year, I spent the better part of last week utterly and completely absorbed in this fic. My initial idea was to only check 1-2 chapters to get a sense of it and go back once I had more time, next thing I knew I was devouring this as if there’s no tomorrow 😂 despite loving the castle I don’t read Hogwarts fics very often, and now I resent myself for almost forgetting how fun and moving it is to see Muggle Harry exploring the wonders and dangers of the Wizarding World for the 1st time.

It was amazing to see this version of him, witty, defiant, creative and excited to learn, guided by these equally fascinating versions of Draco and Hermione. Both characters are full of nuance and personality, each one with strong virtues and ugly flaws (except Luna - she’s flawless of course) and I’m amazed at how organically and realistically the character development and growing camaraderie were executed. Not to mention the fabulous supporting cast - smart and fierce Charlotte! Morally grey Dumbledore and McGonagall! Plus melancholique Snape, sympathetique Pansy, brave Neville, competent Cedric, and the genius Bard with his poignant love sonnet that inspired this rec banner. Each character feels distinct, complex and unique, and I’m gonna miss them now the Fellowship of the Ring (haha) is over.

For starters the plot is brilliant, simple yet not simplistic, engaging, exciting (did I mention there’s multiverse??? I die) and also effective thanks to alternating POVs and the masterful tension building. It takes a little bit for Harry and Draco to meet in this story, but when they do things are so well established you already know a storm is brewing and hell will break loose sooner or later. The pacing balances moments of calmness and urgency but you watch these two characters learn and change each other, all but waiting for that big reveal moment to come. And because we’re talking about stopping Voldemort, stakes are high and go way beyond the Drarry romance - which is soft in a heartbreakingly young way - and includes Draco’s own redemption arc as he rises to confront his fate.

This is getting too long (as always) but 2 things I need to mention are first, the stunning, vibrant and atmospheric art pieces created by Razielim for this fic - holy wow they capture the fic mood and aesthetics perfectly, and I’m so so pleased that I got to visualize my personal fave scenes. The second big shoutout goes to the delicious nostalgia I got out of all those 80s and 90s references, from movies to football to Sirius’ excellent taste in music without even showing up. On a personal note (honestly, what isn’t in this rec), Rumours by Fleetwood Mac is my all-time favorite album and seeing it in this story filled my heart with such warmth and longing, I suddenly felt seen and realized that this might as well have been written for me, which is such a heartwarming feeling ❤️

Reading this fic took me days but it definitely didn’t feel like 220k either. I’m impressed by how smoothly the narrative combined plot development, thrilling action and slow, tender romance. Every decision made sense and felt earned, leading us through an epic retelling with these characters that feel both foreign and familiar to us. I had a blast reading this, fell in love with these characters, and would love to see this fic getting more attention and praise, especially being the author’s second work in the fandom (and their first completed fic!). Now I’ve done my duty screaming about this, I’m off to check the other two :D enjoy!

Read on AO3

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 51

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: David Willows belongs to @that-scouse-wizard

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Drinking, mentions of NSFW topics

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell @thatravenpuffwitch @anthamariemayfair @whatwouldvalerydo

Like a heartbeat drives you mad

In the stillness of remembering what you had

And what you lost

~ Fleetwood Mac - Dreams ~

As the evening drew on, the bar tent was getting even more crowded. The air was hot and stuffy and Lizzie didn’t feel well. She was hungry, drunk and felt drained, so she heeded the advice the barkeeper had given her and went outside for a breath of fresh air.

There was a food truck selling organic sweet potato chips just outside the tent, but Lizzie found she had no appetite. Watching all the happy looking faces passing her, she suddenly felt lonely. She wished she had taken the exit leading into the smoking area; she hadn’t smoked since Manchester, but at least she might have found some of her friends there.

It was a warm summer night, but soon Lizzie was starting to feel chilly. When she went back inside, the air that hit her felt as solid as a brick wall. She wrinkled her nose and briefly considered going back to their yurts before deciding against it and pushing through the crowd towards their table.

Her route took her close to the bar, where it was even busier. When she passed a group of girls covered in body glitter - one of them with bright, bubblegum pink hair - she saw Orion standing at the front of the bar. He was leaning against the counter and had his back turned toward the barkeepers, one drink in his hand and a different one standing next to him.

Lizzie hesitated. She was torn between wanting to leave before he would see her and wanting to enjoy his company, even if only for a little while. The exchange they’d had earlier had only been meaningless smalltalk, but it had been the first time Lizzie hadn’t felt wistful afterwards.

Talking to Orion could be so difficult, and so easy at the same time. He had a way of capturing Lizzie’s attention and holding it, one of the many reasons Orion’s company had been so addictive to her in the first place. She had been drunk on him for months on end and was now fighting her way through the worst hangover of her life. Before she had made a decision on what to do, Orion turned his head and caught her eye; a smile spread on his face and he motioned her over with a slight nod of his head.

“What are you doing over here?” Lizzie asked when she had reached him, still unsure if she was being brave or foolish. The artist performing on the small stage at the back of the tent had changed and the music was louder than before, so Lizzie had to lean in to make herself heard. “Hoping for another visit from Emily Tyler?”

She quietly cursed herself as soon as the words had left her mouth. Orion was free to do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted, just as he had always been. Lizzie wasn’t here to fight with him; she was so tired of the fighting.

Orion raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem to be in the mood for confrontation either. “Our friends are like the wildflowers which once stood on this field. Like the seeds of a dandelion in the wind, they have scattered to each find a diversion after their own minds.”

Lizzie pulled a face. “They could have told me they’re leaving. Please, don’t tell me I missed Charlie dancing on a table.”

“He was too drunk to walk on his own, let alone get onto a table. Andre took him back to the yurts.”

“Good, I would have hated to have missed that,” Lizzie giggled and looked around.

A little further along the bar she could see Artemis and Amelia checking out the crowd, looking as if they’d known each other for years. They were chatting animatedly and both of them seemed to be having fun. Lizzie craned her head to see who was still sitting at their now almost abandoned table; it was only two people, and Lizzie could see why Orion had chosen to stay by the bar.

David and Merula were sitting next to each other and Merula was showing something to David on her phone. Their heads were very close together and David had his arm on the back of Merula’s chair.

“If the choice is between playing to your own tune or being the third voice in a duet, knowing when to leave the stage in favour of solitude is the key,” Orion confirmed Lizzie’s thoughts after following her gaze.

“If you want to call this solitude,” Lizzie responded, looking around at all the people surrounding them.

Orion briefly looked at her out of the corner of his eyes; it was a minuscule movement but Lizzie caught it nonetheless. “You can be surrounded by many and still be alone.”

“Good thing I’m here now,” she said with a smile she couldn’t stop from spreading on her face. Lizzie was aware of the flirty tone stealing into their conversation, but she couldn’t help it. Talking to Orion in this fashion had been second nature to her for the longest time and it was hard to let a habit go.

“You undeniably are,” Orion smirked and motioned to his second drink, which Lizzie supposed had been meant for Merula.

She eyed it sceptically and shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t like… these fruity cocktails.”

She’d had the name of the cocktail on the tip of her tongue, but caught herself at the last minute. The mood between them was surpisingly easy, but Sex on the Beach was something she absolutely didn’t want to mention in front of Orion in any way or form.

Orion was trying to keep his face straight but Lizzie saw the sparkle in his eyes; he knew exactly what was going on inside her head. Thankfully, he chose not to comment on it. “I can always get you some tequila if you’d like that better.”

“Why does everyone keep suggesting that to me?” Lizzie said and pulled a face.

A smile still on her lips, she looked to David and Merula again; David had given up any form of pretence and had his arm draped around Merula’s shoulders. He leaned in and whispered something into her ear that made her laugh. Lizzie’s smile made way for a more contemplative look.

“Do you remember when we were that way?”

The words had tumbled out of her mouth before she’d had a chance to stop them. She was distinctly aware of how close Orion was standing next to her.

“Were we ever?” he said with a far-away look on his face. He was looking in the same direction as Lizzie and his fingers were playing with his necklace.

He had a point, Lizzie had to admit; they had known each other inside out for years before they had slept with each other for the first time. Their friendship had eased into something different as if it was the most natural thing and without either of them noticing, whatever had been between them had changed. It had started to grow and it hadn’t stopped until they realised that they had lost control; if they’d ever had any to begin with.

Now, standing next to Orion without knowing what to do or say, Lizzie wished none of it had ever happened and they’d just gone to that stupid poetry slam that night. Everything had been so easy back then, and she had known exactly what she wanted. And yet the thought of forgetting about all the hours they had spent together, just the two of them, felt like taking away a part of herself.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lizzie said and reached for Merula’s cocktail. She didn’t drink from it but slowly stirred it with the straw, as if all the answers to her problems were hidden in the orange swirls. “It was a long time ago.”

“Even the brightest of memories come with a bitter taste when touched on under the wrong conditions,” Orion said softly, and Lizzie thought he sounded sad. “Let them rest for when we are more fit to face them.”

Changing to a less sensitive topic, his eyes went back to Merula and David. “I haven’t seen Merula as happy in a long time, if ever. She has opened a space in the walls she has built around herself. It may only be a tiny crack, but even the greatest monuments once began with nothing but a single stone.” His face turned thoughtful. “I hope David acknowledges the gesture for what it is; what looks like a small step to the one, is a leap of faith for the other. I don’t want Merula to regret taking the jump.”

“David is a wonderful person. He would never hurt her,” Lizzie assured him. “And once his contract ends, they are free to do whatever they like.”

She kept the detail that David was considering becoming a permanent member of Equinox to herself; seeing how Merula and David were looking at each other, Lizzie sincerely hoped that David would consider his decision carefully.

“His contract may end with our tour, but what matters is the moment at hand. And in this moment, David has to follow the rules, just like the rest of us,” Orion said and set his drink aside. There was a strain to his voice and when Lizzie followed his gaze, she could see what had caught his attention.

Ethan seemed to have had enough of reunions with other once-upon-a-time rockstars and was headed back towards their table. Given his current general mood, he would throw a fit if he saw Merula and David all cosied up like they were right now. Orion was already pushing himself away from the bar, motioning for Lizzie to follow him.

“What are you doing?” she asked as they were weaving through the crowd.

Orion looked at her over his shoulder and Lizzie was surprised to see a mischievous smirk on his face. Her heart started beating faster; she had forgotten how good-looking he was when he was smiling like this.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Lizzie said without a moment’s hesitation.

Orion’s smile widened. “Then not having a plan is the only plan we need. Follow me and play along.”

[sequinsmile-x]

Day-to-Day

Part of the Whatever Tomorrow Brings series 

Chapter 3: Jack 

Word count: 4.2k 

Read over on a03, or below the cut: 

Let me know what you think :) 

November 2002

Emily thought she knew what exhaustion was, thought that the long days and short nights at the BAU had taught her how to function on small bursts of sleep.

Then she had a baby.

Her body was running on fumes. The 36 hours she had spent in labour with Theo had left her shattered, and in the three weeks since her baby was first placed on her chest she didn’t think she had slept more than 90 minutes at a time.

She groans as Theo cries out from the bassinet sitting up on the edge of the bed and reaching out for him before he could wake Aaron up. It was his first day back at work in the morning after his paternity leave and she wanted him to get as much sleep as possible

“Ok, sweet boy.” She says, lifting the baby into her arms and settling back into bed, she one handedly shrugs off her pyjama shirt and undoes her maternity bra so she can feed her son.

She rests her head against the headboard and closes her eyes, knowing it was only a few short hours until the day would begin. ______________

Aaron wakes to find his wife sat up, her eyes closed as she leant against the headboard, Theo fast asleep on her chest. She was wearing her maternity bra and her sweatpants, clearly having given up on a shirt at some point in the night. She had one hand cupped under the baby’s bottom, the other hand moving up and down his back. The movement was the only sign that she was awake.

“Your son hates sleep.” She murmurs, opening her eyes to look down at Theo. “Well, apparently he hates me sleeping.”

Aaron sits up next to her and kisses her bare shoulder and cups the back of Theo’s head. “You should have woken me up.”

She smiles at him, exhaustion clear across her face. “You have work, it didn’t make sense for both of us to be up.”

“Can I help at all?”

“Can you take Jack to school?” She asks, looking back down at Theo. “Now he’s sleeping I might try and have a nap.”

“Of course.” ______________

She’s late picking up Jack from school. Theo had slept in the afternoon, and so had she, and the next thing she knew she should have already been out of the house. She gets there as soon as she can, Theo screaming in the back seat and her nerves very much on edge.

“Ok, baby. Please stop crying.” She practically begs as the car pulls up to the school drop off, Jack stood there with his teacher. She steps out the car, and opens the door for Jack to get in. He gets in, not even looking at Emily as he clicks his seatbelt into place. Pulling the door shut, muting the sound of Theo’s crying. Emily turns to Jack’s teacher, sees the sympathetic look on her face.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs Hotchner. I’ve been there myself.”

Emily smiles and nods at her as she gets back in the car. She sees Jack in the rearview mirror, the upset on his face clear as his younger brother continues to cry.

“I’m sorry, Jack.”

He doesn’t respond. _______________

Aaron gets held up at work on his first day back, leaving Emily to sort dinner for a still grumpy Jack as she tries to soothe Theo. She ends up with Theo in a baby wrap, content to sleep against her as she cleans away dishes from the, very mediocre, mac and cheese she had made.

Jack is still sulking when she walks back into the living room, his eyes fixed on the tv screen as he ignores her.

“Jack, sweetie, that's enough cartoons for tonight.” She says gently, feeling like she was treading on eggshells. He made no move to turn the tv off, the usually very reasonable 9 year old ignoring her. Emily sighs, one of her hands on Theo’s back, as she walks further into the living room, turning off the tv herself.

He finally turns to look at her, his eyebrows furrowed in a way that reminded her of Aaron. “I was watching that.”

She raises her eyebrows at his tone. “Jack.” She says calmly. “Please don’t speak to me like that.”

Jack rolls his eyes at her and stands, walking past her. “Whatever, Emily.”

“Jack.” She says firmer this time. “I know you’re upset, but you have to be respectful, ok?”

“You’re not my mom.” He replies. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Emily feels like the wind has been knocked out of her, exhaustion and everything that being a mother to a newborn makes her react in a way it usually wouldn’t. “Go to your room.”

“I hate you.” He says as he stomps up the stairs, slamming the door to his bedroom loud enough to wake Theo.

Emily shakes her head, tears pooling in her eyes as she tries to soothe the baby. ______________

When Aaron gets home he finds his wife crying on the couch, Theo in her arms and the baby wrap abandoned next to her.

“Sweetheart.” He immediately puts his briefcase down and sits next to her, gathering her into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“I suck at this.”

He cups the back of her head, pulls her face from his neck so he can look at her. “You suck at what?”

“Being a mom.”

It takes him a second to react, her words surprising him. “Em, you’re the best mom.” He says firmly, not even entertaining her comments for a second. “What happened?”

“I was late picking up Jack from school.” She says, shifting a, miraculously, sleeping Theo to rest his head on her shoulder. “I overslept and he was so mad.” She shakes her head at herself. “And he was grumpy all evening, and told me I wasn’t his mom. I overreacted and sent him to his room.” She clears her throat. “He told me he hated me.”

He sighs and cups her cheek and kisses her forehead. “That doesn’t make you a bad mom, baby. You’re exhausted. And Jack is adjusting. He’s gone from being just with Haley, to losing her, to living with us and becoming a big brother all within just under 10 months. That’s a lot for anyone, let alone a 9 year old.”

Emily nods. “You’re right.”

“And he doesn’t hate you. Far from it. He’s just not used to sharing you. Sibling jealousy is completely normal, even when you don’t include the rest of it.” He kisses her forehead. “Want me to talk to him?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’ll do it.” __________

She gently knocks on Jack’s door an hour later. The baby settled and Aaron with him.

“Jack, it’s Emily.”

There's a pause, and for a moment she thinks he’s fallen asleep. “Come in.”

Emily walks in and smiles at him. He was sat in his bed, his favourite toy tucked under his arm. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi.”

She closes the door behind her and sits on the edge of his bed. “Should we talk about earlier?”

He looks away from her, sniffs as he looks down at his bedsheets. “I’m sorry.”

She places her hand under his chin and makes him look up at her. “I am sorry too, I think we were both a bit sad and said things we shouldn’t have.”

Jack nods and suddenly moves towards her, hugging her. She wraps her arms around him too and kisses his hair. “I’m sorry, Emily. I don’t hate you.”

“I know you don’t, sweetheat.” She kisses his hair again, her hand running up and down his back. “I’ve had an idea.” He removes himself from her grasp, his head tilted in curiosity at her.

“What idea?”

“How about on Saturday, dad stays home with Theo for an hour or so and you and I go get breakfast at the usual place?”

“Just the two of us?” He asks, the hope on his face making her chest swell.

“Just the two of us.” She confirms, ruffling his hair. “What do you think?”

His smile is the only answer she needs. ______________

August 2012

It’s when Sara asks him about the picture that he keeps in his dorm room that Jack really, truly, thinks about it for the first time.

It’s a picture taken at his high school graduation. Emily on one side of him, Amelia on her hip, his dad on the other with Theo in front of him. All of them have wide smiles on their faces. The trauma they had been through less than a year before, and still lived with, not present in the happy family photo.

Sara smiles when she sees it and picks it up off of his desk. “Wow, is that your mom? She’s so pretty.”

Jack finds himself almost unable to answer for a moment, unsure how to explain his family dynamic to his new girlfriend. That he had only met his dad when his mom was dying. That a bigger part of him than he would admit had spent the last decade of his life watching Emily with Theo and now Amelia wishing that she was his mom too.

“Yeah.” He says before he can think about it. “Well, technically no.” He corrects, shaking his head at himself, immediate guilt for discounting Haley. Sarah frowns at him and puts the photo back down. Jack sighs, running his hand through his hair. “My mom died when I was 9. Emily is my stepmom, she’s raised me since then.”

Sara smiles at him and reaches for his hand. “Did I ever tell you my dad is technically my stepdad?”

Jack shakes his head at that, the new information about his girlfriend sinking in.

“Well.” She continues. “He married my mom when I was 12, but he’s always been there since then. He’s my dad.” She pauses as if she’s considering if it’s her place to continue, but after a moment she does, a kind smile on her face. “It’s ok if you consider Emily as your mom, you know? I’m sure your mom wouldn’t mind.”

That night he lies in bed and looks at the picture, thinks of how Emily had been there through everything since they’d met. How far they had come since she was teaching him Spanish to distract him from an argument between his parents. How far she had gone to protect him and his siblings when they were separated from his dad, sacrificing her own happiness for them. How fiercely she loved him, the way he knew she would go to war with anyone who hurt him.

She was his mom. ______________

November 2012

Jack gets more and more nervous as they approach Arlington. Sara was coming to meet his family for the first time, for Thanksgiving break of all things. He’d felt confident when he had first suggested it, wanting his girlfriend to know that part of his life.

Now he was more unsure than ever.

“I wish you’d calm down.” Sara says, rolling her eyes at him from where she was sat in the passenger seat. “Isn’t it me that’s meant to be nervous?”

“I know, it’s just...they are really intense.”

Sara stares at him for a second before sighing. “Ok fine, do you want to go over it all again?” She suppresses a smile when he looks almost relieved at her suggestion. “Go ahead.”

“Don’t be surprised if you hear more than one language being spoken.” Jack says as they pull off the freeway. “And, despite how much she might end up talking about her job, please don’t let Mom scare you.” ______________

Emily smiles as she opens the front door to Jack and Sara, beckoning them in from the cold. She immediately pulls Jack into a hug, which he gladly returns.

“Jack, I missed you.” She pulls back to look at him, to try and see if he had somehow changed in the few months it had been since he had last been home. “Your dad will be glad to see you, he’s been talking about this all week.”

Jack smiles at her. “It’s nice to be home.” He clears his throat as he pulls away and grabs his girlfriend's hand. “This is Sara.” He turns to Sara and smiles at her before turning back to Emily. “Sara, this is my mom - Emily.”

Emily swears her brain short wires for a second. Jack had never called her mom before, exclusively calling her by her first name the entirety of their relationship. She doesn’t have time to react before Sara smiles.

“Nice to meet you, Emily.”

She recovers in a second, pushing the emotions down until she has time to process them later. “Lovely to meet you too.”

They all turn to the sound of small feet hitting the hardwood floors, Amelia careening into the back of her mothers legs. She wraps her arms around Emily’s leg, shyly peering out from behind her. Emily smiles, grateful for the distraction, as she bends down and picks her up, settling the 3 year old on her hip.

“Amelia, this is Sara.” She says pointing at her, a smile on her face. “She’s Jack’s girlfriend.” Amelia proceeds to bury her face into Emily’s neck, making her smile and kiss the side of her daughter's head. “Sorry, she can be a bit shy around new people.”

Jack leans forward to try and catch Amelia’s eyeline. “Millie, can I have a hug?”

Amelia turns her face to look at Jack, her hand playing with Emily’s hair, before she smiles at her brother and leans towards him, smiling as he scoops her into his arms.

Emily smiles as she watches her youngest and her eldest together, Amelia giggling as Jack tickles her, brings her out of her shell so he can introduce her to Sara properly. Theo bounds down the stairs to see his brother, the way he had missed him was clear for everyone to see.

She feels the emotion flare in her chest again, the memory of how it sounded when he called her mom flooding through her. ______________

Aaron walks into his bedroom, a small sigh as he runs his hands through his hair, Amelia’s demands for Emily to come read her a story making settling her down for the night. He hears water running in the ensuite and heads towards it.

“Sweetheart? Apparently I won’t do for storytime tonight.” He walks into the bathroom. “You do the voices better…” He trails off when his eyes land on his wife, the way she quickly wipes her face to get rid of the tears she is clearly trying to hide from him. “Em, baby? What’s wrong?”

He places his hand on her cheek and the dam breaks, tears streaming down her face. He pulls his wife into a hug, feels the way she grasps the back of his polo shirt, her fingers digging into the material.

“It’s stupid.” She sniffs into his shirt.

“You’re never stupid.” He says, his hand running up and down her back. He pulls back enough to cup her cheek, wiping away the tears.

“Jack called me mom, Aaron.” She says, sniffing as more tears fall down her cheeks. “He’s never done that before.”

Aaron smiles at her. It hadn’t escaped him that his son had been calling her that all night, as if he had been for years. He’d noticed Emily’s momentary reaction every time, the way she froze slightly before suppressing a smile.

“You are his mom, Em. You and Haley both are. Despite the circumstances, he’s been lucky enough to have both of you.”

She smiles at him, laughing at herself as she wipes tears away from her face. “I know, and I’ve always been happy for him to call me whatever he wants to.” She shakes her head as more tears start to fall. “I just don’t think I realised how much it would mean to me.”

Aaron leans forward and kisses her forehead. “Love you.”

“You too.” She hugs him close, letting him hold her tightly. “What were you saying about storytime?”

Aaron chuckles before pulling back to look at her. “According to our daughter I can’t do the voices like you can.”

Emily laughs. “I should probably go read to her then.”

“Why don’t you get into bed? I’ll bring her in here.”

“If we do that she’ll fall asleep with us, we’ll never get her back to her own room.” She raises an eyebrow at him, he’d always been the firmest in keeping their children in their own beds.

“We can break the rules just this once.”

She is just settling into bed when Aaron walks back in, a sleepy looking Amelia perched on his hip, her storybook in her hand.

“Hi sweet girl.” Emily says as Aaron places Amelia on the bed, the toddler immediately crawling under the covers and curling up against her mother.

Amelia tilts her head at Emily and places her hand on her cheek, clearly taking in her blotchy skin and red eyes. “Mama sad?”

“Oh, no sweetie. Mama is ok.” She kisses the side of Amelia’s head and takes the book out of her hand, smiling as she realises it was Goodnight Moon, the same book she had read to her daughter every night so far that week.

Aaron climbs into bed next to them, wrapping an arm around both of them as Emily opens the book, pleased to have both of his girls in his arms.

______________

June 2018

“Mom?”

Emily turns around in her kitchen, a cup of tea in hand, and smiles when she sees Jack standing behind her.

“Jack! Hi.” She rounds the kitchen counter to hug him. “What are you doing here?”

He hugs her back. “I had no more classes today, thought I’d pop by before Sara was done.” They had moved back to the DC area after college, both of them going to medical school at Georgetown. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

She looks at him curiously. “Of course. Shall we go sit down?”

They settle in the living room, Jack suddenly seeming nervous as he clears his throat and pulls a small box out of his jeans pocket, passing it over to Emily. She opens it and her eyes widen at the ring inside.

“It’s beautiful Jack.” She smiles at him. “I am already married though.”

“Mom.” He says, unamused at her attempt at humour.

“Sorry.” She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling. “So you’re going to propose to Sara. How are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. How did Dad propose to you?”

Emily smiles at the memory. “I’d actually just had my tonsils removed and he was looking after me. I woke up from a nap and he just asked me.” She laughs. “Actually it’s more like he told me. He just said ‘marry me.’” Emily realises that hasn’t helped at all. “Jack, you’ve just got to do what’s right for you and Sara. You’ll think of something.”

“Dad thinks I’m too young.”

Emily rolls her eyes. “I think what your dad is forgetting is that I was your age when we got married.”

“What was it like when you planned your wedding?” Jack asks, the idea of planning his own stressing him out even before he proposed. Emily smiles at that, his confidence in the fact Sara would say yes.

Emily knew she would too.

“Oh I had very little to do with it. I just let my mother get on with it. The only things I picked were your dad and my dress, and let me tell you she had something to say about both those choices.” She smiles at Jack, a slight look of mischief on her face. “I’m sure if we called her she’d be happy to help.”

Jack pales slightly at the mention of Elizabeth’s involvement. “Oh god, no.” ______________

May 2019

Emily finds him exactly where she expected to. She smiles reassuringly at him when he turns around to look at her, before turning back to look at Haley’s grave.

It was a tradition of sorts. Jack came here whenever he had a big life event, anytime it was an important day. His high school graduation, as soon as he could after his college graduation. The day he finished med school.

“I thought I’d find you here.” She says as she reaches him, standing next to him. “Are you ok?”

“Yes.” He answers quickly, before turning to look at her, smiling sadly as she quirks an eyebrow at him. “No. I feel guilty.” Jack says, looking back at the granite headstone in front of him, purposely not looking at Emily.

She furrows her brow. “Guilty about what?”

“That I don’t immediately miss my mom in moments like this. It’s the biggest day of my life and part of me feels like I’ve come here out of obligation.” He admits. “She’s been gone so much longer than I had her, and sometimes I forget you aren’t my biological mom.” He sniffs, his jaw tightening as he tries to hold back his emotions. “And then I remember and I feel awful.”

Emily had spent the entire time she had known Jack wishing she could take his pain, his grief, away. Grief Emily had got a taste of only the year before when she lost her father. He had lost his mother at such a young age, and hadn’t known his father for the first several years of his life. He still had so many unanswered questions, things Haley had never had the chance to fully explain to him.

“Sweetheart.” She says, placing her arm around him and putting her hand on his shoulder. “She wouldn’t want you to feel like this. She loved you so much.”

He nods, wrapping his arm around her. “Is everyone worried?”

“Sara doesn’t think you’ve left her at the altar if that’s what you mean.” Emily says, a wry smile on her face. “But we should get going.” ______________

Emily smiles as she dances with Jack, Sara and her father dancing alongside them.

“Thanks for today.” Jack says, a smile on his face as he looks at her.

“No need to thank me, Jack.”

He hums in his throat in disbelief. “I have a lot to thank you for really.”

“Jack-”

“We’ve never really talked about it.” He says, the song they were dancing to fading into the background. “The older I’ve got the more I’ve realised how hard it must have been for you at the start, but you’ve never said anything. Never really made me feel any different.”

Emily smiles at him, emotion welling in her chest. “Jack, of course I didn’t. You were a kid. You’re my kid.”

He stops the dance, the music coming to an end anyway. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Jack.”

“Can I cut in?”

They both turn to see Aaron standing there, smiling at both of them. Jack steps back, indicating his father can step in to dance with Emily.

“I should go see my wife.” Jack says as he steps away.

Aaron smiles at Emily as he pulls her to him, one arm banding around her back, the other grasping her hand in his. “I remember dancing at our wedding.”

Emily laughs. “That was so long ago now.”

“We’re getting old, Mrs Hotchner.”

She makes an outraged noise, uses the hand on his shoulder to smack him lightly. “Speak for yourself, Mr Hotchner.” ______________

Emily kisses the side of Amelia’s head, her daughter fast asleep on her lap, the excitement of the day too much for the 10 year old, the evening now passin into the early hours of the following morning. She laughs when she sees Theo dragging Elizabeth up to dance, always able to convince his grandmother to do anything.

“Hi sweetheart.” Aaron says as he drags a chair next to her and sits down, throwing his arm across the back of her chair. “Is she ok?” He asks, smiling at Amelia, her head pressed against Emily’s shoulder, her mouth hanging open slightly as she sleeps.

“She’s fine, she’s just tired.”

He kisses his wife's temple. “It has been a long day.” He looks over to Theo and Elizabeth and back to his wife, not missing the sad smile on her face. “Are you ok?”

Emily looks at him. “Yeah. I just wish Dad could be here, that’s all.” She sighs, the thought of John’s death only the year before still felt sharp to her at times. The feeling she had when she got the call was still fresh, as if it had happened only yesterday.

“I know you do, baby. I do too.” He kisses her temple again, trying to press all of his love and support into her skin

“He really loved Jack.”

Aaron smiles at that, memories of Jack trying to teach John how to play video games. The way he had instantly had the older man wrapped around his finger as soon as they had met.

“The feeling was mutual.”

They sit there and watch their eldest dance with his new wife, the promise of a new beginning hanging in the air.

[altschmerzes]

Any updates on true north? The cliff hanger was quite the cliff hanger if I might say so myself 😮‍💨

sldkjsdf my deepest apologies for that, it was mean

HOWEVER i do have an update on true north! or well an update on an update anyways - the current goal, which i think is rather manageable, is to have the next chapter out by my birthday, which is this saturday the 29th! and i've promised some friends who have some uh, insider info on what's coming up in the next five chapter spread that i won't leave it too long between those chapters, because that would just be excessively mean.

so! next chapter coming by saturday, the following chapters coming pretty regularly after that, with the heads up that this is gonna be a,,, rough arc skdfs, particularly for mac, but nobody has a good time. it's as..... graphically violent as the fic is ever going to get (though it's not like. gratuitous, i think, it's not insanely descriptive) and it gets rather bloody so. apologies for..... that, and i'll include necessary warnings on the chapters themselves.