#don't have time for clean up and color lmao

[soupsandstars]

Reveal the path and grant me passage!

#simon petrikov #ice king #marcy for less than a second #this got out of hand #don't have time for clean up and color lmao #had fun though!

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: That one episode of teen titans where they all dress up as Robin + Tim being a gremlin about his legacy + Danny look alike/twin AU.

So there is that episode of Teen Titans where Starfire, Cyborg, Beast Boy and Raven all dress as Robin (Dick) while he's out and it's admitted that the outfit makes them feel cool. Imagine a young Tim hearing that story mentioned in passing by Dick while trying to manage what becomes Young Just-us. And then when Damain becomes Robin?? Gremlin mode activated.

Tim hosts regular 'Robin' Parties, where the idea is that you come in Robin colors, get a mask at the door and everyone gets to basically hang out in civilian clothes without the identity crises for those just getting started. "age appropriate" drinks, games, and good music are all staples. The parties become more frequent once Damian becomes Robin and he pointedly doesn't attend Tim's parties which... Neither of them are really happy about. Family is complicated, but finally, after a few years of cooling off, it's decided that Robin will actually host this years Robin party.

Meaning Tim shows up in casual clothes (MIT sweatshirt) and a mask, and Damian is actually dressed as Robin when the party is starting to get into the swing of things. The point of it is to make sure all the young heroes get to come and start to befriend each other, so there are a few people who show up and have to actually say that they're *insert alias* and this is met with basically "Dope, nice to meet you Robin" etc.

Insert Danny Twin AU (Or just look-alike fuckery) (for either brother but my brain is on Tim Twin au mode).

Danny decides to show up as his human self, grabs a mask at the door before coming in, and is slowly integrating himself into a conversation when someone grabs his arm- "Hey Red your brother is fighting with a newbie about meat products again-"

And Danny doesn't have a brother but my god has he heard this fight too many times with Sam and Tucker- He's going in and he's defusing this situation because he cannot handle the thought of this argument taking over his new friend group. He deals with it enough, okay?

Robin (like, the real one) looks at him curiously while Danny is talking down the other hero Robin (insert here), and the whole room notices when Robin doesn't take the opportunity to dismiss or belittle his older brother (Lmao because its danny). Damian cannot place his unease about Drake (again, Danny, who is not hiding his identity beyond a mask), and simply decides that this isn't worth the effort.

The party moves on but now instead of everyone calling themselves Robin, Danny is distinctly being called Red. It confuses him a bit, he didn't even know Red Robin was going to be at this party (he hasn't met the guy and doesn't know the lore), but he rolls with it because he's made fast friends with Robin (Bart), Robin (Cassie) and Robin (JON). The kid was full little bro energy and it made Danny laugh, he was so surprised when the real Robin joined them and fell into easy conversation with Robin (Jon).

Danny is playing games with a few others when someone goes to grab a broom to clean up- Turns out Red Robin and his boyfriend Kon had been making out in the closet for most of the party- and the whole room looks at Danny like he's tried to trick them. Tim is at first uneasy that so many people mistook him, but once he's in front of his dupe, puzzle pieces start to move around in his head.

"And who are you again, Robin?" Tim asks carefully, though he suspects he has his answer.

"Uh, Phantom, but you know, a lot of people were calling me Red tonight and I didn't get why until just now." Danny laughs nervously.

"Yeah I bet- Find me monday and we can see about a geneology test."

"That leaves us the whole weekend, to do what exactly? Fuck with people by pulling a parent trap style swap?"

"Nature vs. nuture and all but I don't know how you could be anything but my brother with a question like that." Tim grins and they get to scheming.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc crossover #dp crossover #long post #tim drake #danny and tim are twins au #robin party au #dear god someone please write this fic for me #its been rattling around in my brain for ages

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I know your requests are closed so feel free to ignore this but if I don’t type it somewhere I WILL forget it lol. I’ve been re-binge reading your works and just thought of this…

Civilian reader kills someone out of self defense for the first time. And it’s the whole staring at her bloody shaking hands panic attack what have I done fiasco. And her boyfriend or husband helping her through it and dealing with it all (I can see it with Ghost or Price idk)

But yeah feel free to ignore, I know your requests are closed rn

Love your work! You are so talented!

This has been in my inbox for so long, lmao. Sorry for not answering right away - take a few paragraphs w. soft, worried, Simon in compensation.

Warnings for gore, death, blood, panic attack, etc. F!Reader.

Your body shakes violently, blood dripping down like crimson tears from your hands. The overwhelming sense of dread sits with bullet fragment aggression in the delicate make-up of your psyche.

You weren't meant for this.

Not the blood or the terror. Certainly not the body laying out in the hallway.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp out, shuddering as your throat swells in on itself. Your form had slipped down the wall just across from the door not minutes prior, legs weak and heart pounding like a war call. Now all you can do is stare into the vacant eyes of some random burglar—at the knife you'd stuck in his chest when he'd backed you into Simon's office.

It was a miracle that you remembered where your husband's combat blade had been, seen on some off chance when you'd been cleaning. He tries to keep this all separate, you know.

The blood just keeps slipping out of the corpse. It's a pool now, and you don't know how long you'd been huddled like this until the sounds of rampaging feet and hurried yells of your name bounce off your eardrums.

All you can see is the uncleanable amount of red.

Simon had only gone out to the corner store half an hour ago, getting a quick supper so you both could sit in each other's company. You'd been hesitant to watch him leave so soon after getting home, but he'd sworn he'd only be a few minutes.

None of you had thought too much about the local break-ins. After all, Simon was...well, Simon. And he was home.

S-Simon was home.

There's a loud, barked, curse when the body is discovered, stomping feet that make the entire house shake like it was the epicenter of an earthquake. Your husband's form slashes the front of your vision as he kneels in the blood on the floor. Frantic brown eyes behind his balaclava snap from place to place; taking in the familiar handle and blade in nanoseconds. In his left hand he clutches a pistol, white-knuckled.

But you can't even say anything, because you're as still as stone—breathing in concrete as the gravel shreds your vocal cords and trachea. Reality slips in quick streaks of color as Simon's face flashes into the open doorway.

He sees your wide eyes with a mirroring of his own, bone-deep fear striking in his head with a heated pulse.

"Love!" Simon's rushing to you. Your body can't help but startle back, spine shoving into the wall; fingers still saturated and stained.

Inside your chest, your lungs jerk in a strained whimper.

Your husband freezes, one foot ahead with his widened legs as he fights his mind to rush to you and take you into his arms. Simon puts the gun away with little thought to look for more assailants—all that matters is you.

And you looked terrified.

"Hey," hands reach up to this balaclava, slipping the fabric off as he kneels down slowly to one leg. He tosses it to the floor and you try to focus on the strength of his jaw; those scars and pale hairs as your eyes well with tears. A delicate sob builds. "Hey, now. It's just me, alright?"

Simon speaks softly, hands splayed out and a few feet from you. He wishes to hold you tightly but refrains even as his chest tightens at not being able to calm you. The man can't stand that look on your face.

Your fingers curl into shivering fists, "Simon," you cry, finally able to get a solid word out even if it sounds slurred and ragged.

It's all the permission your husband needs.

Simon jerks forward and takes you up into his large arms; the wide encompassing of his palm on the back of your head and the other circling your waist. He angles you away from the body as he glares into it with hatred and vile curses, hissing venom.

When he found the door busted off its hinges, he'd never felt so panicked. Even now as you release a small wail into his neck Simon's heart races, breath coming in short puffs.

"You're alright, Sweetheart. You're alright. I'm right 'ere." You sag into him, grabbing at his leather jacket with nails digging into the brown material. Simon nuzzles his nose into your scalp, muscles tense, "Breathe, it's over."

All you can focus on is Simon's scent, his words. They're the only thing keeping you from oblivion. Eventually, as your husband rocks you back and forth, you can gasp enough air down to push away the black at the sides of your vision.

"That's right," he whispers, gritting his teeth. "Good girl, keep focusin' on me, yeah? You're doin' perfect." Simon doesn't care about the blood or the screams of sirens in the distance.

For the first time in his life, he doesn't care if someone else happens to see his face.

Your husband pulls his head back and shifts his hold to your cheeks, angling your runny and chilled face upwards. He grits his teeth and his eyes bleed with concern; fear.

"...He do anything?" You can only make out half the words as the sounds all huddle together in a ringing tone, but you shake your head in small flinches. Lips find your forehead—heated and firm. Muttered words. "Did so good, Love, I'm so proud of you. S'not your fuckin' fault, you hear?"

Sniffling, you only whimper once more before lips kiss away your tears; thumbs coming up after to swipe at the remnants. Curling over you, this beast—defined so often as ruthless and deadly—shields you from the image of the man you'd killed in self-defense like a demon of smoke and ash. Holding you as if he can make everything else disappear.

After all, you weren't meant for this. You were meant for your soft skin and your loving eyes. Everything else that Simon tied himself to you for—goodness.

"Simon," you gasp again and shove your face into his chest. For the life of you, you can't say anything else. He knows what you mean.

"I'm here," he repeats. Caressing the back of your head, his hand tenses and softens with leaving adreanaline. "Nothin'll happen to you again. It's all gonna be alright."

You believe him.

#halcyone answers #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #x female reader #cod simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you

[simkoos]

as a cc creator you often look back at your old creations and think "yea i could've done that so much better lmao". that's kind of been my mindset for the last couple of months. so i decided to clean up and revive (yet again) some of my older cc collections!

meshes have been fixed (some objects didn't even have all lod's or shadowmaps smh) or moderately edited to conform to my current aesthetics

textures have been hugely improved along with better color palettes, neater normals and speculars

please delete all old files before adding these! they will replace in-game but you cannot have the old versions and the new versions installed at the same time. 

~~~

12pm includes 6 items just as the originals. the panda bank is now functional if you have ravasheen's 'in your safe piggy bank' mod installed.

fps includes 3 items. (you can find the originals here) both video game consoles require city living.

home includes 8 items, originally 6. both the shelves and desk have way more slots for extra storage!

liselotte includes 6 items. the original set is still available here if you prefer that instead. not a lot has been changed except for minor edits to the folded towels and a mesh replacement of the toothbrushes. also i've left out the bath robes since i personally don't have a use for them since that one bg recolor update lol.

plant mom includes 11 items. one of my all time fave sets, which can be found here, again if you prefer that.

study group includes 14 items now, 6 more than the originals.  i've added accessory backpacks for all ages except infant and toddler. and now the deco backpacks can be used as storage if you have ravasheen's 'hoarders simnonymous' mod installed.

switch includes 11 items. everything is basically the same as in the original post. only a few minor touches here and there. i added a thermostat, which requires seasons. and a newly added electrical outlet with safety plugs. all light switches are functional if you have the bathroom clutter kit and littledica's functional light switch override.

~~~

download (always free on patreon)

#the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 #s4cc #ts4cc #s4mm #ts4mm

[monarchberrysblog]

Giving miguel backscratches. Idk saw requests open and i just had to. Theres a spot he just cant reach. Also miguel giving backscratches sounds awesome, dudes got killer nails. Tho maybe his nails would hurt idk

𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔰

Miguel O’Hara x GN! Reader

Summary: Your man loves some good back scratches.

Content Warning ⚠️: none lmao

Word Count: 837 words 😋

Author’s Note: Yes. I would DIE to give this man back stretched and for his talons to tear at my flesh and—

This isn't proofread, and mostly wrote this having the reader no pronouns and gender-neutral terms (if there are any)

To my readers who love their baby girls (men who have emotional trauma and baggage), this is for you 💌

The gentle pitter-patter of the cool rainwater created a soft, soothing melody that danced against the glass window. Its rhythmic beat was reminiscent of the delicate tapping of fingertips on a hollow, wooden desk, providing a sense of calm that embraced anyone in its embrace—a three-wick candle flickers from nearby, creating a cozy ambiance. The cozy smell of clean linen immediately filled the space while in a queen-sized bed, someone squirmed underneath the soft blankets and shoved some throw pillows away from them.

Slowly emerging from the sherpa blankets surrounding you, a big yawn escaped before you rubbed your eyes and looked around your room. It was the same old, same old—the cozy blankets and pillows, with a couple of plushies accompanying your bed.

Sighing in defeat, you tucked yourself back into the blankets and looked at the flickering candle. “When is he coming home…?”

The colorful hues of tangy orange, yellow, and red filled the space immediately.

As you lay in bed, lost in your thoughts, a deep sigh echoes through the silent room, drawing your attention. Slowly raising your head from under the covers, you glimpse Miguel's entrance. His tired yet friendly eyes meet yours, and a faint smile spreads across his lips, revealing a sense of relief upon seeing you awake.

“Hola…” He sighed, slowly making his way to your dresser, and dug around for his sweats that he always left behind. You let out another yawn before nodding your head.

The tangy colors that filled the room vanished as you looked over to see Miguel in his Spiderman suit still and slipped into his sweatpants. “Lyla, turn off the suit.” The unbodied AI responded quickly as his suit was deactivated immediately.

Miguel flopped onto your bed with a suddenness that startled you. The impact of his body caused a few of the plushies and decorative pillows to tumble to the floor while you bounced slightly from the force of his literal collapse onto the bed. “Hey,” You cooed to him before you placed your hand on his back, feeling his taut muscles underneath the pads of your fingers. A simple grunt from your partner was a good indicator that the man had a long day and wanted nothing to do but sleep and relax.

“Can you move your hand upwards?” Miguel grumbles to you, face-planted onto your pillows. Slowly, you moved your hand up and massaged the taut muscle. “No, cariño. Don't massage it. Can you scratch that spot?” You hummed to him in response and lightly scratched at the irritated spot. “How is that?” You whispered to him. He only grumbled in response, causing you to chuckle.

If Miguel wanted to, he could sleep through a tornado if he wanted to. The inconsistent sleep schedules were always a concern; however, the man managed to get seven hours of sleep per day, surprisingly. It was at an unhealthy consistency, but this was the first time in two weeks you had seen him on your bed, collapsed on top of plushies and pillows.

Miguel let out a contented sigh as your fingernails scratched his muscles, leaving an invigorating sensation in their wake. "Yes, thank you, cariño," he murmured, his voice low and sultry. He could feel his body responding to your touch, the muscles twitching beneath your fingertips. "Add a bit more force," he groaned, his voice muffled by the fox plushie he held tightly in his embrace.

You complied with his request, scratching a bit more aggressively, your fingernails kneading his flesh expertly. He let out a deep moan of pleasure, lost in the sensation. "There...move to the left, please," he pleaded, his voice thick with desire. You hummed in response, your fingers working their magic, as you inched to the left.

"A little bit more," he urged, his voice growing more urgent. You complied, your fingers dancing across his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, completely lost in the moment.

"Alright, that's enough," he breathed out heavily. You instinctively hummed in acknowledgment before gently massaging the reddened and irritated area, which offered him a sense of relief. "How are we doing?" You turned to face Miguel, draping the soft and cozy blanket over him to provide some much-needed warmth.

As his hand moved towards your thigh, you could feel your heart racing with anticipation. You felt a firm grip on the soft muscle of your thigh, his nails digging into your supple and warm flesh. You couldn't help but let out a chuckle as you placed your hand on top of his, letting him know that he should be careful. The tips of his talons lightly punctured your thighs, with the talon in his thumb lightly drawing a puncture wound, drawing a trickle of blood. “Easy there…” You cooed to him, rubbing your thumb against his knuckles. The talons on the pads of his thumb retracted like a cat, and immediately felt his calloused touch.

“Everything is great now that I'm here…”

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguel fanfic #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel fluff

[sant-riley]

[Task force 141 + others with Gen z!reader] [pt3]

A/N: Some of these you /may/ have seen on tiktok, that is me who posted them on tiktok. I am green haired bitch so no I didn't steal anything LMAO. I hope these live up to yalls expectations.

The last two of these my lovely friend gave me inspiration for <3 @frogchiro

Warnings: She/her pronouns swearing, age gaps, tiktok memes (like always lmk if I miss something!)

~

You steal Prices hat on numerous occasions bc its a fashion abomination and you refuse to let this man wear it around you. You hide around base as frequently as you can.

Jokes on you though bc he will literally wait til it's your birthday and buy you a matching one and will laugh at your scream of disgust.

Gaz one ups him by gifting you a matching hat as well, putting it on your head as he flicks the brim.

"Thanks Gaz! I love it!

"And not mine?"

"You're on thin ice, old man."

Price gets gifted a set from manscaped by the guys as a gag gift. He uses it for his beard bc he never bothered to look into why everyone was laughing around him.

Price takes your phone when you try and show him memes, squinting hard as fuck like a dad 💀

Soap, if yall have the time off takes you to scottish football games and it's a whole thing. You sitting there while he gets drunk out of his fucking mind, hollering and whooping and you're there trying to sink into your seat.

Chances are someone's gonna shove you and you're gonna trip and fall bc everyone's so amped up and Soap threatens to beat the shit out of them. It's a miracle y'all don't get kicked out 💀

If you have tattoos, Soap is the first one to take a marker set and color them in and adding his own additions. If you were ever to get them actually tattooed, he would tear up and pretend he isn't emotional about it.

"You like me that much Bonnie?"

He would get something of you too, so it evens out. This also makes Ghost in turn get a tattoo for you bc he refuses to be out done and he's just as attached

Neither of them get your call sign or your name, but they get something personal to what each of them associate you with.

The first time you meet Alex, you're across the room doing something that has your focus and didn't realize this is actually your first time meeting him. You ask him for a hand only to look up and see him extend his prosthetic at you with a smile and you scream.

"You asked for a hand but best I can do is a Leg." Price comes running and he sees the scene and rolls his eyes.

Everyone single one of them are the definition of "my girl can wear whatever she wants bc I'll break your jaw." meme btw. You can take care of yourself but you never need to bc they will beat a bitch up.

Laswell invites you constantly to come over and meet with her wife, esp if you don't have a mother figure. She always always tries to come on base to see you and always has a birthday and Christmas present on it's way to you wherever you may be. Her wife loves you to death and they've pretty much adopted you and you cannot escape it, oh well.

Gaz buys you whatever your little heart desires, especially if he's deployed away in a country where they sell exclusives of whatever you enjoy. It's a pain in the fucking ass to try and ship a anime figure to your place from Japan but he's gonna try his best.

Ghost doesn't share his food, or at least it was before you came along. He groans and grumbles about having to feed you but he wouldn't do it if he truly didn't want to. Soap asks and Ghost tells him to fuck off.

If you watch anime, please imagine trying to get everyone in the room and trying to explain who Dabi is. They're all so fucking old they keep thinking you're referring to the elf from Harry Potter and it infuriates you to no end.

Soap and Gaz know better but it's funnier to see you mad.

Being the youngest, they absolutely force you to do the jobs they don't want to. Whether it be cleaning the barracks, to cooking dinner when able, it doesn't matter bc they'll all pull rank on you.

"You're the new kid, get to it then."

"Ghosttttt-"

"Don't Ghost me."

Soap is the kind of motherfucker to play the fifa games and doesn't understand that he's stupid for buying it every single year bc there are no changes oncesoever. He will not listen to you about it and you've given up.

Ghost will see you talk about your etsy list and will ask for your phone, you trust him so of course you hand it over. He hands it back to you and it's just, all purchased. He says nothing while he sips on his tea while you scream at him asking why he did it. He won't tell you but it's because he knows it makes you happy and it'll keep your mood up, giving you a reason to be motivated to get through missions. It's also because he knows that retail therapy is a thing for your generation.

Soap, if you do any, is actually really good at doing your makeup! He knows how to do everything and he refuses to elaborate. (As a kid he'd do his mom's makeup when she went out for dates) he's the one who helps you doll up if you're going undercover.

Ghost, Gaz and Price find you unfunny whenever you make a "wow I wish British people were real." You say it so often and it gets annoying but they also just accept it's a part of life.

Soap personally enjoys the "SCOTLAND FOREVERRRRRRR" meme and will scream it with you. Ghost threatens to cut yalls tongue out.

Other parts can be found under #Kayla writes <3

Taglist:

@devilsfoodcake22 @simon-rileys-princess

@stupid-ninja @milkmily

@lune-la-chanson @tamayakii

@teacupcollector @sweet-as-an-angel

@perilous-pasta @ihatethisappsomuchitpains

@marsbar127xx @baddump

@xncasi @king-cookiex

@palomaxaxaxa @amatchasky @wolfyland07 @diejager

@hailstrum18 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @mzfandom

If you'd like to be tagged, go to my pinned post and comment there :)

#ghost <3 #soap <3 #price <3 #gaz <3 #call of duty #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gen z! headcanons #kayla writes <3 #laswell <3 #fem reader

[ethereallyjade]

Pick a Card: Traits of Your F/S

Choose a photo that calls to you and the cards will tell you a message. As always, this is just for fun. Do not take anything seriously or above legal or medical advice. If your interested in personal tarot readings and want to support me, check out my Paid Readings! Masterlist

1 - 2

3 - 4

Images are not mine

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Pile 1

Your F/S might wear big clothes. I'm seeing dresses, baggy clothes, or just oversized things. I'm getting somewhat emo vibes or they might just like black clothing. They are great at keeping optimism and picking themselves back up after periods of grief. Your F/S might have a hard time connecting with others or has had a bit of a rough past in terms of relationships. They could be a bit of a rebel as well or just crave more freedom in their lives. Back to their looks, their clothes might stand out in some way. Something about them or their personality is bold, but they don't even mean to be. They might have a very simple look, but it's so different from those around them that it comes off as bold, because I'm picking up on a very quiet and even reserved energy from them so I don't think their looks are a very conscious choice on their part. Either way, I'm still seeing that they're confident in themselves and have a leader like potential.

Pile 2

Clumsy, and colorful. Might wear sweaters or hoodies a lot. Could have an affinity towards churches? Or maybe really likes historic buildings or museums. Likes to travel. Likes the ocean. They are independent and trust their own decisions. They might move homes a lot and don't like living in one area for too long. They might live or be from somewhere with a cold climate. They have a humble upbringing. Could have come from a broken home, divorced parents, low income, or even faced homelessness at some point, but I'm seeing that they're ready to move on from that or have already. All in all, they're a very talented person and they're ready to take their opportunities. They might be from a different country than you.

Pile 3

Clean, smooth, "Must be perfect." Maybe their a Virgo lmao. I'm seeing that they can be the type of person to put up a front. They appear as well put together, mature, clean, and may even be seen as a leader of sorts, but on the inside they're definitely struggling with something. They might be a really naive person, and find themselves often being taken advantage of by those around them. This could also be taken as they're a very emotional person and need to learn how to put up this courageous front so that they stop being taken advantage of. As far as physical appearance goes, I'm seeing someone who's blond, medium length hair. Might like wearing blues and greens, dresses or long shirts. They might like to accessorize themselves. They may also be the type to really dress up when they leave the house, but dress very casual or im hearing 'bummy' behind closed doors lol.

Pile 4

They like hanging out with friends or even partying and drinking. They love to travel. I'm seeing a very happy and positive person hear. Maybe they can be randomly contemplative or have big dreams which is something their friends find odd about them because they usually have a kind of careless and partying type of personality. On the flip side, I can also see this as being someone that does not like to party. Maybe they're surrounding friends have a careless, parting attitude towards life and they want to break free of that and work towards something they find important. They might not be very close with their friends or feel like they've never fit in with their friend group, and again, dream of going somewhere else or leaving to find their people. They might contemplate moving overseas, so they might either be a foreigner to you or maybe you both move to a new country together. For physical traits, they might have curly hair. I'm seeing a lot of the color red. That might be their favorite color, or a color they wear a lot. Maybe their hair is red. I'm also seeing that they might get dressed up often.

#tarot #love tarot #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a picture #pick a card #pac #channeled message #intuitive readings #intuition #valentines day #valentines

[empty-movement]

May I ask what scanners / equipment / software you're using in the utena art book project? I'm an artist and half the reason I rarely do traditional art is because I'm never happy with the artwork after it's scanned in. But the level of detail even in the blacks of Utena's uniform were all captured so beautifully! And even the very light colors are showing up so well! I'd love to know how you manage!

You know what's really fun? This used to be something you put in your site information section, the software and tools used! Not something that's as normal anymore, but let's give it a go, sorry it's long because I don't know what's new information and what's not! Herein: VANNA'S 'THIS IS AS SPECIFIC AS MY BREAK IS LONG' GUIDE/AIMLESS UNEDITED RAMBLE ABOUT SCANNING IMAGES

Scanning: Modern scanners, by and large, are shit for this. The audience for scanning has narrowed to business and work from home applications that favor text OCR, speed, and efficiency over archiving and scanning of photos and other such visual media. It makes sense--there was a time when scanning your family photographs and such was a popular expected use of a scanner, but these days, the presumption is anything like that is already digital--what would you need the scanner to do that for? The scanner I used for this project is the same one I have been using for *checks notes* a decade now. I use an Epson Perfection V500. Because it is explicitly intended to be a photo scanner, it does threebthings that at this point, you will pay a niche user premium for in a scanner: extremely high DPI (dots per inch), extremely wide color range, and true lossless raws (BMP/TIFF.) I scan low quality print media at 600dpi, high quality print media at 1200 dpi, and this artbook I scanned at 2400 dpi. This is obscene and results in files that are entire GB in size, but for my purposes and my approach, the largest, clearest, rawest copy of whatever I'm scanning is my goal. I don't rely on the scanner to do any post-processing. (At these sizes, the post-processing capacity of the scanner is rendered moot, anyway.) I will replace this scanner when it breaks by buying another identical one if I can find it. I have dropped, disassembled to clean, and abused this thing for a decade and I can't believe it still tolerates my shit. The trade off? Only a couple of my computers will run the ancient capture software right. LMAO. I spent a good week investigating scanners because of the insane Newtype project on my backburner, and the quality available to me now in a scanner is so depleted without spending over a thousand on one, that I'd probably just spin up a computer with Windows 7 on it just to use this one. That's how much of a difference the decade has made in what scanners do and why. (Enshittification attacks! Yes, there are multiple consumer computer products that have actually declined in quality over the last decade.)

Post-processing: Photoshop. Sorry. I have been using Photoshop for literally decades now, it's the demon I know. While CSP is absolutely probably the better piece of software for most uses (art,) Photoshop is...well it's in the name. In all likelihood though, CSP can do all these things, and is a better product to give money to. I just don't know how. NOTENOTENOTE: Anywhere I discuss descreening and print moire I am specifically talking about how to clean up *printed media.* If you are scanning your own painting, this will not be a problem, but everything else about this advice will stand! The first thing you do with a 2400 dpi scan of Utena and Anthy hugging? Well, you open it in Photoshop, which you may or may not have paid for. Then you use a third party developer's plug-in to Descreen the image. I use Sattva. Now this may or may not be what you want in archiving!!! If fidelity to the original scan is the point, you may pass on this part--you are trying to preserve the print screen, moire, half-tones, and other ways print media tricks the eye. If you're me, this tool helps translate the raw scan of the printed dots on the page into the smooth color image you see in person. From there, the vast majority of your efforts will boil down to the following Photoshop tools: Levels/Curves, Color Balance, and Selective Color. Dust and Scratches, Median, Blur, and Remove Noise will also be close friends of the printed page to digital format archiver. Once you're happy with the broad strokes, you can start cropping and sizing it down to something reasonable. If you are dealing with lots of images with the same needs, like when I've scanned doujinshi pages, you can often streamline a lot of this using Photoshop Actions.

My blacks and whites are coming out so vivid this time because I do all color post-processing in Photoshop after the fact, after a descreen tool has been used to translate the dot matrix colors to solids they're intended to portray--in my experience trying to color correct for dark and light colors is a hot mess until that process is done, because Photoshop sees the full range of the dots on the image and the colors they comprise, instead of actually blending them into their intended shades. I don't correct the levels until I've descreened to some extent.

As you can see, the print pattern contains the information of the original painting, but if you try to correct the blacks and whites, you'll get a janky mess. *Then* you change the Levels:

If you've ever edited audio, then dealing with photo Levels and Curves will be familiar to you! A well cut and cleaned piece of audio will not cut off the highs and lows, but also will make sure it uses the full range available to it. Modern scanners are trying to do this all for you, so they blow out the colors and increase the brightness and contrast significantly, because solid blacks and solid whites are often the entire thing you're aiming for--document scanning, basically. This is like when audio is made so loud details at the high and low get cut off. Boo.

What I get instead is as much detail as possible, but also at a volume that needs correcting:

Cutting off the unused color ranges (in this case it's all dark), you get the best chance of capturing the original black and white range:

In some cases, I edit beyond this--for doujinshi scans, I aim for solid blacks and whites, because I need the file sizes to be normal and can't spend gigs of space on dust. For accuracy though, this is where I'd generally stop.

For scanning artwork, the major factor here that may be fucking up your game? Yep. The scanner. Modern scanners are like cheap microphones that blow out the audio, when what you want is the ancient microphone that captures your cat farting in the next room over. While you can compensate A LOT in Photoshop and bring out blacks and whites that scanners fuck up, at the end of the day, what's probably stopping you up is that you want to use your scanner for something scanners are no longer designed to do well. If you aren't crazy like me and likely to get a vintage scanner for this purpose, keep in mind that what you are looking for is specifically *a photo scanner.* These are the ones designed to capture the most range, and at the highest DPI. It will be a flatbed. Don't waste your time with anything else.

Hot tip: if you aren't scanning often, look into your local library or photo processing store. They will have access to modern scanners that specialize in the same priorities I've listed here, and many will scan to your specifications (high dpi, lossless.)

Ahem. I hope that helps, and or was interesting to someone!!!

#utena #image archiving #scanning #archiving #revolutionary girl utena #digitizing #photo scanner #art scanning

[heavenlyhischier]

idiots in love - dick grayson

summary: two people who are madly in love with each other but they're both idiots.

word count: 5.8k (lmao sorry)

warnings: lil angsty, cursing, steamy lil makeout sesh, unedited, cursing??

notes: hi hello hi! here is something that has been sitting, more like marinating, in the drafts for a hot minute. btw its not explicitly titans!verse dick, but he's hot so sue me

Saying that befriending Jason Todd changed your life would be a complete understatement. You had gone from being invisible and living under the radar in Gotham to earning an unwanted spotlight from being seen alongside Bruce Wayne’s son nearly every day. To make that matter worse, Jason had once conned you into attending a gala that Bruce was holding because “it is the only way he could manage to survive another one of these things”. That drew a lot of rumors and suspicions from the media in Gotham as they speculated the true nature of your relationship with Jason. That was also the start of a complex and hidden relationship with his older brother.

Dick Grayson remembered the first time that he saw you like it was happening right in front of him all over again. You were standing next to Jason in a floor length black dress that shimmered blue when the light hit it just the right way. You were, albeit unknowingly, wearing his colors next to his brother and it instantly attracted him to you. He could tell you felt out of place by the way your body was turned towards Jason and your eyes kept darting around you. Trying to get you away from Jason was a much harder task than he had anticipated, but what ensued once he had made it all worth it.

Meeting Dick was something Jason had tried to keep you from for as long as he could. He knew that Dick had a less than honorable reputation when it came to women, and you getting tangled in that web was the last thing he wanted for you. Despite his efforts, your attraction to the detective was stronger than he would have guessed and you managed to fall into the hole anyway. Jason, the ever so protective friend he was, tried to keep out of it, but his brother made that increasingly harder the more often you showed up at his apartment defeated and confused.

You had initially tried to keep your relationship with Dick a secret. You really did. But being friends with someone like Jason made that impossible. He was able to find out anything and everything he wanted. When he tried, and miserably failed, to subtly ask you if you were seeing someone he knew, you came clean about everything. You told him about how the night you met Dick, he had taken you back to his apartment and you two talked for hours and hours. Jason had been slightly thrown off that he didn’t try to sleep with you, but you assured him that that didn’t happen until nearly two weeks after you had met.

You also divulged the true nature of your feelings for Dick that night, and Jason had suggested that you tell him or it was going to ultimately cause you pain and heartache. “I tried to bring it up once,” You had said, “But he kind of shut it down pretty quick. Said that we’re just friends who hook up sometimes. He just- he acts like it’s more than that when we’re in bed and it’s so confusing, but I don't want to give it up. If that’s all I can have of him, I’ll deal.”

That was nearly four months ago, and nothing had changed. Dick would call you at random times day or night and you would go running every single time. It was pathetic how desperate you were to have a piece of him, but you were too scared to ask for more. He was too closed off with his feelings to ever let you get even an inkling of how he felt about you outside of physical attraction. Jason had been right about this bringing you nothing but despair. Nonetheless, you stayed at his mercy.

Your body was hot and sticky with sweat as you lay on Dick’s chest, fingers tracing along the scars that littered his skin. You often asked how he managed to obtain so many, but he, much like Jason, said the same thing every time. “Job’s just dangerous”. You’re not quite sure how being a detective and security guard would get one in situations to earn such wounds, though you never pressed too hard. His arm was tight around you, making sure that you stayed tucked into his side as his fingers delicately grazed your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind in their wake. Moments like these you both despised and cherished. They made your heart swell with hope and want, but they also made your stomach turn with uncertainty.

“You going to the gala tomorrow,” Dick’s asked, his grip slightly tightening.

You peered up at him through your eyelashes, “Yeah. Jay always makes me go with him since he ‘can’t handle it alone’. Are you, or do you have to work?”

Dick’s not sure why hearing that you would be attending the event with his brother hit him the way it did. It made his throat close up and his chest burn with jealousy. You had always attended Bruce’s events with Jason, and he knew that. He knows that it was purely platonic, but a part of himself couldn’t help but think there was something else there. He knows his brother is an attractive guy, and God you are the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. It only made sense for you two to be attracted to each other, and that’s what he has been running with.

“Yeah, I’m bringing a girl from work actually,” His voice was flat as he loosened his grip on you so that he was barely touching you now. It was a total lie, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. 

It was as if Dick punched a hole into your chest and ripped your heart out with his own two hands. Your movements froze as you blinked back the tears that instantly pricked your eyes, not wanting to give away the effect his words had on you. He was always good at reminding you that you were a disposable secret to him, but it hurt all the same every time.

Composing yourself, you flattened your hand on his chest and used it to push yourself up into a sitting position. You avoided looking at Dick as you slipped out of his bed and began putting your clothes back on. He watched you, trying to piece together what was going through your brain. He shamelessly wanted to believe it to be jealousy; that you detested the idea of another woman on Dick’s arm, but he knew better than that. He assumed you were in a hurry to get to Jason’s apartment, which is where he knew you went every time after you left his place. He had followed you one night to make sure you stayed safe, but he wasn’t prepared for his own heart to be put into danger.

That was the night he realized just how deep his feelings for you were, and it scared him to no end. He thought he was doing good at guarding his heart, but then he met you. You had effortlessly and entirely captured him. Dick craved everything about you. He craved your touch. Your smile. Your laughter. You. He would do whatever it took to have a part of you no matter how much it hurt him to know your heart would never belong to him. 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” You spoke through the awkward tension in the air, “I should probably go home to sleep before tomorrow. Don’t want to look like a walking zombie, you know.”

Your idiotic attempt at a joke hung in the air as you slipped your socks on, and you mentally slapped yourself for saying that. Wanting to get away from the now uncomfortable situation, you rushed out of his apartment without another word to the man who held your heart in his hands. Typically, you would walk to Jason’s and mope about your unfortunate situation, but you opted to go to your own apartment instead. You made sure to let Jason know of your plans so that he didn’t quite literally break into your house to make sure that you were alive. His “u ok?” text went ignored as you fell into your bed and begged your thoughts to quiet themselves so you could sleep in peace.

You woke the next morning with a new sense of determination, and a little bit of retaliation on your mind. You quickly sent Cass and Steph a text asking them to come do some last minute shopping with you, which they were more than happy to agree to. They both met you outside of your apartment an hour later, questions tumbling out of their mouth as soon as they saw you. You brushed off their interrogations with a laugh and started towards the nicer part of Gotham.

“I thought you already had a dress,” Cass pointed as you walked into one of your favorite dress shops in the fashion district.

“I do, but I always wear some variation of black and blue and I wanted to switch it up,” You shrugged as you filtered through some of the dresses on the rack.

Truthfully, you knew that the colors you always wore matched the colors that Dick wore as well. It was something that he mentioned drove him crazy whenever he managed to pull you away to have his way with you. You started wearing those colors for him specifically, but something inside you switched this morning. Today, you were going to wear something else and prayed to anyone that would listen that it would get underneath his skin. You knew it was childish, but if he was going to bring someone else, you didn’t care.

The two of them shared a knowing look with each other before diving in to help you search. They were aware of your situation with Dick and how you felt about him, but unlike you, they could see the way he felt about you. They knew that if you showed up wearing something other than the colors he wore to protect the city, he was going to be absolutely furious. However, they secretly hoped it got under his skin enough to ignite the fire he needed to tell you how he truly felt.

You had gathered a decent amount of options, so you decided to move over to the dressing room area and try what you had on. You had tried on a variation of styles and colors; none of which you liked. The girls of course gave their honest opinions, and you got rid of the ones they made faces at almost immediately. Your last pick was a long-sleeved red dress with a slit on the right side and a plunged neckline. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice the way the color looked slightly off, but it still made you look damn hot.

You opened the curtain and slowly stepped out, catching the girl's attention. “Now that’s sure going to piss Dick off,” Cass laughed, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, but she’s right. If your goal is to make him mad, that dress will sure make that happen,” Steph agreed as she nudged Cass to calm down, “Is that what you want?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know. At first, yes, but now I just- I’m not sure. I don’t think he’ll even notice,” You sighed, casting your eyes to the ground as you lightly pinched at the satin.

“Oh he’ll notice alright. He might beat the shit out of Jay, too.”

Your eyes darted back towards them, wide and alert. The last thing you wanted to cause any sort of fight between your best friend and man you were in love with. “Why would he do that over a dress,” You rushed out, hands nervously gripping the fabric.

“It’s not the dr- He won’t, hon. It was just a joke,” Cass recovered as she glared at Steph, “I’m sure he won’t do that. You’re just going to look really good and he’ll probably be a little jealous is all.”

You ignored Steph’s quiet snort and went back to change, making the decision to go ahead and get the dress. It was as if it was tailored specifically for your body, and not getting it would almost be criminal. You knew you were going to have to dip into your savings a little to afford the dress, but the way it looked on you was worth it. Once you had changed and went to go pay, but there was a woman standing outside the dressing room with a dress bag.

“We paid for it,” Steph peeked her head around the woman, a smile beaming on her face, “And no you can not pay us back!”

After a failed attempt at trying to get the girls to at least take some of your money, they took you back to the manor to get ready with them. Cassandra called Bruce who had Alfred ready one of the larger rooms for the three of you to get ready in. Steph put on some music as you took turns showering in the biggest shower you had seen in your entire life. You had stayed in there a little longer than you intended, getting lost in your thoughts about Dick Grayson.

You could tell that the girls were itching to ask you about why your sudden change in outfit happened, but were keeping quiet in case it was too sensitive of a topic. It was clear to them that you were trying to get back at Dick, but they couldn’t figure out why. They were both capable of asking the right questions in order to gain the information they wanted; it was a practice they put into use nearly every day. However, they felt guilty using that skill on you.

The closer the time for the event to start came, the harder it became to breathe. Knowing that Dick was bringing someone else made your entire body ache as you wondered why you weren’t good enough. He had told you before that he never liked to bring dates because people would speculate, and he only wanted them to speculate if it were true. Now, he would mingle and flirt all he wanted, but he had never kept it to one person the entire night. This girl had to be someone special if he was okay with rumors flying around.

Nearly an hour later, the sound of someone knocking broke through the intense concentration you had from doing your makeup. Steph, who was already done getting ready, pulled the door open and Jason came barreling in. He was dressed in an all black suit, but the tie he was sporting was the same color as the dress you had bought today. You internally smacked yourself for not remembering that red was Jason’s color, and that’s why the girls said what they did about Dick.

“What do you want,” Steph huffed, quickly closing the door in case anyone passed by.

“I’m bored,” Jason groaned as he fell backwards onto the untouched bed.

“So go bother someone else,” Cass spoke over her shoulder, giving Jason an annoyed glare. If you hadn’t known anny better, you would have thought she was being serious.

“Y/N’s in here and she’s my friend so why don't you go bother someone else. Anyways, we need to be down there in like twenty minutes so you two better hurry.”

“I just need to get my dress on and I’m done,” You called out as you let the setting spray settle on your face.

You heard Steph whisper something to Jason, but you were too far away for it to be understood. You went back into the bathroom where your dress was hanging on the back of the door, leaving their whispers behind.  Nerves spread through every inch of your body as you slipped the dress on,  the urge to throw up growing with each second. A large part of you wanted to back out and just not go, but you knew that Jason would physically drag you if he had to.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you pulled the bathroom door open and walked back out into the room. Initially, Jason cast you a passing glance, but he nearly broke his neck swiveling back to you, sitting up so quickly the momentum almost threw him off the bed. The girls had the biggest smiles on their faces and you couldn’t help but blush at the attention.

“You’re right. He might kill me,” Jason laughed as he stood and strided over to you, “You look beautiful, but if you’re trying to get under Dick’s skin. I think you’re going to accomplish that.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize we’d be matching. I wanted to make him mad, but I don’t want to make him think this is happening,” You gestured between you and Jason as you grimaced. The thought of ever being involved with Jason like that made you uncomfortable.

“You wish it was, sweetheart,” Jason rolled his eyes, “Why do you wanna make him mad anyways?”

“Uh, he uh- Fuck,” You groaned, throwing your head back in frustration as you let the truth out, “He told me he was bringing someone else and I know it shouldn’t be a big deal but it’s just- you know why it bothers me..”

The girls looked both confused and shocked, but Jason. Jason was absolutely fuming. He already hated the way his brother treated you, but knowing that he would do something that childish made his blood boil. He knew that Dick never brought a woman to any events because he hated the rumors that accompanied that, and if Dick was willing to put up with that just to spite you? That was enough to make him see red.

“Jason,” Steph tried, sensing that he was about to boil over.

You watched as the two girls shared a look with each other as Jason tightly clenched his fists. You felt guilty for making Jason so angry, but you knew it wasn’t you that made him mad. It was his brother and his idiotic behavior, but a part of you wished that you had just kept that to yourself. You knew that he hated the way Dick was treating you and this only added fuel to that already blazing fire.

“I’m fine,” He let out through strangled breaths, “I’m good. Let’s just go downstairs.”

Dick had been downstairs for the last thirty minutes, his heart beating harder and faster the longer he waited for your arrival. Bruce could tell that he wasn’t all the way there, but chose to not ask his son what was on his mind. In fact, he already knew the answer to his own question. Dick paced the floor, eyes glancing to the door every few seconds in case you chose to make your entrance then.

He was nervous to see you after what he had said to you last night. He had no intentions of making that lie a truth, but he still felt the guilt eating away at him ever since you had left. You hadn’t texted him when you got home, and you also hadn’t texted him all day. That was how he knew that he had struck a nerve, but he was still naive as to why. He had convinced himself that there was no way you felt the same way, so why were you suddenly so distant?

You had attempted to soothe Jason’s anger by telling him it wasn’t a big deal and that you didn’t care if Dick brought someone else, but he saw right through your lies. He curtly brushed your comments off as his eyes stayed set on the path in front of him; one thing staying at the forefront of his mind.

Your heart was bound to beat out of your chest the closer you got to the party, you’re sure of that. The combination of having to see Dick and Jason’s anger towards him was not helping ease any of your already bubbling anxiety. You wrung your fingers together as you tried to calm yourself down, but it wasn’t doing much. You wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave and pretend like nothing ever happened.

Steph and Cass kept glancing at you, passing you sympathetic gazes as they walked ahead. They could practically feel the nerves radiating off of you mixed with the pure rage off of Jason. It put them on high alert, and they knew they were going to have to keep a close eye on their brothers in order to maintain some sort of peace. A silent agreement was made to keep the two of them apart until Jason got his emotions in check.

“Jason,” You tried again as you entered the party, hand instinctively gripping Jason’s bicep “Please don’t do anything stupid. It’s fine.”

Several eyes watched as you descended the stairs on Jason’s arm and you knew whispers were being thrown around thanks to the accidental matching outfits. You had, of course, been seen with Jason countless times before, but now the public had all the proof that they needed to confirm the relationship they had created in their heads.

“I never do anything stupid, sweetheart. Everything I do is calculated and on purpose,” He teased, his anger fading for a fleeting moment.

Dick found you as soon as you stepped foot into the room, but he immediately wished that he hadn’t. Your dress was a deep red color that not only matched Jason’s tie, but the helmet that adorned his head as he prowled the streets of Gotham. Dick could feel any hope that he had shatter with each step that you took, and he hated himself for it. It was his own fault.

“Dick,” Bruce’s gruff voice pulled his gaze away from you, “If there’s going to be a problem-”

“There won’t be,” He interrupted before turning on his heels and heading straight for the bar.

Cass made a beeline straight for Dick while Steph stayed relatively close to the two of you. Jason had taken a glass of champagne from the first waitress that passed by, not even letting the poor woman get four steps away before he needed another one. Your hand stayed glued to his bicep as an attempt for comfort while also keeping him near you. Just when you thought you had grown accustomed to the scrutinizing stares of Gotham’s most elite, it was ten times worse now.

“Good evening Mister Todd,” A man you recognized from The Gotham Globe approached, his annoyingly bright smile plastered on, “I see we have made the relationship official?”

“Piss off,” Jason grumbled, dragging you away from the obnoxious reporter.

Stares lingered longer than usual and whispers were present anywhere the two of you went. You tried to tune everything out, but the ache in your heart remained. You had only seen the back of Dick as he spoke with a woman; you assumed she was his date. You barely managed to fight back tears, but the thought of Jason seeing them made it a little easier to control. Despite your current suffering, you didn’t wish him any harm.

Dick didn’t mean to find you every chance that he could. He really didn’t, but it was like his own subconscious was trying to torment him. Forcing him to watch you throw your head back with laughter as you clung to his younger brother. It lit the sort of rage within him that was different from the one he got when he was dealing with the scum of Gotham. This rage was based out of fear. He needed to get out of there, at least for a moment.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, Jay,” You had leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I might be a while, though. I just need to breathe for a little bit.”

You slipped your arm out of his own before making way towards the stairs. You had spent enough time at these events to know where and how to escape unnoticed. You were essentially being guided by pure muscle memory as you snuck into one of the rooms that was in an area off limits to guests. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you turned and leaned your head against the dark wooden door, letting out a deep sigh.

“Are you okay,” A voice you would recognize anywhere cut through the silence. You let out a startled yelp, opening your eyes to see Dick sitting on his old bed. You had, unintentionally, guided yourself to the one room you were trying to stay away from.

His eyes dragged over your body for the thousandth time tonight, but now he was able to really admire you. You looked breathtaking. Though to him, you always did. To him, you were the most beautiful woman to exist in any world, but he couldn’t help but feel annoyed. He had come here to escape the aching in his chest for a moment, but it seemed the universe wanted him to suffer.

“I’m sorry,” You finally managed to speak, albeit quietly, “I didn’t mean to come in here.”

“It’s fine. I was just leaving,” He avoided eye contact with you as he stood.

“No, don’t,” You rushed out, taking a few steps towards him, “This is your room. I’ll leave.”

The sound of your heels clicking against the hardwood floors made Dick look up and meet your gaze. Dick had spent countless hours observing you and getting to know each and every part of your body that he could tell you were nervous. He could sense the apprehension from the way you struggled to maintain eye contact to the way your fingers pinched at the fabric of your dress. He wanted nothing more than to kiss away any anxiety you had, but he knew he couldn't do that. Not anymore.

Dick’s hair was untamed in a way that looked as if he had been pulling at it, something you knew he does when he’s frustrated. His cheeks were tinged red and eyes slightly bloodshot and tired. Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to reach out to him. To let him know that you were there, but you couldn’t let him back in again. You had endured enough pain from him.

“You look beautiful,” He quietly spoke, gaze unwavering.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes darted across the room, “Thank you. It was a last minute change and I accidentally ended up matching with Jason, which is only fueling those stupid rumors. I should have just worn the dress I originally bought, but I-”

“Y/N,” Dick cut off your rambling, knowing you would keep going until you couldn’t breathe, “You mean that you and Jason aren’t…”

Your gaze snapped to his own at the implication, and you could see the desperation and defeat swimming in his eyes. “No, Dick. No,” You squeezed your eyes shut as you shook your head, “Nothing has changed on that front, and it never will. But even if it did, why do you care? You brought a date.”

Your voice was thick with emotion as you mentioned his alleged date, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from brimming with tears. You hated that the simple thought of him with someone else made you break, but there was no stopping that now. He took a few steps towards you and took your face in his hands as you attempted to blink back tears.

“I lied,” He whispered, thumbs wiping away at the tears that managed to break free, “I never had a date. I only said I did because I was hurt and confused. I was hurt because I’ve convinced myself that Jason is the one that you want. That he’s the guy you want to be with; not me. I know that you spend a lot of time with him so I just thought...”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words settled; your skin burning in the places his fingers pressed against. You wanted to cling onto the hope that he meant that the same way that you wanted him to, but you’re scared. You’re scared to let yourself believe the one thing he had convinced you wasn’t true. Your eyes were a tell all for Dick, and he hated the painful look in them now. He could tell you were holding back, and he knew he was the cause of that.

“I don’t want to be with Jason,” You began, voice wavering, “I spend a lot of time with him because he’s my friend and he’s there for me. He listens to me and he comforts me because I’m an idiot in love with someone who doesn’t love me back.”

Every nerve in Dicks body was telling him to let you go. He would never forgive himself if someone were to find out who he was and used you to hurt him. Jason would never forgive him. Bruce taught him that keeping someone you love far away is what will keep them the safest, but what good has that done him? He’s a gloomy man who hides his feelings with a veil of indifference. A veil any person could see through if they looked hard enough.

His silence was unnerving, so you were quick to add, “Dick, it’s okay that you don't feel the same. I’ve known that for a long time.”

“I do,” He hurried as his fingers pressed slightly harder, “I love you, and that scares me in more ways than you could ever know. I thought I knew what it was like to be in love, but then I met you and I realized that nothing has ever compared to the way I feel about you. I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes. I can’t let that go.”

The tears you were desperately trying to keep at bay flowed down your cheeks as he confessed. You had been waiting to hear him say he loved you for so long that even now, it doesn’t feel real. If it weren’t for the pressure on your cheeks from his fingers, you would have convinced yourself that you were hallucinating. That he wasn’t truly there and the few glasses of champagne you had got to your head.

You lunged forward, quickly capturing his lips with your own. He let out a low groan as he dropped his hands to your waist, pulling you into his grasp. You knotted your fists in his undoubtedly expensive button up as the two of you kissed each other like your lives depend on it. Obviously, you’ve done this particular dance with Dick before, but this was different. This was the kind of kiss that splits the sky in two and opens it up to the heavens.

You can taste the alcohol on his lips as he gently turns and guides you backwards until the backs of your thighs come in contact with the obnoxiously large desk. One of his hands moves to fumble around with the various objects scattered across the desk. His struggles cause you to lightly break away and let out an airy giggle as he works to clear the top.

“I haven’t touched this thing in years I don’t know why there’s so much shit on it,” He mumbled against your lips, “Oh fuck it.”

He shoved everything onto the ground and hoisted you up onto the now empty desk, and you couldn’t help but throw your head back in laughter at how cliché that was. “Calm down, hotshot. You’re going to attract an audience with that noise.”

He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his dark, lustful gaze, “Let them watch then.”

The pool between your legs grew, aching for any sort of friction to ease the desire that had blossomed inside of you. You were desperate for a release, so you pulled him in by the back of his neck and met his lips in a blinding kiss. Dick gripped the underside of your thigh, pulling you flush against his body. Your fingers pulled and tugged at his hair and suddenly he's kissing you harder with a fervent desire that left you utterly breathless.

“Dick,” You pulled away, “If you don’t stop kissing me like that, you’re going to have to fuck me.”

Dick was slightly stunned at your bluntness, but it just made him even more attracted to you; something he did not think was possible. “Not that I don’t want to, but I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you,” He whispered, his eyes dancing all across your face as if he was memorizing every inch of it, “Trust me, I really really want to. I also want to do things right with you and I know I’ve been fucking it up for the last few months.”

“Who knew you were such a softie,” You teased, “But now is not the ti-”

You were cut off by Jason’s voice bouncing off the hallway walls as he called your name. You instantly shoved yourself off of the desk and began to straighten your dress. Dick let you push him away from you, his heart constricting as he let himself go back to what he thought previously. You looked behind you and you could tell that he was upset.

“Hey,” You started, cupping his cheek in your hand, “Don’t do that. It isn’t like that at all, okay? I just know that he is extremely pissed off at you right now and I want to do a little damage control first. I promise you I will come over later and we can do whatever you want.”

“Can you stay with me tonight,” He pleaded, taking your other hand in his own, “Stay with me as my girlfriend.”

He felt cheesy saying that, but he didn’t care. Not when it came to you, and especially not when he got to see the most beautiful smile that came after it. You heard Jason’s footsteps getting closer, so you have Dick one last kiss before quickly leaving his room. 

“Y/N,” Jason called out, “Were you in Dick’s room?”

“Can we go talk somewhere? I need to tell you something and I don’t think doing it in public is wise.”

let me know what you guys think! if you want, you can also send in some requests ;)

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing x reader #titans!verse dick grayson #dc imagine #dick Grayson imagine #dick Grayson angst #nightwing imagine #nightwing angst

[elliespassagerprincess]

Can you maybe do post man Abby with Mrs.postman- Black pumas

Mrs. Postman - (abby anderson x reader)

Hi anon! this was so weird to write because where I'm from we don't have people who deliver our mail, but i hope i did you justice. I hope you enjoy:)

This story is based off the song Mrs. Postman by Black Pumas, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: post man!abby x fem!reader

requests are open again! send me your silly thoughts:)

warnings: none

Summary: in which you fell for the post lady

authors note: first abby fic that isn't hcs??? let's fucking go dude. My second post for the day, I'm blessing yall before I leave till god knows when lmao.

Every tomorrow brings sunshine in my neighborhood since you've been in it

Oh-oh, here comes Mrs. Postman

She's thicker than blue blood and a message from her spirits, high descendant

Oh-oh, it's Mrs. Postman

This commonality won't let her be fooled by low conditions

Oh-oh, says Mrs. Postman

Your love reside in me but other feathers seem to flock together

Oh-oh, Mrs. Postman

You hated this stupid fucking city.

You don't even know why you moved here in the first place. It was fucking hot. Everything was expensive. You hated this place so much.

The Jackson sun was high in the sky, as you stood at the window drinking your morning tea.

You had moved in a couple of weeks ago, and today was finally the day you would be able to get your mail.

You finally heard the knock at the door, and with excitement you ran towards it. You almost tripped but no one needs to know that.

As you opened the door, you thought you stood in front of a god.

Her blonde hair, was pulled back in a tight braid, she was staring at you with her beautiful eyes, and her smile was just fucking perfect. Her uniform sat tight against her skin, showing her body is just the right places.

Holy shit.

Postman or Postwoman? You don't even what to call her.

"Hi, I'm Abby! You must be new" she said with a bright smile.

Now you knew why everyone is Jackson was always so happy in the morning, their fucking postman was a ray of sunshine.

"Yeah I am" you said with a small smile, opening up your hand to take the package from her hands.

"Have a good day ma'am" Abby said, before she walked away.

Maybe Jackson wasn't that bad after all.

If you want it

Go and get it, you can have it Mrs. Postman

That's alright

Can we spark it? Effervescence, let the flame burn Mrs. Postman

Right on

When it rains just know that every little thing is alright

All the same, I know that everything will be right on time

as the weeks went by, you realized that Jackson wasn't such a bad place.

The people were nice, it was a safe area. The Postlady is really hot. Things were looking up.

You found yourself waking up earlier in the morning, just to make yourself look prettier. You would sweep your front porch daily, to make sure that Abby would come to a clean place. You found yourself baking cookies, and giving it to her every morning.

What was happening to you?

Even when you didn't have any mail, Abby always made a turn at your place. Her visits always made you feel special.

The days Abby didn't come, you always felt the lack of her presence. She'd become a part of you routine. She's become a part of you.

Over time you learned small facts about the blonde.

Her dad was a surgeon, she had one dog, her favorite color is blue, she works 5 days a week, and she's trying to get into college.

You could say the two of you had established a friendship.

You saw whatever you had as more than that. You guys weren't a friendship in your eyes. You felt that there was more.

Your crush on Abby grew by the second, every interaction, every smile and giggle she let out had an effect on you.

god you were down bad for your fucking Postwoman.

Today was like no other.

You woke up, took a showers and you put on brand new blue sundress you bought to hope fully catch Abby's eye.

You sat in your living room, staring at the clock, counting down the seconds of Abby's arrival.

You heard a knock at your door, and you jumped up, cleaning your throat as you walked towards the door. You took a deep breath as you opened the door and you were met with Abby's smiling face.

You saw her eyes wonder down your body as she looked at your outfit.

She thought you looked fucking beautiful.

"Hi Abby" you muttered shyly.

Your eyes met as, and you felt a spark.

"Hi" Abby smiled.

"Do I have mail?" you asked.

"Yeah a letter" Abby handed it to you.

You thanked her and the two of you stood there for a while.

"Aren't you supposed to go Abby?" You asked unsure of why she still stood there.

"Open it"

with a raised eyebrow you opened the letter.

The page was complete white, but in the middle of the page there was some words written in black ink.

Will you go on a date with me?

From your favorite postwoman

Abby <3

You looked up at her with eyes wide, and she awkwardly brought her hand up to scratch the back of her neck.

"So?" She asked unsure.

She looked terrified.

"Fuck yes" You breathed before you leaped forward bringing her in for a hug. You gave her a kiss on a cheek as you pulled away, her face was red.

You made her so fucking nervous.

"Can we go out tonight?" Abby looked at you with a hopeful smile.

"See you tonight ms postman"

#abby tlou #abby #abby anderson #abby anderson angst #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson fic #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x f!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby the last of us #abby tlou2 #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x y/n #abby x you #tlou abby #tlou art

[skyeet-the-writer]

The One With the Girl from Canada

while im cleaning out my drafts, here's something from a few months ago. i really like this and i've written and are currently writing some more little chapters, so be on the lookout for them!! this is also posted on my ao3 if you want to go read it there too :) chandler bing x female!reader summary: new york city is a big place for a girl who lived in canada her entire life, but you manage. one afternoon, while getting some work done in a cozy coffee shop, a very handsome brunette asks to sit beside you. who are you to tell him no? word count: ~2.3k warnings: none i don't think lmao that never happens next>

Central Perk is a special spot for Chandler Bing. That's where he talks with his friends, it's where they all relax, it's where he met Rachel just a couple of months ago, coming in wearing a wedding dress and looking highly frazzled. It's got a nice, calming atmosphere, pretty good coffee, and the absolute best spot in all of Manhattan.

The area with the couch is where he and his friends always sit. Sometimes he feels bad for taking it, but nobody seems to mind, ever. And so he always sits there, usually on the couch when it is available.

When he walked into Central Perk one afternoon after work, he just wanted to grab a coffee and wait for the rest of his friends to show up eventually. He didn't expect there to be anyone there, no one ever was at this time on a Thursday.

But then he saw someone sitting in his spot.

Normally, he would have been upset, probably ask them to leave, nicely, of course, and pray to God that they left because he hates confrontation.

However, the person sitting in his spot was probably the most beautiful person he had ever seen. She looked like she had been there for a few hours, at least, because there was an empty plate with crumbs on it and a large mug drained, both sitting on the coffee table her feet were propped up on.

For a moment, Chandler stood at the counter and stared at her like some kind of creep. He had never seen her around and he knew he'd remember if he did. She wore gray jeans rolled up at the ankles to show off her colorful socks underneath a pair of black and white Converses. As his eyes traveled up her frame, he saw her wearing some kind of band tee and a tiny, silver necklace around her neck. She seemed to be writing something and, from what Chandler could tell, she seemed to be deep into thought. Her pencil scratched across the notebook and every so often, she would pause and read over it before promptly erasing something and writing once more.

He heard his name being said and turned around to see Guther holding out a coffee cup to him.

"Oh, thanks, Gunther," he told the worker, taking the coffee from him.

Chandler had never been good at talking to girls and more often than not chickened out on the opportunity to do so. But he didn't want to chicken out on talking to you.

And so, with confidence, he walked over to the area he always sat at and stood just beside the couch, next to your arm that was leaning on the armrest.

Before now, he didn't notice the headphones around your ears and the Walkman that sat beside you, but when he clears his throat and you don't react, he understands why. And so, again and a little bit louder, he clears his throat, gently tapping on your shoulder.

Your eyes tear away from the page in your lap at the touch of another person and you whip your head up to see a man standing beside you, looking at you with a smile. Perhaps too loudly, you exclaim, "Oh, shit, sorry!" and hastily pause your music and let the headphones rest around your neck. You blink up at the man and ask, "Yes?"

"I, uh." Chandler swallows thickly because even your voice is one from a dream. "You're, uh, kind of in my spot."

With a mischievous smile, you turn around in your seat like you're looking for something. "Oh, word? I don't see your name on it."

And then you smile at him snarkily and Chandler forgets how to breathe. But then he laughs, a bit awkwardly. Your sarcastic grin fades into a true one and you add, "Don't worry, I'll move."

When you start to gather your things, Chandler is quick to put a stop to it. He doesn't want you to move, not now, not ever. Not when he's just started to talk to you. "No, no, you're fine, I'm just kidding."

You stop your movements and look up at him. "Oh, alright. You can sit next to me, though."

Chandler doesn't have to be told twice. He sits beside you on the opposite side of the couch and takes a drink of his coffee like that will do anything to cure his jitters.

"What's your name?" you ask him, setting your notebook in your lap for just a moment. You wonder if he wants to have a conversation, but not many people in New York do.

He answers, "Chandler."

"Nice to meet you, Chandler. I'm y/n."

God, even your name sounds like something from a song.

"It's nice to meet you, too, y/n." He takes notice of the notebook in your lap and feels the urge to ask, "Mind if I ask what you're writing?"

With another grin, you say, "What if I did?"

Chandler can only wonder if your smile is contagious because he feels his lips curl upwards. "I mean, I'd still ask. I'm nosey."

You laugh and tilt your notebook for him to read. "It's a screenplay I'm writing."

Chandler's eyes widen. "You're a screenwriter? What, you make movies and stuff?"

"I wish." You scoff and feel a slight heat rise to your cheeks. "No, I write stories for movies and stuff. At least, I try."

"Is it not going so well?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Some studio called me up a few months ago, said they liked the idea I submitted and gave me a few months to come up with a first draft. And I've got two more weeks to finish it, so we'll see."

"I'm sure it's great," Chandler says and he means it. He can't write for shit, but something about you seems so...creative and special. "Even if I just met you."

You laugh again and close the notebook, stashing it away in the tote bag that rests on the floor. "Thanks, really."

"Of course." When you turn your body to face him, he sees what band is on your shirt and, even though he knows who it is, he asks, "What band is that?"

When he points to your chest, you look down and answer, "Oh, Nirvana."

"Oh, my God, I love them!"

"Really?" Your face breaks into a grin and you lean forwards a little. "What's your favorite song."

"'Heart-Shaped Box'," he says.

"Oh, that's good. I like 'Come As You Are'."

Soon, the conversation seems to flow quite naturally between the pair of you. He tells you about his boring job, something with a bunch of numbers and nothing exciting. You both compare bands and he realizes you're much more into rock and alternative works, but he guessed that the second he saw the leather jacket that rests beside you.

Joey is the first to arrive. Chandler glances up at the door when he hears the bell above it jingle and sees his roommate falter at the sight of you. You're not looking, rummaging through your tote bag for something and Chandler's eyes widen at the sight of the other person. If Joey flirts with you, Chandler will kill him.

Joey, clearly not catching on to Chandler's look from across the cafe, sees you and smirks, walking over.

"Hey, Chandler," he greets but doesn't look at his friend, eyes settling on you. "Who's, uh, your friend?"

You turn up at the sound of another person and spot the Italian-American smiling at you. You smile back and say, "I'm y/n."

"How you doin'?" Joey smirks and sits himself down on the high stool beside you. "I'm Joey."

"Hi, Joey," you reply, glancing at Chandler who quickly wipes the glare from his face and smiles at you. "You guys know each other?"

"We're roommates," he answers, motioning at his friend who is still staring at you.

You blink and shift in your seat. "Oh."

"I like your shirt," Joey says.

"You like Nirvana, too?" Your face brightens and Chandler almost melts.

But then his roommate says, "Who?"

And that look on your face is gone. Your smile falls and you look away back into your tote, mumbling, "Never mind."

Chandler meets his friend's eyes and shakes his head twice, brows furrowed. Joey always gets the girl. Chandler deserves to hope, at least.

You pull out a packet of gum and open it. You take a piece out and unwrap it before offering one to Chandler. He smiles and takes it, popping it in his mouth and shoving the wrapper in his pocket.

"Want some gum?" you ask the other man with darker and messier hair.

He takes one and thanks you. You return it with a grin and put the gum back in your tote, on top of your notebook.

Joey says your name and you look at him. "So, you live around here?"

You nod. "Yeah, I live in Hell's Kitchen."

"Oh, cool, cool. How long have you lived here? You grew up in New York?"

Immediately, you shake your head. "Oh, no, no, I didn't grow up here."

"Where'd you grow up?" Chandler asks, tilting his head

"Winnipeg," you answer, biting back a smile.

Chandler's brows furrow and Joey asks, "Where's that?"

"Manitoba." Your straight cracks a bit and you try to fight the smile that wants to paint itself across your lips.

Joey looks lost and asks again, "...Where's that?"

"Canada," you tell him, fully grinning now.

Joey gasps and Chandler tries not to roll his eyes. He figured it out when you said Manitoba. He says, "You're from Canada?"

You nod, turning your head to look at him. "Yep."

"Do you speak French?" Joey asks, touching your arm, clearly already friendly with you.

Turning to him, you answer, "Non."

Chandler laughs and you giggle, crossing one leg over the other.

"I speak Italian," Joey says.

You raise a brow. "Yeah?"

He nods and leans forward in his chair, smirking. "Sei bellissima."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're beautiful," he answers, voice a little lower than it was before.

Some heat rushes up your neck and you look away at your lap. "Oh."

Chandler glares at his friend, but Joey doesn't catch it.

Thankfully, before Chandler reaches over you to choke Joey, the bell dings and he glances at the door. Monica, Ross, Phoebe, and Rachel are walking in and while the rest of his friends make their way over, Rachel immediately goes to clock in for her shift.

They walk over and greet the other two and Phoebe is the first to address you. "Oh, wow, you're pretty."

You laugh out loud, blushing even harder at the compliment from a woman, touching your necklace. "Thank you. I like your skirt."

Phoebe giggles and swishes her skirt. "Thanks."

"This is y/n," Chandler introduces you to his friends.

"Hey." You lift your hand in a wave of sorts, feeling like you're butting in on their group. You should leave, but in a minute. You don't want to be rude.

Chandler's friends introduce themselves--Ross, Monica, and Phoebe, you repeat their names in your head to remember better--and then he gestures towards the coffee bar. "And the girl over there is Rachel."

"It's nice to meet you guys," you say politely, squeezing your hands in your lap.

"You too." Monica smiles. "I love your shirt, by the way."

"Thanks." You grin, basking in all the compliments.

Ross looks at Monica and asks, "You listen to Nirvana?"

Monica fixes him with a look. "Yes, because I'm cooler than you."

You chuckle at their interaction when Joey suddenly blurts out, "Ask her where she's from!"

You giggle at the man's antics and look at the others.

Ross smiles and asks, "Alright. Where are you from?"

"Winnipeg," you reply, still smiling. Chandler thinks he's going to swoon.

Monica is the first to figure it out. "You live in Canada?"

You nod. "I mean, I used to. I moved to Hell's Kitchen a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh, my god, so you just moved here," Chandler says.

"Why did you move all the way from Canada down to here?" Ross wonders.

"I'm a screenwriter and ended up getting a job down here," you answer. "Besides, Canada is boring, so I was looking for a change of scenery."

"Well, how do you like it here so far?" Phoebe asks.

You shrug. "It's pretty nice. A little colder, somehow, but I like it. There are a lot more people and a lot more things to do and see. I lived in Winnipeg my entire life so I kind of felt like I saw everything."

"I've always wanted to go to Canada," Rachel says, coming to hand out coffee.

You smile. "It's nice. Alberta is really pretty."

Mustering up some courage, Chandler says, "Hey, if you ever need someone to show you around the city, I'll be happy to help you."

And then you look at him and grin, nodding. "That'd be sick."

He feels heat start to creep up his cheeks, and he smiles back. "Awesome."

You look at the time on the clock and say, "I've got to head out, but it was great to meet you guys."

"Yeah, you too!" Monica says.

Taking a Post-it note from your bag, you write down your number and hand it to Chandler. He takes it and tries not to stare at it too hard. "Hope to catch you guys later."

Chandler's friends wave to you and you walk out the door, shrugging your jacket on before walking off. Chandler stares at the window for several seconds after you're gone and only snaps out of it when Monica says something.

"Chandler, how the hell did you get her number?"

He shrugs, looks at the bright blue Post-it note, and reads it.

here :) (xxx-xxx-xxxx)

He smiles and puts it in his pocket, trying to ignore the looks his friends are giving him. You're very cool and very pretty and Chandler can't wait to see you again.

#x reader #chandler bing #chandler bing x reader #canadian reader #ross geller #rachel green #joey tribbiani #monica geller #phoebe buffay

[trigunsbbygirl]

Human Things that Confuse Knives Part 2

Made a second one since I had more ideas lol

content warnings: teeth, use bomb in an analogy, mention bruises. this one gets more into the body/anatomy idk what all people are comfy with so just in case

•Knives already thinks dreams are kinda weird, but those surreal ones and the utterly weird ones that just make no sense or seemed so real you wonder if it actually happened? he wants to know what's going on in your brain. Knives will listen to you as you recount your dream, he won't say much or make any facial reactions, but part of him is kinda amazed that your can brain come up with the weirdest, coolest and/or creepiest things ever.

•the concept of having baby teeth and adult teeth weirds Knives out. when Knives learns that you do lose your teeth as a kid he's staring at you like you've just grown a second head. don't tell him that you have wisdom teeth that usually need to be taken out via surgery as a teenager. (Vash is kinda grossed out by it. found out when a kid he was playing with ran up to him and was like 'look! my tooth fell out!:D' he panicked, thinking they got hurt, but it's replaced with horror, disbelief, slight disgust and concern when he finds out every human looses a set of teeth. he hates it a little. has no idea what to do when a kid tells him that a tooth fell out. help him)

•also. imagine Knives surprise when he learns about the appendix. you had been talking with a friend when you mentioned appendicitis and that you had to have surgery. it peaked his interest and when you're done talking, Knives asks about it. he stares at you in uncertainty and disbelief the further you explain. what do you mean there's a small pouch in your stomach that serves little to no function that can essentially become a bomb? Knives doesn't actually believe you until he looks it up. he wonders how humans have survived with bodies like that.

•same wonder when it comes to you having to take vitamins and other supplements because sometimes a body won't produce enough of something or too much.

•the fact the humans shed/lose hair. Knives knows that, but it kinda grosses him out a bit. he hates seeing your hair strands, makes you clean them up. (I hc that the twins just have little to no body hair and they don't actually lose hair strands.)

•double jointed people also weirds Knives out. what do you mean you can twist or bend a joint further than normal? it doesn't exactly creep or gross him out, but he doesn't like it. he'll never admit that, but he won't look/talk to you for a bit after you show off that flexibility.

•Knives is fascinated by the way your skin can change colors. (don't mention that he can turn a lovely shade of red, he gets all huffy.) but, anyways, he loves examining your face, watching as your face gets darker with certain things he does. (also likes seeing your facial expressions. humans are so expressive..) he also likes seeing your bruises and watching as the bruise changes colors over time as it heals. you joked one day that you could give him a bruise of his own that he can watch. he didn't like the joke (he prefers to give you (consensual) bruises.)

•now let's get into reverse Isekai for a bit.

•Knives does not fucking understand social media lmao. why the hell do you have to tell people you've never met what you did or thought that day and why are so many people interested? why do people do stupid things for views??

•he hates online discourse and always tunes you out when you try to talk about something that happened online. he doesn't care and thinks it's stupid.

•do NOT let him find out about stan culture or chronically online people. he's gonna lose any faith he had in humanity again. I wouldn't worry about that too much though. he has zero online presence, never uses social media outside of YouTube and even then he only uses it to watch documentaries or how to videos.

•memes confuse him a lot, especially how fast they come and go. you don't even know how to explain them to him. "why is this picture of a man just standing so funny?" "it just is? I don't know either." how do you even explain memes and internet culture to someone who's never been on the internet lol

•Knives thinks you're really weird if you've got a skewed sense of humor where something dramatically falling over makes you laugh(thinking of that waffle video.) he watches those types of videos with a straight face and when the video ends he just stares at you, wondering if you seriously think that's funny.

•he hates those youtube poop and deepfried videos. not only does he find them stupid and doesn't understand them, but they just bother his ears.

•bonus: Vash thinks the circadian rythym is pretty neat and that some people just know when to wake up. it took Vash a while to develop one, or at least, something like that since he doesn't technically need sleep. it'll never quite be the same though since he doesn't exactly get tired like humans do. it took decades for that type of tiredness to become present, but even still, he doesn't need it to survive.

#trigun headcanons #trigun x reader #millions knives x reader #knives x reader #reverse isekai

[noridoorman]

It's artist appreciation time cause I feel like it

I wanna start of with my bestie @hex-touchstarved even though they're not in the murder drones fandom:

Really beautiful and interesting art with the monotone colors (black n white) and has so much personality, I wanna see more u b!ch

Okay now into the murder drones artists :]

@projectanomaly - such a cute, simple and recoginzable art style and WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DRAW WITH YOUR FINGER ON YOUR PHONE?! Such creative ideas and designs too and I especially love the ELS drawings bc they straight up look like somebody took a screenshot of an actual animated series (AND I'M A SUCKER FOR THAT)

@ayloverlove - SO much story writing potentional with her art. Her art has so much personality in it and always looks like you can imagine a story with them. Makes top notch angst and crack drawings too and always has such fun (or angsty) ideas that she draws and it looks sooo good with her detailed art-style.

@vaneplane I'M A SUCKER FOR THE GLOW, their art always look so delicious idk why. Their shading style is so recognizablell, all the glow, the pretty colors, THE EXPRESSIONS ON THE CHARACTERS ARE SO FUN TOO.

@lumineary-arts Top notch character expressions. Her art style is so simple yet has also so much personality, especially with how she draws the way the characters pose and facial expressions. ALSO, SO CLEAN LINEART WTH???

@astronic-fr I usually never laugh at funni art except when it's astronic. How can somebody be so funny and talented at the same time?? And when he draws angsty stuff it hits SO HARD, like how can you do both and be so good at it?! The art style fits so well with the things he draws, it's so good, goofy when it needs to be and heartwrenching beautiful too

@triocat Such an unique and recognizable art style like I have never seen somebody draw like they do and it looks so good. And don't get me started on their animations like holy hell, how can somebody be so good at animating, I'd deadass watch an entire series animated by them.

@just-a-lil-otter Doesn't draw as much MD I think BUT STILL, such a cute and simple art style that always makes me happy to see. It's that type of art style that just works so well with digital and traditional art styles, idk how to elaborate lmao

@buoyanttoaster let's motivate my boyfriend to draw more CAUSE HE'S GENIUNLY REALLY GOOD AND I FR WANNA SEE HIM DRAW MORE

@lilywily143 such cute and creative ideas and comics, I'm a sucker for them. I fr think her art style would work so well as digital art too but getting stuff for that is hella expensive (sometimes)

@lilblucat idk how to describe her art, it's soo good like?? I love just watching it, I don't wanna repeat all the other points I've said ahhh but I'm really running out of things to say. I REALLY REALLY REALLY love her shading, especially the soft shading she does on some art pieces and the doodles are so cute too rahhhhh

@evanostic so cute art, I could scroll thru their profile for ages to see them :') also I'm a sucker for the blue/purple-ish tint in some of their art and the way they draw expressions and poses are so cute, so expressive and just a joy to look at

Tell me if I've missed some artists

#md #murder drones

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 1 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; jealousy; negative self-talk; talks of miscarriage and hysterical pregnancy; allusions to childhood abuse; talks of pregnancy; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; therapy; talks of grieving a baby; pregnancy hormones (just the beginning lol); reader checking Jake out and being sad while she does it (lmao) (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 22.1k+

a/n: sorry it took a month, besties... hopefully this angsty fucking chapter makes up for it lmao <3

and don't worry, i won't be gone long ;)

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 30, 2022

Birds were chirping. The melodies of an acoustic guitar playing lullabies made your heart warm in your chest. A baby’s cries were being mellowed by the sound of the guitar. A smile, reaching the baby’s face that matched the one on the man playing the strings.

But you couldn’t look at him. Only the bundle of pure, unadulterated, untouched love in your arms; her eyes, looking the same as his, caught yours, the color of caramel coffee. . . twinkling just like his. . .

All pink and white and golden rays of sunshine.

Then, it was gone. 

No. Not again.

There was no more peace. No more lullabies. No more love from parent to child. . .

All dark and dirty and ear-piercing screams. 

A sister, trying to cover your eyes from what was happening, just inches in front of you.

Then there were hands. Hands gripping at your arms, the sister screeching, yelling and clawing for you as she got ripped away. As you got picked up so harshly your head hit something hard, making you dizzy. . . 

When you closed your eyes from the dizziness, you opened them afterwards to see that your sister was back. But she was older this time. 

Elsie. She was stunningly beautiful, as you knew she would grow up to be. Put together in an outfit that resembled that of Rachel Green. Her hair, flowing in strawberry blonde, soft waves around her delicate features and her blue eyes were wide open and wondering. Searching your eyes for something hidden in them. . .

What was she wanting? You couldn’t tell . . . Just as you were about to speak to ask her, she was in front of you, nudging you, not nearly as abrasively as the hands from before. 

You studied her quizzically – why was she–?

“Wake up!”

And the next time you blinked, your eyes were opened wide. 

To reality. To Elsie, shaking your arm in the present. You were an adult, she was an adult. Things were okay.

Life was safe again.

Shit. I’m so tired of that fucking dream, you thought angrily, sitting up and letting the covers fall away from your sweaty, tensed body. 

Blinking furiously, you let yourself cling to the softness— the safety of your bed. The bed hugged you, cocooned you in the fluffy down comforter. You were in your clean, quiet apartment. . . the rays peeking through your bedroom windows the same as they’d been at the beginning of your dream. 

“Sis,” Elsie said your name, out of all of her patience. “Come the fuck on. I’m hungry and I need coffee so bad. You know me. You know I’m about to lose all ability in my limbs if I don’t have caffeine stat–I need it. To survive,” she clutched her chest dramatically. “Please. Get your lazy ass up.”

You rolled your eyes with a giant huff, throwing your covers off of you to try and hit her with them. When you heard her gasp and slap at the covers, you figured you succeeded. 

“Y/n!” She said, backing up from the bed. When you saw her next, her hair was sticking up on all sides from static. Success. But she was laughing, finding it funny nonetheless. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” you said, sitting up to stretch a little. You had to fight the urge to put a hand to your tummy. Not in front of Elsie. “Now leave, I have to change.”

“I’ve seen you naked a million times before,” she argued. “Nothing I haven’t seen already.”

There sure as hell is something you haven’t seen on me already. . . Albeit a little small, but rounder nonetheless. 

“Well I don’t want you to look at my naked body this morning, so get the fuck out.”

You were getting irritated. Just wanted to change in peace. Wanted to hold your belly to start the day. It was routine at this point.

She growled, opening your door. “You have five minutes, or I’m leaving your ass.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

As you pulled up to Waffle House, scream-singing Ariana Grande lyrics with Elsie at the top of your lungs, you were sincerely hoping that your stomach wouldn’t roll at the smell of the greasy breakfast food. 

The nostalgia of the morning was something you wanted to wrap up tight and not let flutter away in the crisp and cool October breeze.

Please, sweet baby, you pleaded. Love Waffle House with me. Don’t make me give this up.

You wanted this with Els. This particular establishment had been cathartic to you and your sister for several years. Talks that far surpassed therapy sessions occurred here, in the back booth, almost completely surrounded by windows. . . The thought of sitting in that back booth was enough to make you cry right on the spot. 

And the All Star Special sounded so fucking delicious. Good sign that it at least still sounded good, right? 

You just wanted scrambled eggs, ham, hash browns with ketchup, and a gigantic waffle with the restaurant name pressed in the middle. It was all you wanted at that moment. Truly. Nothing more, nothing less. . . Your mouth was watering.

Cheesy and strange as it was, you were quite literally crossing your fingers that the food wouldn’t make you projectile vomit as Elsie opened the door for you two. 

Please don’t make me sick, please don’t make me sick. . .

To your extreme relief, your tummy didn’t knot and squeeze. No bile came to the base of your throat. . . In fact, the vanilla waffle mixture, the sizzling, salty smell of the bacon and ham. . . it was better than before. Your heightened senses welcomed the scrumptious, sentimental scents that came with the establishment. 

And the back booth was open! 

Tears literally pricked your eyes at the sight. And you must’ve sniffled because Elsie spun around, where you waited to be seated, and checked on you with worried eyes.

“You okay?” She pondered, her tone light with a joke, but eyes still serious. 

Not able to fully collect yourself thanks to the fantastic hormonal effects of your pregnancy, you felt a tear hit your cheek when you sniffled once more. 

“Yeah,” goddamn, even your voice sounded fucking wet with emotion. “Just happy to be here with you.”

Tell her, y/n. Let her help you. . .Tell her.

Fuck that came out of nowhere. 

The soft, reassuring voice being the one to guide you would take a lot of getting used to if it was going to continue as the one to help you, rather than the harsh, critical one that’d taunted you since you were a child.

Honestly, when the calm voice came to you, your mind settled in the waves of reassurance. This was the voice you longed to hear anytime the dark one wanted to boss you around. . .wanted to push you down when you were up. 

It always spoke soft truths to you. This voice didn’t make you feel like utter shit; this was the one that sounded more like Elsie than you’d like to admit.

As you started walking to your beloved booth, you were trying to find a solid reason to not tell Elsie right now. . . You had to tell someone. Right? And it was killing you to be around her and keep her in the dark. She was safe. And, at that moment, the only person you really wanted to tell was your big sister. No matter how bossy she may get, it was worth it to have her know. She was your one and only safety net for years for good reason. 

And she was going to be leaving again tonight until Thanksgiving. There was no way you could wait to tell her until then. 

She’d also never forgive you if you kept it from her for too long. You couldn’t blame her. If roles were reversed, you’d kill her if she waited to tell you until she had a noticeably round belly. . .

You sat down at your booth. You, at the seat with your back to the big windows, her smile wide as she made small talk with the worn-out waitress. Elsie’s smile, though, was big enough it brought a smile to the tired woman’s face. Elsie got along with everybody, and the waitress was no different. 

God, she was sunshine for you. 

As the woman placed your menus down in front of you two, you immediately flipped it to the side with the All Star Special. You watched her kind face, aged from years of hard work, and found comfort in the thickness of her voice from even more years of smoke, as she asked for your drink orders. 

Elsie ordered her blessed coffee and you sat there, contemplating. . . stuck. Normally, you’d order a Mr. Pibb. . .but was that healthy for the baby?

Your sister stared at you, her brows wrinkled as she gave you a questioning smile. 

“Just get her a Mr. Pi–,” Elsie started.

“I’ll take an orange juice,” you finished. 

The sweet waitress left to get your orders ready, and when you looked up from your menu to Elsie’s face again, she was looking at you like you’d grown three heads.

 “Orange juice?!” She asked, as if you’d just insulted her on a great scale. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

You felt nervous under her stare and questions. You were going to tell her anyway. . . why were you feeling your skin prick with nerves? 

“Just felt like getting an orange juice. . .,” you said, shrugging your shoulders to play it off. “No biggie.”

“I cannot remember one time we’ve come here– in the years we’ve come here– where you’ve gotten anything besides a Mr. Pibb.” She leaned across the table to put the back of her hand to your forehead. She then jokingly asked, “Are you well?”

You watched her laugh at her own joke, her eyes, smiling. The same ones you’d looked into when, for years, you’d told her your deepest secrets. . . A couple of things came to your mind. When you lost your virginity and felt like shit about it (for God knows what reason); she’d raised your spirits by telling you she’d felt the same at first, but it got better with time. Then there’d been when you’d smoked weed for the first time and you felt so horribly about it (again, why?); she told you it was not a bad thing to do and that you deserved to feel so free as the drug would make you feel. 

Very rarely had she been extremely judgemental. 

Right now, she was giving you yet another look of concern, though. . .So, you decided. It was time. Now or never.

“Sis, what’s–?”

“I’m pregnant.”

There it was. First time you’d said it out loud. Damn. In that moment, it felt even more real to you, too. 

You were with child. There was a baby in you. There was life growing inside of your uterus. 

Then the opposite train of thought rushed through you. . .were you pregnant? Was the baby still in there? You hadn’t really had time to obsessive-compulsively research any of that yet. Could your tummy still grow if you had a miscarriage? Was that possible? Was there a baby inside of you?

You had to shake your head from your sudden wave of unwelcome, anxious thoughts. There was no reason to believe you’d lost the baby. . . right? Surely. . . You wouldn’t let your anxiety get the best of you. Blinking a few times, you chanced a look at your sister again.

She gaped at you, staying that way until the waitress came back with your drinks, not saying a word. Didn’t even look away from you when the waitress spoke, asking for your orders. You had to tell the woman it would be a minute, while Elsie still zoned out on you. 

Her eyes just bored into yours until you started feeling uncomfortable and irritable. 

Talk, Elsie. Fuck.

You clasped your hands together under the table, over your tummy. . .had to do something with them. And after continuing to wait a couple more minutes, you decided if she wasn’t going to say anything, you would. “Can you say some–?”

“What the fuck?” She asked, voice much louder than it should be for a quiet Sunday morning at Waffle House. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the heads of patrons turn towards you. Inquiring eyes were not what you needed at the moment.

Your cheeks heated as you grit your teeth. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Elsie?” You fumed, automatically defensive for the life inside of you. “I had sex. I got pregnant. Simple as that.”

You’d never felt this sense of protection for anyone in your life. Not even your sister. No, at that moment, you were ready to go to bat for your baby against the woman who’d been your first line of defense your entire life. 

Thankfully the next time she talked, she sounded more subdued and understanding.

“I– I didn’t mean for it to come off that way, babe,” she said, shaking her head, laying a hand against her forehead. Her eyes searched for yours to believe her. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right response.”

“It’s oka–.”

“This is a sensitive time for you–for any woman–my god,” she continued, not letting you make any excuse. “I was just in shock–still am, obviously–but I’m not upset,” she said, pausing. Then she narrowed her eyes, testing you. “How far along are you though?”

You giggled, remembering your earlier thoughts. The two of you were so alike. More like twins than anything, honestly. “I’m only like ten weeks, I think,” you smoothly said. “I found out two weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep it or not, and I didn’t want to tell anyone until I decided. It was my decision and I didn’t want anything or anyone to sway me.”

“That is all valid and correct,” she agreed, nodding her head. Then, she continued asking questions as she poured too much half and half in her coffee. “How do you feel about it? Good? Bad? Sad? Happy? Overjoyed? Utterly depressed?”

Your eyes bugged, and you waved your hands at her once she was drinking from her mug, watching you and waiting for a response. “Damn, slow down,” you began, entwining your hands again, on top of the table this time. “First of all, per usual, I don’t always know how I’m feeling. . . But–it’s strange,” you started, squinting out the window just next to her. “It’s like, this time, instead of bouncing back and forth between sad and mad and confused. . .I’m more bouncing between a variety of happy emotions for this life,” you untangled your hands to once again place them on your tummy, below the table. “The confusion is still there, but for this baby. . .the emotions are mostly positive ones full of hope and love,” you looked back at her. “It’s weird.”

She was squinting at you, nodding her head as she took everything in. 

Then the waitress was back, taking your orders. And just as soon, she was gone.

Elsie spoke before you could. “What changed?”

Snorting, you gave her a look. “Really, Els?”

Yet again, she narrowed her eyes, but this time it was out of annoyance. “You know what I mean.”

You did. She wanted to get to the heart of it. Not the situation. But what had changed inside of you to instigate your new, surprising view of things? You really weren’t sure . . . To be completely honest, this new feeling had just started yesterday. Less than 24 hours ago, you’d made the decision that would change your life forever.

But, you answered the best you could in spite of it all. 

“I don’t know,” you glanced down at your hands, holding your sweater-clad tummy. You hadn’t had to delve into oversized sweaters the past couple of weeks. Not quite yet. Your tummy wasn’t that round. “I just kind of started thinking on behalf of this life I made, and not really myself. I put him, her–whatever the fuck it is– first and doing that just gave me this new outlook. Like I didn’t have all of the time in the world to criticize myself anymore. Because I have someone else to look out for. Someone special–someone whose life I have to be careful with– a life I hold in my hands.”

She giggled. “Literally,” she motioned in the direction of your hand placement. You joined in on her little moment of humor, enjoying the feeling of normalcy with her. She knew, and things were still the same as always. You didn’t feel any weirdness emanating off of her. This moment was easing you and brought you a sense of undefinable calm. Something you’d needed so badly. She kept on, having more to say. “I’m so fucking glad you’re starting to feel lighter,” she stated, reaching a hand out towards you, palm up on the table. “You’ve always carried so much on your shoulders. Always. And it has sucked to watch helplessly. You have hurt for too damn long and you deserve more than anyone to feel this new happiness.” 

The tear that suddenly gathered at the corner of your eye and trickled down your cheek was unstoppable.  

You moved a hand to place in hers and you squeezed each other. “Thanks Els,” you wetly responded. And nothing more– just needed her to know you were thankful.

After a minute of just communicating with your eyes, your food was being brought in small increments. Her biscuits and gravy were placed at the same time as your plate of eggs, hash browns, and ham. 

“Your waffle will be out shortly, honey,” the waitress smokily said, tone sweet as could be. “You two enjoy.”

After you’d both responded with a nod and she was gone, there was no stopping you two from digging in. 

After swallowing her first bite of food with a moan, she looked at you, still chewing your hash browns, which now tasted more like the sugary, tomatoey ketchup you’d smothered them with. 

“God, I was starving,” she said, taking a little sip of her half and half with a dash of coffee. She squeaked a little as she set her coffee down, a smirk on her glossed lips. “Josh would not quit last night.” 

You made a gagging motion at the implication, your brow furrowed with disgust at her words. 

Then, you took your first sip of orange juice. 

Goddamn.

Fuck! Ew. Baby does not like orange juice.

Coughing a little, your throat felt ready to reject the liquid right as it hit your uvula. Gross as it was, you put as much as you could back into the glass, not caring for Elsie’s reaction. 

“That’s not nasty at all,” she sarcastically noted, still chewing her food. 

You kept coughing into your hand, swallowing as much as you could, focusing on getting it down, not wanting to projectile vomit all over your breakfast. 

I’ll show you nasty, Elsie. Don’t test me.

You rolled your eyes at her remark, finally getting the remains of the drink down. You held your napkin to your face, coughing a bit. “Says the woman who’s talking and chewing,” you said, your voice weak to avoid any bile rising in your throat and at the sour, putrid taste still sitting on your tongue. “And you’re one to talk–telling me way more than I need to know about Josh.”

She snickered. “I’ll tell you more. Just say the word.”

Laughing once outright, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, that won’t ever be happening,” you tried taking a bite of hash browns to get the taste of orange juice off your tongue. But it only made it worse. Your throat was not ready to accept any more at the moment. Spitting the mushy remains in your napkin, folding it up so as not to offend other customers. Your throat was tight as you responded. “I need water.”

“Here we go, babydoll! Waffles just for you,” the waitress returned, placing the food right in front of you. The waffle did not look appetizing in the slightest. You didn’t bother looking up to say anything, instead squeezing your eyes shut and willing the nausea away. “You okay, sweetie? D’ya need anything?”

“Can we get a water and a Sprite?” Elsie intervened, calmly requesting. “And like, ASAP, if that’s doable. . .”

“Sure thing! Back in a flash!” 

You kept your eyes closed, the twirling in your stomach not going away, but not intensifying either. You were scared to talk–afraid of what might come from your mouth if you did. 

“Here,” the sweet, older lady’s voice rang through, as you heard the plastic cups hit the table. She was rushing, her voice moving fast. “Gotta go to another table, but wave me down if ya need me, sugar.”

“I think we’re good for now,” Elsie reassured. You could hear the smile in her tone. “Thank you so much.” A few seconds passed, then your sister was tapping your hand that was still laid on the table. “Sis, please take a drink from one of them.”

Keeping one hand pressed to your mouth, you tapped the wrapper off of the straw. You chose the carbonated Sprite, banking on the carbonation and natural aid of Sprite for a sensitive stomach.

As soon as the ice cold, fizzing drink hit your tongue, you felt relief. The feeling hadn’t gone away in your tummy, but you also didn’t feel like you were going to hurl at any moment anymore either. You took a few short, yet healthy, sips, eyes closing again to center yourself. 

Your eyes trailed back to hers after you sat the cup down.

“You okay?” Elsie questioned, following you with her blue eyes, which swam with concern. You nodded, then she talked again. “Do you get sick a lot?”

Reaching for the water, you took one little drink of that, finally feeling able to talk. Your stomach was simmering slowly. You pushed the plates away, needing the food away from you for the time being.

“Not hungry?” 

You shook your head, your brows furrowed. “Not now. Fuckin’ orange juice,” you flipped off the offensively orange drink. Elsie snorted at you, and you grinned at her. “And to answer you, yes. I puke all of the time. Thought it was stress at first. Just throwing up because of all of my stress.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing her own food away. “You’re an idiot.” You scoffed at that, offended. “I’m just saying. You’ve never been a puker. Fevers and shit, yes. But never thrown up a whole lot. And you’ve had some terrible fucking stress in your life. . . never vomiting from any of it; just to remind you.”

“I guess I just wanted to stay ignorant,” you admitted. “And I didn’t think it was possible at all that I was pregnant.”

She hummed in understanding, then she leveled you with a stare as she took a drink of her coffee. 

“What now?” You groaned. “You fuckin’ weas–.”

“Does Jake know?”

Your stomach fell all the way to the bottom your feet. Fuck. What? How did she know?

Stupidly, you tried to reject it. Why would you try to hide it from her? You didn’t know. There was no point in trying to hide it. 

“Why would he need to know? This doesn’t concern him. He’s not the fath—.”

She practically honked with a huge laugh, blossoming from the back of her throat. You blushed, sinking back into your seat. Why would you even try to play dumb? You knew better than to do that with her. 

After wiping a little tear from below her eye, she sipped at her water. Sitting her glass down, she coughed a couple times and snorted with another giggle before continuing. “Please do not insult my intelligence like that.”

Weakly, you tried to defend yourself. “You believed me at the festival that we weren’t fucking anymore, so I just assumed–.”

“You think I believed that shit?!” She gawked at you– in disbelief that you’d thought that of her. “I just wasn’t going to push it out of you while you were so obviously in the depths of sorrow over that girl that was with him.”

Face flushing yet again, you chewed on the inside of your cheek. “‘Depths of sorrow’ is dramatic.” And true, you silently agreed with her. So incredibly, stupidly true.

“And you’re pregnant with Jake’s kid,” she pushed, wanting to hear you say it yourself.

You looked up at her through your lashes, not ready to say it out loud. But definitely needing to. . . and who better than your sister to say it out loud to for the very first time?

“Jake is the baby’s father, yes,” you said plainly, looking directly in her eyes as you said it. Then, immediately peering out the window, directly to your right. “Half him, half me,” you murmured, under your breath.

You pressed your shoulder, clad in your fluffy sweater, against the chilled glass. You still felt the coldness from the brisk autumn day through the thick windows. It calmed your heart which beat frantically against your breastbone. Talking out loud about Jake being the father of your child made reality slap you in the face. You were carrying Jake’s baby. Inside your womb was half of Jake and half of you. Together. Something you’d made. . . together. 

The thought of a part of him just floating around in your uterus was honestly jarring. . . but not unwelcome. Not unwelcome at all. No, in fact because the baby was half of him, you’d decided you had to keep it. Jake was the reason that the baby was a necessity to this world. A piece of the first man you’d ever. . . 

You shook your head amidst the raging thoughts, deciding to cut them off right. there. That was a path you did not want to venture down. 

Dangerous territory.

Knowing the baby was his and that fact being was the sole reason you had to keep it. . .that was big enough for you to acknowledge. Huge, actually. . . You couldn’t believe you’d let yourself face that so surely and honestly. But. . . that was something you refused to tell your sister. That was one thing for you and only you to know. It felt too personal to share–belonged in your heart alone.

The mother and child you were observing just outside Waffle House were about to get you lost in thought again . . . You could spend hours appreciating a true, authentic love between a mother and her child. You’d never had it, and it was just so unique in and of itself. A relationship that held its own definition of love. A love so lovely, precious, safe. . . wholesome.

You were desperate to create that for a child. Something you hadn’t had the privilege of experiencing. And the baby in your womb deserved to feel it. . . But could you do it? Or were you too much like your mom?

Before you could fall down that depressing rabbit hole, you slowly swiveled your head back in the direction of your sister. 

Then, without much contemplation, you unloaded. Told her everything. Informed her of the situation between you and Jake, how you started feeling iffy about all of it towards the end, and then how you’d decided to cut it off due to your desire to protect him. It rushed out of your mouth, with almost no thought and you honestly didn’t have time to consider anything before it slipped from your lips and into the air between the two of you. 

Elsie was watching you, eyes attentively following your every word and movement. She looked ready to help. As always. Her eyes, the color of the ocean and just as deep and sure as the waves that enveloped it. The overwhelming calm you felt after telling her, also similar to the ocean in its ability to offer peace. . . 

What she said first was not what you were expecting. No counsel. Just humility. 

“I’m sorry for what I said about you watching that girl with Jake at the festival,” she started, tucking her hands in her lap, expression sincere. “That was callous. Not the time.”

Wrinkling your brow, you argued back, unnecessarily defensive and overwrought with emotion after spilling all of that and for the life in your belly (lovely hormones). “I’m still me, Elsie,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

She raised a brow, combatting you. “Fine. If you’re still you, then I can say this: get the fuck over yourself and just be with him,” taking a drink of her coffee, she made a face. “Room temperature coffee is absolute balls,” she looked over her shoulder, trying to connect eyes with the waitress. 

You saw the woman head your way, and immediately got the hint when Elsie held the cup out with puppy dog eyes. “You’ve got it, sweet baby.”

“Thank you,” Elsie said, her voice that of a grateful servant to the woman. 

“You, with your food and drinks that must be so hot they burn your mout–.”

“We’re not done with you. So, shut up.”

“Jesus, Elsie! I–.”

Holding a perfectly manicured hand up, black nails flashing in front of you briefly, she cut you off. “No! I don’t want to hear any more of the bullshit. You’re literally having his baby. Get over this. . . thing in your head, and just be with him. You obviously want it. And I think he does, too.”

You sighed, the breath coming fully from your lungs. It wasn’t like you didn’t want it, too. . . it was just complicated. “It’s not that easy, Elsie,” you lamented. “There are several pieces to the puzzle.”

“Liiiiike . . .?” 

“Well, for one,” you held up a finger to start the count. “He has a girlfriend now.”

“No he doesn’t,” she scrunched her face, completely disagreeing. “He’s not with any–.”

“They showed up to the party together, Elsie. The girl from the festival. And they have a past. He was groping her all night last night and she never left his side,” you repeated the events aloud, your stomach rolling at the heinous thoughts. 

“Oh, shit,” her eyes got big, blowing out a slow breath. “I didn’t even realize. Josh and I–.”

“Were roaming the room for half of the night and preoccupied for the rest of it,” you said, shivering at the deplorable thought of your friend and sister. 

“I was with you for a good chunk of it, too, bitch,” she corrected, pointing at you. 

You stuck out your lip, nodding to agree. “You’re right. . .but you were also way too distracted by Josh to notice.”

She made the same face, mirroring you. “You are not wrong,” she grinned smartly, winking suggestively. “No regrets.”

“I’m going to puke on you.”

“Oh my god, please don’t,” she gagged. And then started singing a thank you as the waitress came back with your tickets and a fresh coffee. After dumping one million half and half cups into her mug, she took a hearty sip. When she sat it down, she practically vibrated in delight. “Oh hell yeah.”

“You know Josh hates coffee,” you noted. “Prefers tea.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know. We’ve had many long debates over the ridiculous fact,” she growled. “He’s a miscreant when he wants to be.”

You laughed outright. “Yes he is. Little fuckin’ gremlin.” 

The sound that roared out of her was more reminiscent of a yell than a laugh, but it became a string of snorting and giggles that you joined in on. After a few minutes of enjoying the sound of the other’s laughter, you shook your head and scratched your brow before seeing your phone light up with a notification. 

Stupidly, your tummy fluttered at the possibility of it being Jake texting you. But then you remembered that he would absolutely not be texting you in his right mind. . . that was not where you were with him right now. You weren’t sure you’d ever be there with him again. And that thought made your tummy sink as soon as it’d fluttered. 

Though, the notification on your screen was enough to bring a little grin to your face, your eyes watering with the overwhelming excitement and joy that ignited in your heart at the update from your Ovia Pregnancy app. 

Week 10: Congratulations, y/n! You’re heading into the tail end of your first trimester. Your baby is now the size of a kumquat and almost 1 ¼ inches long!

Not being able to help it, you turned your phone to Elsie so she could see the notification as well. 

She read through it, her mouth moving as she took in the words. A wide, toothy smile made its way to her face–her entire demeanor lighting up with you. Clutching both hands to her chest, her eyes were wet next time you saw them. Your own eyes filled with more tears at her reaction to it. 

“I’m so proud to be an aunt to your little kumquat baby!” She said, her voice actually quivering with emotion. 

“I’m glad you’re proud,” you responded with a sniffle, drying your undereyes with a Waffle House napkin. “I’m proud, too.”

Her smile turned close-mouthed, yet no less sincere and delighted. “You should be,” she paused, then her crying eyes dried a bit as her tone turned serious. “And Jake will be, too. I know it, babe,” she stopped, pondering a thought. “You are going to tell him, right?”

You didn’t have to think about your answer. He had to know. You wanted him too, really. “Yes.” Then, your tummy flipped. “ But I don’t know if he’ll be super excited when I do,” you shook your head. “This was not in the cards for him this year. . . I wouldn’t blame him if he rejected the idea of me being pregnant with his baby.”

“Well, he wouldn’t reject it. I can say that for certain–I’m dating his twin and I know Josh would never reject a baby,” she said, wiping at her face with her own napkin. “And, I’m going to argue the other part, too. . . it obviously was in the cards for him,” she reached a hand out towards you and you took it. “This happened for a reason, sis. A good one. And Jake will view it as such.”

“I just don’t want it to slow him down,” you squeezed her hand, looking down to where they entwined on the gray table. “I need him to keep going and chase his dream.”

She raised a brow, shook her head from side to side, once again disbelieving. “He will, y/n. He’ll keep going. Josh is– and he and I are dating?. . . What’s the difference?”

“Where do I start? Most importantly, I’m messed up in the head and I need to work on myself before I expose him to myself,” you insisted, bringing your hand back to place on your tummy. “And he and Josh are different. . .Josh has a drive that Jake doesn’t. Jake gave up his dream before and he’ll do it again if he’s allowed. And a baby is already damn near the most drastically life changing thing that could happen to a person. Could completely screw up his plans,” you sighed resolutely. It was clear to her that you were firm on this, so she sat back with open and considerate eyes to let you finish. “Best to keep things separate between us so he has one less thing that is tempting him to put himself last. A baby is enough.”

She hummed, taking it all in. After taking a moment, she gave a response. “I just have one question.”

“Yes?” You prepared yourself, raising a brow.

“What’s the difference between you and the girl?-- What’s her name anyway?”

“Maya,” ugh. Hate that name. “Her name is Maya. And she is normal where I am not.”

“O-kaaaay,” she replied, still unsure of the validity in your response. You didn’t know why she seemed so unsure. She knew you better than you knew yourself. She knew you were jacked up. She let out a massive sigh, then continued. “Well, I don’t personally think you know her well enough to make that assumption. She could be more detrimental to him than you–.”

“Not possib–.”

“And you could be exactly what he needs,” she said, almost in finality, though it was obvious she wasn’t done when she leaned forward, her tone hard and steadfast. “You’re also not as “jacked up” as you seem to believe you are. Have you got things to heal? Yes. But are you still one of the most incredible people that has ever walked this planet–if not the most incredible? Even more so, yes,” her eyes watered again, but she sniffed the tears away to say her last piece. “I think you could very well be exactly what Jake Kiszka needs to be complete. And even though I wasn’t around for all of the intricacies of you two, I should’ve caught on. Because I do know the way that man fucking looks at you. . . and dammit if I’ve ever seen another man look at a woman the way he looks at you. . . not even Josh with me or Grandpa with Grandma.”

Your heart swelled and your cheeks grew instantly red. Your blood buzzed in your veins. . . did he really look at you like that? 

Then, selfishly, you wondered if anyone else had noticed like Elsie had. . . like Josh. Fuck. Did he see how Jake looked at you? Had he already presumed things about you and Jake based on how his twin apparently, blatantly, ogled you? And then you realized, yet again, how you would have to obviously tell Josh of the baby. . . oh god; how would he react?

“I wish he wouldn’t,” you muttered. “I don’t need anyone to–.”

“To know?” She squeaked a giggle. “I’m sorry, babe. . . but I think your cover’s about to be totally blown within the next nine months.”

You groaned, placing your forehead in your hand as you blew your hair away from your face. “How will Josh react?” You moaned, halfway to yourself and halfway to her. 

“What?” 

You snapped up. “How in the hell is Josh going to react?!” You anxiously quizzed her, eyes wild. “He is already going to be hurt that I kept it from him. And then there’s the reason I kept it from him in the first place. . .,” you felt tears well in your throat right before you nearly slammed your head on your crossed arms, which laid against the table, dramatically. 

Okay, these hormones can fuck right off. 

“Why’s that, sissy?” She carefully inquired, tone soft, not judging your reaction the way you internally were. “Remind me again.”

You moaned, raising your head and willing the tears away. “He made it so incredibly clear to me how Jake didn’t need another woman infiltrating his life and distracting him. And how Jake needed this time to discover himself for the first time in his life. . . and I’ve completely ignored that desire of his,” a lone tear slipped from your ducts. “I’ve betrayed him. Selfishly.”

Letting the words sit in the air between you, she waited a couple of beats before inserting her two cents. “When does Jake finally get what he wants?”

You wrinkled a brow, tears completely dissipating out of curiosity for her next words.

“I mean. . .” she started, making a thoughtful smacking sound with her mouth. “Josh thinks he can call the shots. You think you can just decide to not let yourself ruin his life? Like, what the hell, first of all? And second of all. . . what if he doesn’t care about any of that shit and just wants you? Did you ever take a second to consider that?”

“Yes, Elsie,” you growled, defensive once again. “And that’s why I’m keeping the ball in my court. I’m protecting him. And that was Josh’s intent, too.”

“I don’t know where you two get off acting like Jake isn’t a grown ass man who can make his own decisions. . .,” she trailed off, flashing an irritated look out the window. 

You did not want to get into this right now. The conversation was trailing much further than you fucking wanted. Your nerves were practically electrifying you and your head felt heavy.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Elsie,” you shortly bit out at her. She snapped her head back at you, her eyes still on fire. You stayed firm. “I’m done talking about all of that shit,” your hands laid safely on your lower, swelling tummy. “I have bigger things to consider now,” after glancing down at your stomach, you hit her with another stern glare. “So drop it.”

Her chest was heaving. 

You were not sure what was happening; why was she suddenly so “Team Jake”? When had that happened? And again, why? 

“Fine,” she conceded, sniffing resolutely once and then went to sip her coffee. Which, by the look on her face, was cold again. “Yuck. Can we bust this joint and go to Starbs? I need the sweet stuff.”

You sighed with relief at the change in subject. “Yes,” you smiled. “Let’s.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

It was just you and your sister in the open apartment, which was now completely cleaned from last night’s festivities due to your obsessive-compulsive cleaning. Though, you couldn’t help but notice when you’d come back from breakfast, Jake had been gone and the apartment looked much better than when you’d left with Elsie. It felt nice that he cared for the apartment, too–enough to try to keep it clean. 

You trained your thoughts on Elsie, as she waited at the door to leave, bags completely packed, awaiting her Uber to the airport (you were, unfortunately, so suddenly fucking tired that you had decided you weren’t fit to drive her). 

You didn’t want to let her go. She was your one person who knew now, and no matter how much she challenged your stance on Jake, she was still your sister and your person and you needed her with you during this time. . .

“Can you not just stay for a couple more days?” You tried once more, knowing better than to ask, as she’d repeated the words more than once now. “Let them know your sister is having an existential crisis and needs you?”

She huffed with a grin, rolling her eyes. “You are literally fine,” she reassured, reaching a hand out to hold your arm. But instead of letting it stop there, you fell into it and let yourself fall into her–let yourself wrap both of your arms around her shoulders, hugging yourself tightly to her. 

“Please don’t leave,” you moaned, your voice so meek it was straight up depressing. “I need you.”

She hugged you back, dropped her duffel off her shoulder in the process of embracing you. “I always need you, sissy,” she agreed. “But I’m just a FaceTime or text away,” she assured you, combing her hands through your wet hair, having taken a shower while she’d been gone saying her goodbyes to Josh. “I’m here. And you have people here. You just need to let. them. in.”

“I know. . .,” you sighed hotly into her natural curls. “I’m just so scared to tell Jo–.”

“I’m tired of hearing that, babe,” she asserted firmly. “Because the last person you need to be scared to tell is Joshua,” she stated, leaving no room for argument, right in your ear. “And if you think about it, you know him well enough to fucking know that. So get out of your maze of thoughts and know the truth.”

She was right. . . Truly, you knew she was. You knew his heart. But. . . “How will I even. . .?” 

Pulling away from you, she kept her hands wrapped around your forearms, keeping a caring hold on you. Keeping you near. “I’ve actually been thinking about this, like, all day. . . but the first thing that came to my mind is what I keep going back to.”

You waited for more, but she didn’t continue her thought. Impatient, you asked. “Which is. . .?”

“Invite him to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe your. . .first?” she offered, questioning the last part. But sounded completely sure of her idea. “It’s the perfect way to break it to him. And. . .if I’m correct, I’m assuming you haven’t had one yet since you just decided to keep it?”

“Yeah. . . no appointment yet. So, I could. . .ugh,” you answered. “But– why? How–? Will he–?”

“It’s the ideal situation because he will feel like he’s being helpful and loving. He’ll be able to be there for you. He’ll feel needed and involved and that is literally all Josh wants in general in life, so. . .”

“It’s perfect,” you weakly agreed. It really was. You couldn’t deny it.

“Yes, it is,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder and lifted her duffel bag back over her shoulder. “I came up with it.”

You scoffed. “Okay, now. Don’t get a big fuckin’ head, loser.”

“Bitch,” she bit back, shoving your shoulder. 

Rubbing your shoulder in faux pain, you gave her a pitiful expression. “Elsie. I am with child, you need to be careful with me now.”

Bursting with a chuckle, straight from her chest, she shoved your other shoulder. “I’m not touching the damn stomach, so I’m good.” 

You shoved her back, dropping the act and giggling with her. “You right, you right,” you said. Then, your thoughts came back to the task at hand. The baby that was squirming around in you. “I’m still scared.”

“That’s another perfect aspect of telling him in that scenario though,” she added, assuring you with her opinion. “You can’t back out. You’ll have to tell him if he meets you at the doctor’s office or takes you there or whatever the hell he does. . . you’ll have no choice but to tell him before you go in. And he’ll just have to take it,” she said, her plan sounding, admittedly, concrete. “He will survive,” she dropped her hands from your arms and looped her belt bag around her chest before placing a hand delicately to your cheek. “I promise he’ll survive.”

Just then, her phone dinged, indicating her Uber had arrived. So, with many “I love you’s” and a few curse words, you were following her down the stairs, then hugging her tightly once more outside of her awaiting Uber. 

And as you watched her leave the parking lot, the tears started to flow. So. many. tears. Steady, hard, relentless weeping. . . 

The emotions were obviously true, yes, but the hormones–and your current, lonely headspace– were amplifying the already-existing emotions of her leaving to an incredibly irritating degree.

But before you could lose yourself in them any more, you heard a door to a car shut to your left, along with a laugh you knew all too well. Jake was home. 

And if you didn’t move, he was going to see you as a hysterical mess and you did not want his fucking pity right now. Last thing you needed. And worse, you also didn’t want to see his expression, for the chance it might be hard and uncaring. You also didn’t want to possibly see a certain woman arrive with him. 

You were sure she was with him. The feminine giggle you heard accompanying his endearing chuckles could be no one else.

So, instead of looking in his direction, you turned quickly on your heel and speed-walked up the stairs, a hand on your tummy to avoid any hurt to the kumquat baby. 

As soon as your back hit the closed door, you breathed a sigh, which turned into a long yawn. The kind that made you shiver with a sudden, urgent desire to sleep. You didn’t have to work today, you’d canceled study plans. . . So suddenly, you felt abundantly free and a nap sounded like the perfect remedy to the overwhelming emotions of your day.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Monday came and went before you even knew it was happening. As did Tuesday. As did Wednesday. And when Thursday came around, you had your Modern Poetry elective. The one class you had with someone you knew relatively well. 

You hadn’t made it a priority to make tons of friends while in school to get your degree–you’d had Josh and Elsie, and eventually Sammy and Danny. . .and that had been enough. 

But, when Theo had popped back up into your life, anytime you saw him in a class, it really did feel nice to be around someone familiar at school. Even though he was on the more annoying side, he was still a good confidant.

And especially with the massive course load this semester, having someone you knew around was helpful. Good for feeling less alone. He was somebody who was going through school with you; he got the overwhelming amount of pressure from school, too. He felt the senioritis, too. . . but, his case was slightly different. 

He was ready to be done with school so he could pursue this career he longed to have in writing, while you were just ready to be done. 

Initially, when you had started the semester, you were just ready to be out of Pratt because you felt like you were wasting your time on a degree you’d lost passion for (save for your minor in media studies which gave you the occasional music-related course).

Now you weren’t sure why you were ready to be done. What made you feel more anxious to put Pratt in the past now? Was it the burning desire to be done with a passionless major? Or did the life in your tummy have something to do with it? The thought of the baby you held inside honestly got your blood pumping more excitedly in your veins than a college degree ever could. 

You really only cared about ascertaining a healthy baby– no longer caring much for a piece of paper saying you had studied writing, uselessly, for four long years. 

But you had to make it through school. If not for you, for your baby. You didn’t have much longer left, and you owed it to that child to see this through. You had to find some drive though. So, in came Theo to help with that. He was great at encouraging others, and that was exactly what you needed while trudging through the sixteen hours of classes you’d enrolled in this semester. 

When you were getting up to leave for class that afternoon, you had your mind set on a big jar of baby pickles (stereotypical pregnant woman, much?). You were ready to get off campus and to the nearest grocery store for the deliciously tangy food. 

Before you could leave your two-person table, though, a hand came out to grab your arm as a way of stopping you. If you had acted on impulse, you would have whined and stomped your foot in protest at being kept from satisfying your pickle craving. 

But you didn’t act like a petulant child. Instead, you turned around, eyes opened and ready for whatever was needed from you. 

And when you looked behind your shoulder, Theo was there, a head or so above you, smiling and waiting for a response. 

“Yes?” You asked, semi-irritatedly, semi-sweetly. “What’s up?”

He just stared a little while longer, blinking rapidly before shaking his head. His blonde hair had grown out a bit and shook with the movement, eyes twinkling just enough, making your heart thump a little harder in your chest. 

Why in the hell? 

“I meant to ask you Tuesday, but you were gone before I could,” he started, adjusting his messenger bag over his shoulder. He shifted on his feet a little before peering curiously into your eyes. “Are you okay? I missed seeing you for our usual Sunday study time. . .”

You swallowed, slightly grumpy that he felt the need to pry. 

He’s just showing he cares, y/n, the angelic voice said, which now stopped by more occasionally than the negative one. 

Not wanting to tell him anything too personal (God, no), you went with the bare minimum. “A friend hosted a Halloween party at my place on Saturday, and my sister was actually in town for it,” you divulged, wrapping your fists tighter around the straps of your backpack. Please let me leave after this. “So I hung out with her yesterday while she was still in town.”

Not the whole truth, but not so much dishonesty to  me feel bad.

“Oh!” He said, a light hearted laugh accompanying his tone. “Cool. I remember from high school how close you two were.”

I remember how much she didn’t like you, you thought, feeling uneasy at past-Elsie’s opinion of the guy.

Was he really that bad though? He’d been great for you during high school. Even though it had only been a year of time with him, he had still been a decent person to have around during those formative years of your life. He had been considerate, kind, helpful. . . the only negative things you could remember were the few times he’d try to get you to calm down on unnecessary occasions. He could be occasionally judgmental, but wasn’t everyone to an extent?

And maybe you and Elsie had only been your average, overly sensitive high school girls and had thought he was worse than he actually was.

Because at this moment, all you could see were the green flecks in his blue eyes and how they caught the sun that shone in from the window behind you, and onto his pale face. The way he waited earnestly to hear your response made you feel special and valuable to him at this moment and what woman didn’t like that?

“Yeah,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear before folding your hands over your chest. Aaand, wincing, you quickly moved them away. Your boobs were especially tender with the extra pressure against them. Every day they seemed to get more sensitive to the touch, feeling heavier–fuller. “We’re still that close. Probably closer now, actually. After living together, and then her job forcing her to be far away often. . .,” you trailed off, sad at the thought of her being so far away all the damn time. “We’re forced to communicate way more than we ever have before.”

He nodded, winking at you. And although he was cute, you didn’t feel anything at the wink, really. It didn’t swirl your tummy with nerves like it would with someone. . .else. You chalked it up to the craving that was still distracting you, making your tummy growl. 

He cleared his throat before he tucked one hand in a jeans pocket and one tighter around the strap of his bag. “Intentional is the word,” he added with another wink, seeming to understand to a degree. But you caught the aggravating ‘know-it-all’ attitude. Tipping his head, he looked at you with smiling eyes. “You okay?” He motioned with his hand at your neck-chest region.

Your brow furrowed, confused. Defenses were instantly raised and you took a step back, tucking your hands into your back pockets. “Yes?” You retorted, tilting your head to challenge him. “Why?”

“Just saw you flinch and all,” he said, in wonder at your tone. When he spoke next, he no longer seemed understanding, only misunderstanding. “Nothing big. Don’t worry,” he held his hands out, as if calming a tiger. 

You felt stupid for overreacting, so you covered your tracks with a forced giggle, masking the situation the best you could with a straight-up (ironic) lie. “Just a certain time of the month,” you explained extremely falsely. “Overly reactive to everything right now.” That was true. 

“Oh,” he pointed a finger at you, pretending to get it. “Makes sense.”

Okay, you thought, squinting at him as he looked to the side with a sort of confidence. Maybe Elsie had been onto something. . . 

But then he peered down at you again with his sparkly eyes and shaggy, naturally blonde hair.  It made you feel a little weak for the guy, even with him irritating you.

But why was he irritating you, exactly? Maybe your emotions were controlling you a little too much– getting too easily offended thanks to the hormones. . . Perhaps he was just acting like a normal human, while you were the one who wasn't reacting like a normal human.

Your stomach was fucking growling though. . .Theo didn’t matter worth fuck at that moment. What did matter was how badly your body was craving eating for two. If you didn’t eat soon, you were afraid you would faint from lack of sustenance (you definitely wouldn’t, but there were the over-reactive feelings again). 

You started backing up, and made it just next to the table when you were saying your next words. “I’m going to go ahead and get out of her–.”

“Wait!”

Having just turned on your heel, your face was hidden from view, and you were able to roll your eyes when you heard him. You weren’t going to stop though. He could follow you to the parking lot. You were hungry and grouchy and ready to eat an entire jar of pickles before crashing hard against your sheets. Before you had to show up at the B&G for the evening shift.

“Follow me,” you said, short, only looking over your shoulder at him briefly before continuing your trek. But please don’t talk for long. 

You were just outside North Hall when you decided to stop, so you wouldn’t have to fear him stalling you at your car.

“What’s up?” You asked, playing cool despite your desire to grumble. 

“I actually– I just thought–,” he laughed, seemingly at himself. He scratched behind his ear. Then he stood up straight, determined after tucking both hands into his front pockets and clearing his throat for the second time that day. You noticed his jeans, dark wash, skinny, and complimenting his firm thighs. “I wanted to ask you to hang out with me sometime– outside of here.”

Seriously? He was stopping your pickle eating for this?

You couldn’t help the snicker that escaped you, confused. “We do hang out,” you grasped tightly to the straps of your backpack again, anxious to get food. Already tired of him. “Every Sunday.”

“Well, yeah,” he agreed, pausing. Then he grinned in a way you assumed he thought was cute. But all it really did was make your eyes hurt from the inability to roll, out of courtesy for him. He continued, taking a step closer. Your hands did start perspiring and your heart sped up positively at his proximity. “But I thought maybe we could do something not related to school?”

You opened your mouth to reject it–you were not interested. For many reasons. The biggest being the baby in your belly. . .

Although, the more you pondered the baby, you realized more than that, you were hesitant because of his or her father.

Not the child, but Jake. The man that was ever-present in your mind– with his beautiful, brunette hair, eyes the color of understanding, easing you in the most complex situations. . . and the heart that’d made the world suddenly make sense. . . (Which still scared the hell out of you, by the way.)

But. . .as the thoughts spiraled, it all started to have the opposite effect. Made you want to agree.

So, you did.

You said yes to hanging out with Theo. Because, as soon as that thought process had started derailing, you knew it was best to agree. The idea of hanging out with him seemed like a great distraction from Jake. A much needed one.

What you had with Jake was nothing and it was in the past. For a reason. 

After you watched him smile wide and say he’d text you, he went to join a heap of Pratt’s fraternity boys. You could only hope that maybe getting out there and hanging out with someone else would get your mind off of Jake. 

You did not want it going further than a few dates with Theo. Just a little time with Theo would surely be all it took to get your headspace cleared and make it easier to navigate life. 

The repercussions to its ending were literally nothing. You’d switch seats in class and force yourself through school with the occasional encouragement from Elsie. Theo was not a necessary addition to your life long-term, but you figured he could help you short-term, while also creating long lasting benefits.

Surely you could divert your thoughts from Jake. Think of the child first, and put its father on the backburner as you weaved through this next chapter in your life. . . No matter how badly you wanted him with you through all of it, experiencing it all first hand with you, it was the wiser decision to keep things separate. 

And, as an additional help, Theo would make it obvious to Jake that you were willing to keep your life separate. 

So, when you did eventually tell Jake (dear fucking God), there would be an additional party that emphasized you’d moved on and all that mattered now was the baby. 

Not the two of you. That ship needed to sail. 

Even though the thought made your stomach hurt like hell and tears well in your eyes as you pulled into the nearest Trader Joe’s for pickles. . . you knew it was the truth.

-🌼🌼🌼-

That evening, you took a longer route to work, choosing to listen to a podcast you’d found. 

Having listened to the first episode on the way to school that morning, you decided to fill your cup with another episode on the way to work. 

It was a magnificent podcast that was all about the ‘ins and outs’ of pregnancy, being a new mother, and how to grow mentally and emotionally during such a unique time.

The second episode was going just as well as the first until you heard one of the moderators’ voices get low and forlorn. 

“You know ladies. . . the first time I got pregnant is planted firmer in my memory than any of my other pregnancies,” she said, sighing heavily. 

“Oh, yeah, Jen,” another moderator said, voice growing dim with Jen’s, apparently (you were still getting accustomed to their names). “I bet, babe. . . The ones that are lost are the ones that stick so close it fuckin’ hurts and heals at the same time. . .”

“Agreed, Tally,” the third—and last—speaker on the podcast chimed in. “I’ll touch on my story after Jen.” 

“Thanks, Molly,” Jen’s voice rang through your speakers again. “Yeah, it’s just a different feeling when they’re there and then suddenly they’re not. . . When you imagine holding them in your arms for God knows how long and then it suddenly becomes impossible to do so,” Jen sniffed, and just as she did, you felt a tear hit your own cheek. God, you were hurting with her. “Every woman is different, but I just hang onto my loss like nothing else. And not necessarily in a bad way— just in an attempt to sort of keep the baby here with me— Give her the life she never got to fully live.”

Dammit, the tears wouldn’t let up. They were trailing down your cheeks steadily. When you got to the next stop light, you had to grab a napkin from your glovebox to blot at your cheeks, already marked with black streaks of mascara. Thankfully you could still wipe them up easily, not dried to your skin quite yet. But you knew the crying wouldn’t be letting up soon. Your emotions had been triggered and you would be seeing this sadness through. (Hello, pregnancy hormones.) 

You took turns holding the napkin under each eye, making sure to catch the tears as they continued. 

“I’m right there with you, Jenny,” a voice you now recognized as Molly’s said. “Even though my stories are a little different.”

Stories? 

God. You kept your eyes on the road as you popped open the glovebox once more, grabbing a fistful of left-over restaurant napkins. 

Sitting them on top of your legging-clad thighs, right where you could reach them, you took a right turn towards the B&G. 

“I’m sure we have listeners who will relate to all of these stories,” Tally interjected, sniffing. “Both of you girls.”

“I hope we’re able to help someone,” Jen responded, voice still thick, but not so bad as before. 

You heard a sigh before Molly started speaking again. “The first time I carried was very similar to Jenny’s. Lost the baby. Early on. The worst loss I’ve ever experienced—I will never understand why we lose them,” her voice shook with sadness. But, it soon transitioned to a hot flash of irate frustration when she spoke next. “I will also never understand the people who invalidate our experiences just because they were lost in the womb or lost as little tiny babies. . . Just because they weren’t full grown people, outside of the womb, when it happened. . . doesn’t make it hurt any less. You have just as much to mourn for the life they completely lost.” And just as soon as she was firm, her voice was soft again. “The life we lost before it was time.”

The other two agreed, voices low out of respect for the moment. 

“Then there was my second. . .,” she blew out a breath, as if preparing. She gave a half-laugh. “Strange occurrence. . .”

“But it happens!” One of the other two chimed in. 

“Sure as hell does,” Molly said. “The second time I carried, I had a hysterical pregnancy– a case that only 6 women in 22,000 experience. . .”

“I can’t imagine. . .,��� Tally breathed a sigh out. “Your body, tricking you like that.”

“Yeah, and it felt completely real– like everything you’d expect,” she replied, thoughtful. “Like everything I experienced with the one I’d lost before. . . And, God, it was so incredibly hard to get through once I found out what my body had done to me. . . I just wanted a healthy baby–especially after the loss. I was still hurting badly from losing the first when it happened. Almost like my body was playing tricks on me just to see how far I could stretch mentally and emotionally,” she laughed under her breath, in spite of it all. 

“So fucking cruel, babe. . .”

But you weren’t focusing hard enough to know who was talking anymore. You’d caught on to the stories they’d told and now you were over analyzing your situation. . . Questioning everything. . . Was this real? Was there a baby there? Were you having a hysterical pregnancy? Was your body playing tricks on you? 

Or, had you been pregnant, and had now lost the baby like those women had? Were you still carrying the life you’d started planning around? The little life you were becoming more and more attached to by the day?

Had you ever been carrying it? 

As you pulled into work, you put one shaking hand on your rounded lower belly.

- 🌼🌼🌼-

Suffice to say, your entire evening shift was spent in over-contemplation and searching miscarriages, hysterical pregnancies, and semi-local OBGYN’s during the lull of customers. 

As you’d searched online for a clinic, you were not looking for places too close, as you didn’t want God and everybody seeing you enter the clinic on a regular basis (if you, in fact, were to find out you were carrying a tiny little bean-baby). You sure as hell didn’t need anyone to start questioning you before you were ready to offer up answers. 

Once you finally left your longest shift ever, you drove home in deep thought and drowning silence. 

Your research over miscarriages and hysterical pregnancies had done you very little good. They’d actually done you no good at all, if you were being honest. Everything you’d read made you question a lot.

Because, everything that could possibly reassure you was also possible in a hysterical pregnancy or a miscarriage.

One: your growing tummy (which could continue growing in both of the sad, unwanted instances). Two: your hurting breasts (which could still hurt in both sad, unwanted instances). And three: your nausea (which could still occur in both sad, unwanted instances).

Once at home, you took a hot second getting ready for bed— lost in thought, you decided to try to tiring yourself with a bath, complete with lavender scented bath salts and bubbles. Once you were finally in bed, cozy in your softest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, you tried so hard to force yourself to sleep. You didn’t want to have to wait any longer to call the nice little clinic you’d found. 

And you sure as hell weren’t hungry. Didn’t want to eat with your stomach spinning with so many nerves.

And, the sooner you fell asleep, the sooner you could call the clinic and schedule an appointment. 

- 🌼🌼🌼-

But, after laying there for what felt like hours– the sounds of calming ocean waves playing through your phone and everything– you were still awake. 

You were drowning in all of the thoughts. Drown-ing. 

One that was flashing brightly at the front of your mind was why you even cared so much. And, the more you thought about it, tossing and turning, you realized you’d found the most unique, fulfilling form of reassurance in carrying the child. You wanted this baby. It had happened without you even meaning it to. . . but you wanted this baby so. fucking. badly. You’d tried damn hard not to want the little thing, but now that you’d spent so much time pondering it and holding your tummy? There was no question about any of it. You just wanted your baby and you couldn’t figure out how to explain it.

After rolling around far too much in bed, you realized you still hadn’t heard the telling sounds of Jake coming home. So, you decided to venture out into the living room to let a TV show distract you. Hopefully distract you enough to go to sleep. Pillow, Stanley, and phone in hand, you grabbed the fluffiest blanket from your blanket basket and nestled into your couch. 

Just as you’d turned the TV to Friends–wanting to feel closer to Elsie, but not feeling brave enough to talk to her whilst already being so emotional–, you heard the sound of a key jingling in the locked doorknob. And then the door was opening and you were looking behind you at the sound— for God knows what reason.

Then he was all you saw.

Jake.

Clad in the most handsome black, felt peacoat, the top of his head hidden by a black beanie. . . the chilly evening’s attire suited him so well that it brought a ridiculous tear to your eye. 

So devastatingly handsome and not at all mine, your thoughts became enveloped with storm clouds.

Thankfully he didn’t see you staring, as he seemed to be trying to avoid eye contact as he went about setting his keys in the bowl and taking his coat off to hang it on the rack by the door. And, as his actions cemented your thoughts, your eyes became wetter, a tear falling down your cheek for this stupid ass, cruel reality that you’d created. Even if you had done it for a good reason—and you had—it still sucked big ass. 

But, just as soon as your eyes were growing teary, your heart was beating erratically in your chest. The sight of the soft, tanned skin between the opened lapels of his shirt— exposed after taking off the coat. And the silver necklaces that clanged against his bare chest were the same he’d worn for Halloween. . . Your mouth watered as you observed the way they fell between his pecs which rose and fell with balanced breaths. . . 

Seriously, fuck these hormones.

Before you could get lost in the roundness of his ass through his jeans, he turned to the counter once more. You flipped back to your original spot on the couch. You decided to 

feign any knowledge of him being home, curling into a little ball on the couch and closing your eyes to fake sleep. 

When you heard him make a stop at his bedroom and then heard the bathroom door click shut, you stayed wrapped in your cocoon on the couch. And before too long, you felt yourself fading to black, one final tear slipping past your closed lids as Rachel and Ross argued over being on a break.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Initially, you weren’t sure what it was that brought you back from such a deep slumber. But, once you heard him, you knew. The deep, raspy laugh that was slightly muffled through you gaining consciousness. 

Why was he in the living room? Was he? Was this your imagination? A taunting dream?

You cracked an eye open the slightest bit to allow some adjustment to the light you’d shut your eyes to. But. . . There was no overhead light. It was off. The room would’ve been pitch black, save for your standing lamp’s yellow glow and the blue light from your TV. 

More importantly, the warning feeling of a crick in your neck was suddenly catching your attention. So, without worrying about your company, you quickly sat up to attempt getting more comfortable. You didn’t want to feel awkward around him, but you also didn’t want to deal with a hitch in your neck or a migraine in the morning. 

The loud yawn that escaped you once you’d sat up couldn’t be helped. You were slightly embarrassed at the obnoxiously loud noise that emitted from your mouth as you stretched. Blushing, you glanced over at your fellow living room occupant to see if he’d even noticed. 

And, of course, he had. 

He was staring at you—but. . . not judgmentally. Not at all. In fact, his eyes held the natural, reassuring lightness that occupied your sweetest recent memories. And the small grin on his face. . . was shocking, to say the least. 

Why was he acting so okay with you? He’d been so distant recently. . .

You knit your eyebrows together, hyper aware of his presence and needing answers as to why he had decided to sit next to you. 

“What are you doing here?” You clipped, tone sharp. You brought your blanket all the way up to your chin and around your shoulders, as a way to protect yourself from the (obviously) harmless man. 

Although, you instantly regretted it as his expression became apprehensive rather than open like seconds before. 

Why do you have to go and ruin everything, y/n? 

He leaned back, his eyebrows furrowed as he balanced a bowl of (. . . macaroni and cheese? Fuck, that looked good.) on his knee, holding onto it with one hand. “I live here, y/n.”

And yet another memory was flashing back to you from the night you got high. . . his breath, hot on your neck, your skin erupting in goosebumps as he said similar words then– your skin flaming now, too. Just the sound of his voice could elicit the most from you. Fuck your pregnant feelings.

Or were they just feelings? The fear came rushing back the moment you thought yourself pregnant. . . was there a baby in there? God, fuck. . . you really didn’t want to sit in this train of thought again. 

You figured you might as well use your company to distract you. . . .You missed talking to him anyways–missed it so damn bad. 

But your tummy interrupted you. The growl that emitted from it was fucking humiliating, honestly, but it had happened. And after eyeing you curiously for a minute, Jake’s lips turned up with a one breathy laugh, his beautiful pearly whites on full display. God, he was handsome.

“You hungry?” He questioned, lifting his mac and cheese. “I made more of this. It’s just the shit Kraft, but it still hits the spot.”

Nodding, you went to hesitantly get up to get some. You really didn’t want to move from under the security of your warm, cozy blanket. 

“No, just wait here,” he insisted, standing. His pajama pants were your favorites (the ones he didn’t normally wear underwear with). But you did not watch his crotch for movement. Your eyes were just staring at the wrong place at the wrong time. Really. “I have to wash my bowl anyway. I’ll put the rest in a bowl for you while I’m up.” 

Again, why was he being so fucking nice? But you weren’t about to disagree. You were comfy and hungry and he was offering. It felt like old times and you felt like being momentarily delusional.

“Okay,” you quietly agreed, your eyes shifted, unsure to his face. But he was moving before you could look at him. Back to the kitchen. After a few moments, he was back, handing you a little white bowl with a spoon. The scrumptious, cheesy noodles made your eyes light up. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, responding as though elsewhere. This was weird and you hated how it all felt. But he kept talking, filling the air as he sat a beer on the end table beside him, before sitting back down in the chair. “I had to get a beer anyway. Long day with the guys and May–,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shutting briefly as he shook his head.

Fuck. Thanks, Jake, you thought, your eyes on the verge of welling with tears. The moments of silence, hanging in the air, closing in around you. Not fucking now, hormones.

All you wanted to do was ask why it had been a long day. Get more information that might hurt you. Why did you do that to yourself? 

Though, before you could say anything, he continued. Awkwardly, his eyes flashing momentarily to the TV to reset as he spoke. “Long day. I should’ve asked if you wanted one.”

Your cheeks heated. . . little did he know. “I’m good,” you mumbled, looking down at your bowl. Stomach sinking with your thoughts from earlier, you decided to eat before you lost your appetite again. Not the time to be sad. “Thanks though.”

The next few minutes went by in a silence you wanted to stab with a fucking knife. It was seriously unpleasant and sucked ass. After you both laughed at a certain thing Joey said, you figured you might as well try to keep some sort of conversation going. Because, god, you missed him. 

“I meant in here, by the way,” you motioned with your head to the space around you, mouth full. (Ladylike.) 

His brow raised as he looked from the screen to you, setting his gaze on you. “What are you–?”

“My question. Why you were here,” you embarrassingly restated, hearing how it must’ve sounded. “In the living room. With me. Why you were in here, in the living room, with me, of all places.”

He sat further back, but this time going to sit in the armchair comfortably. His feet propped up on the ottoman across from him. “Well,” he covered his mouth, coughing briefly into his fist. “To be fair– you were sleeping when I came to sit down in here.” 

Rather than being unnecessarily hurt over him only wanting to be in the same room as a sleeping version of you, you let yourself give in to the temptation and take advantage of him being distracted by his next task. You missed everything about him. . . even such a simple thing as watching him move.

Pathetic. And, because your mind hated you, it felt like you were watching him move in slow motion.

You watched in a daze as he leaned over to the tall lamp’s attached table, his self-cut gray t-shirt rising up at his hips to show his firm abdomen flex with the stretch. It shouldn’t be so fucking hot to watch someone reach for a fucking beer bottle. But, the sight that greeted you next was worse than seeing his side peeking from his shirt. What you saw next were his full, pink lips, wrapping just right around the glass top of his beer bottle as he took a generous sip of his Miller Lite. You admired, mouth open as his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with each gulp of the beer. 

But when he went to repeat his action of leaning over the chair to set the bottle back, you decided to look away so as to save yourself from the torture (or, from the possibility of being caught). You took a bite of the mac and cheese, growing cold in your bowl.

Your heart was already hammering much too erratically from glimpsing these ridiculously mundane motions. . . fuck it all. The heat from being so near to him and watching him settled from your head all the way to the pit of your tummy. You swallowed down your bite thickly.

Your tummy.

“Yeah,” you muttered, awkwardly – you just wanted to have a conversation to get your mind off things. Problem was, you didn’t know where to necessarily start with him these days. . . Work? The band? Maya? God, no. . . gag.

Lucky for you, he took the initiative before you had much longer to overthink it. “I’m glad you woke up, though.” He pulled at his plaid pajama bottoms as he scooted up again, going back to get comfortable on the ottoman. Sitting with his legs spread (dammit), he balanced his elbows on his knees as he reached for his phone in his pocket. “I actually wanted to run something past you.”

God, please don’t say you found a place and you’re moving out. . . you thought, suddenly downcast and dreading what he was about to say. Or that you’re moving out to live with her.

You swallowed the thickness in your throat, trying to alleviate the unwarranted nerves before responding. Dispelling them with food, you took one more bite before swallowing it to talk. “And what’s that?” 

So what if he wanted to move out? He damn well could. He surely had the money and you two weren’t involved. 

He scrolled for a few more moments, your heart thump-thump-thumping without relenting. . . And finally, he found what he was looking for and before you had time to prepare, his eyes were sinking into yours earnestly. 

God. . . what is he about to sa–?

“I found a place for you to get therapy,” he stated, tone soft and careful. 

Therapy? Safe to say you were not expecting those words. 

And rather than being nervous, your emotions shifted to defensiveness. Where did he get off looking into that for you? Why was he . . .? Was he talking about the promise he’d made in his bed? That same night you’d panicked at your grandparents’? He’d remembered to do that? Why did he even care, still? You didn’t deserve for him to care– didn’t want him to care. It felt uncomfortable. 

“Why?” You sharply asked, holding your bowl in stiff hands on your lap. 

He leveled you with a look that said ‘cut it out.’ Did he really know where your thoughts were trailing? Was he still that in tune with you? Surely not. He was probably just irritated with your tone of voice. “I told you I would look for you, so I’ve been keeping up my end of the deal. I’ve actually asked a few clients if they knew of any nearby therapists worth their salt,” he peeked back at his phone, scrolling on it when he spoke next. “And there are actually quite a few good ones in the area.”

Your heart still beat harshly in your chest as you felt your skin heat with rage. You set your bowl down on the coffee table. And, the blanket, suddenly suffocating you, was flung off without a thought. “So, what is this? Is this you saying I’m a fucking loony, Jake? I’m sure you’ve been desperate as fucking hell to get me help because you think I’m such a nutcase,” you spit. You sounded dramatic (and, admittedly, like a deranged woman). You knew that. If you were thinking sensibly, you’d know he didn’t believe those things. . . but you were embarrassed that he’d been thinking so hard about this. It hurt your feelings that he thought you needed help that badly. “I’m just so broken and damaged and insane that you’ve decided you need to get a damn shrink to fix me.” Your lap was a sudden magnet for your eyes, your hands entangled on your pajama bottoms. Now, the hot teardrop that hit your interlocked hands was not expected and you swiftly swiped at your cheek. “Thanks for thinking so long and hard and asking God and everybody to find the most qualified person to psychoanalyze the shit out of me,” you sniffled, a couple more tears falling before you willed them away and looked in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Jake.”

But he wasn’t flustered. . . no, he actually sat there and took it. The brow that had raised on his face as you spoke was the only indicator that he’d heard you. 

The emotions you were experiencing were big and uncalled for. . . but, you were stressed. Over a lot of things. Doubting a lot of things. Your life seemed like one humongous question mark and you were sleepy as fuck and it was all just catching the fuck up with you. 

He cleared his throat, glancing once more at his phone before setting it on the arm of the chair. A tiny smirk ghosted briefly over his lips before they were set in a flat line again as he spoke next. His eyes stayed trained on his own hands, now clasped as well. “Y/n. . . Please. You know I don’t fuckin’ think those things,” he tried quietly, slightly testy, but not harsh. Then his irises found yours once more, making your heart rate speed up. You did know that. . . You knew better. He was right. “You agreed to this. I wouldn’t have made a point to look into this if you hadn’t okayed it,” he stretched his hands out and then combed them through his long, chestnut locks. 

His jaw flexed and he eyed you once more, digging into the heart of this before going any deeper. “I don’t want to force it on you. I won’t go any further in this conversation if you don’t want it. This is your decision. You know I looked into therapists. That’s it. You choose where you want this to go and then I’ll either leave you alone or tell you what I found out.”

You felt bit by bit of your current guard break down as you slowly relented. Because, well, you did want to know what he’d found out. Absentmindedly, you glanced down at where you’d subconsciously placed your hands over your stomach. It was habit at this point. That one reason underneath your fingertips was pushing you to know what he’d come to know. If you were, in fact, with child, you were desperate to start therapy. Yeah, sure, you wanted to get help for your sake. . . but more-so the child’s sake. Because, honestly, if you were not with child, you weren’t really sure if you’d want to push yourself to do that– go through all of those intense measures and changes and emotions that you knew only therapy could bring.

There was a ginormous sneaking, sinking suspicion in your gut. The one that was telling you there was a helluva lot more simmering, boiling beneath the surface than you knew. There had to be. For all the blaming you’d put on Jake just now, you knew you were a basket case. And there were some good fucking reasons behind it that you had to get to the bottom of. 

You had to do it for your child. And, on the off chance that your worst fears would come to light and you weren’t actually pregnant, it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear Jake out. Listen to what he’d found. 

You mumbled your next words. “Do you think I need fixing?” Dear God–where had that vulnerability come from? Did you want to know his answer?

Jake brought a thumb and forefinger up to his chin as he scratched it in contemplation, still measuring you with a long look. “I think it’s more complex than that, y/n,” he breathed a sigh out, as if not sure how to say what he was actually thinking. 

And dammit– it hurt for him to not just respond with a simple “no, I don’t think you need fixing.” More complex? What the hell did that even mean? 

“Do you think I’m brok–?”

“No,” he sighed. Then, he had your heart leaping into your throat when, in one swift motion, he was standing and walking the ottoman closer to where you sat on the couch. When he plopped down, he didn’t touch you. . . but the closer proximity was enough. The way your eyes naturally flitted momentarily to where his chest steadily rose and fell. You breathed with him. He spoke his next words with a low rasp, eyes serious as they pored into yours. “You are not broken.”

Your heart fluttered, making its way back to its home in your chest. “Okay,” you muttered. You needed to hear him say that– more than you’d ever be comfortable admitting. Finally, you responded to his prior offer. You knew what you wanted. “Tell me what you found out.”

Jake watched you for a few more seconds before leaning back a little, reaching back to grab his phone from the arm of the chair he’d been sitting in. You averted your sight to your hands this time, not watching his movements. Your hands, which were still nestled nonchalantly on your tummy. 

“So,” he started. Your gaze flickered up to him, a lazy smile fitting to your face. You watched his lips move as he spoke. Honestly, you hated how safe he felt. It wrapped you up cozier than the blanket that’d been around you moments ago. And the sad reality: you couldn’t wrap yourself up in him. You’d have to take what you could get. “I found this place. About 30 minutes from us. It’s a bit of a lengthy drive, but I figured it was worth it. It’s a clinic that’s very well known by many people around here, I’ve found out.”

“Expensive?” 

“Eh. Yeah. Pricier than others,” he clicked his tongue, raised his brow. “But– I asked Josh offhandedly the other day what the insurance was like at the B&G to figure out if it was covered by your–.”

“What do you mean offhandedly?” You nudged, hoping he hadn’t divulged that it was about you. “You didn’t tell him–?”

“No. I just asked him as if I was comparing it to mine at the agency that I teach lessons through,” he reassured. You breathed in relief. He snickered. “I wouldn’t tell him anything about. . .,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from your face to the wall behind your head and then to his phone again. “Anyways. . . they’re covered by your insurance.”

At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter if Josh found out. . . he was about to have a massive bomb dropped on him (by you, of course). But. . . you still didn’t really want him finding anything out from Jake. Didn’t want him hearing anything before you were ready. 

“Cool,” you grinned, trying to ease the tension. He opened his mouth to continue, but you stopped him before he could. “Thank you, by the way. For looking into this.”

He looked surprised and you hated that he seemed that way. You should have been more appreciative to begin with. . . this was such a selfless thing for him to do and you’d reacted by getting defensive and snapping. When that was the last thing he deserved. God, you were awful sometimes. 

He smiled, wide and close-lipped. “Of course. I told you I would.”

You nodded, looking back to your hands, which you’d let move to your lap. Didn’t want him catching on to you holding your stomach. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” he began, hesitantly. “I called them for a quote and asked about a specific therapist.”

“Why specific?” You questioned, scrunching your brows. 

“That leads into the next part, actually. . .,” he slowly continued, “She’s the only one at their practice that specializes in this unique form of therapy. A type I’ve read and researched on a fuck ton. . . I wanted to find the perfect method for your specific traumatic effects. So, I thought of the dreams. . . how you like control. . . I think it’s the type of therapy you could benefit most from.”

Damn. Way to call you out on your need for control. If anyone knew how much you desired control, though, you figured he did. But. . .now you were even more curious. . . because. . . you were venturing into different types? Wouldn’t just be sitting down with a shrink? What did he have in mind?

“And this type is. . .?”

His eyes light up, excitedly, as if he’s been dying to get to this part. “It’s called EMDR,” he voiced with a tinge of apprehension and elated anticipation. As you mouthed the letters under your breath, he clarified further. “Eye, E. Movement, M. Desensitization, D. And Reprocessing, R.”

You blinked a few times and shook your head. “Okay,” you stated slowly, placing your hands in front of you to indicate he needed to slow down. “What the fuck does all of that mean though?”

“Before I continue, I need you to know: I’ve done a shit ton of research and out of all of it, I’ve become really invested and interested in this type of therapy specifically. . . and for good reason. I’m really hopeful that it will help you,” he emphasized, eyes sincere. 

Your tummy did somersaults at how invested he’d become in all of this . . . but your mind stuttered momentarily at the flutter. You couldn’t help but get lost in the thought of a little bean in there and how you hoped to feel little kicks someday (obviously not yet, Jesus Christ), not just Jake-induced butterflies. God, you hoped there was a little thing in there. . . 

Jake’s steady, soft voice brought you back to the present and to his face that peered down at his phone, reading carefully. “To put it simply: it’s like a form of hypnosis. A way to force you to remember certain things so you can finally move on and heal from them.”

You blanched at that. “I’m going to be hypnotized?” To say you were second guessing this was a massive understatement. This EMDR shit could take a back seat. You were already apprehensive about getting help–even with the traditional approach. “I’m not down for hyp-fucking-nosis. Hell no. And all for the sake of remembering things I don’t really care to remember in the first place? I don’t think so, Jake,” you shook your head, toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your t-shirt. “I’m already taking a hugeass leap by being willing to go to therapy itself. I don’t need the voodoo shit . . . I’ll settle for the traditional approach,” you paused, not wanting to get too far ahead before showing your thanks. “But. . . thank you for–.”

“No, no. Listen,” he said, laying one hand on your knee for a blip of a second, your mind short-circuited at the touch. He damn sure had your attention now. “It’s different. Yes, you’ll remember things. But . . . well. . . Shit, I don’t know how to explain it in my own words. 

“Well, just send me a link and I’ll give it a read and we’ll settle–.”

“Quit,” he sternly said. “Quit saying that you’re going to settle. I don’t want you to settle. I want you to get to the root of this. . . so you can heal. Please. Hear me out,” he pleaded, the hand going back to rest on your knee for a few moments longer than last time before he removed it again. “It's–it’s more than remembering. It’s like— like your mind takes you back to the memory. You’re there all over again, living it a second time.”

“Yeah,” you went to stand up, but he moved with you, showing you he would follow you. So, you stayed put. Dear God, Jacob. “I don’t want to live the shit for a second time. Why the hell would I want to do that?“

“Do you want to fucking heal?” He snapped, his eyes searching yours for any sort of bullshit.

You blinked, “Damn,” you began, a sarcastic, irritated smirk on your face when you shook your head. Could he give you a break, maybe? Shit. But, still, you answered him. And his impatient, waiting eyes. Your answer was a no-brainer for you at this point. “Yes, Jake. I want to fucking heal.”

His jaw flexed as he let out a deep breath, through his nose, pinching the bridge of it. “So, please, y/n. . . just listen to me. Hear me out. You don’t have to do it. I just want you to let me explain it first,” he begged, eyes trained on yours, following every flicker of them. The unsureness you communicated through your gaze was balanced by the overwhelming sureness in his. You nodded for him to continue. He reciprocated the action, continuing with a deep breath in and and a deep breath out. “EMDR allows you to heal by letting you be in charge of your healing. You have the power to leave the situation this time. You’re in control of it now. It’s the past. But you have to face it. . . That’s part of it. . . The cool thing is, though. . . you can control whether you stay or leave a memory; you control how you move on from it.”

Well, goddammit. . . Of course he’d know just what to say to get you to finally listen to him. 

Control. That single word finally flicked the lightbulb on in your stubborn, jaded head. 

You paused heavily in your opposition, taking note of his far too sincere features. Perhaps he truly was just trying to help you, a sentiment that had always felt utterly foreign to you throughout your life. You’d held all of your guards up so high for so indescribably long. It took a lot for you to dare let anyone in aside from your sister (who, if you had to be honest, simply didn’t have a choice being your own flesh and blood. . .And given the fact that she lived it, too). 

But the harsh reality of the matter was, you had let Jake in. Too much. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the moment, you could’ve smirked at the irony of just how much– the possible little life in your tummy, a constant reminder in recent times. And, well, you’d definitely let him in enough that he knew you came with some serious trauma.

You watched him carefully, suddenly beginning to realize that the only reason you’d felt so reluctant to heed his guidance with this bizarre form of therapy. The reason you always doubted him– you couldn’t fathom the fact that he truly wanted to help you. 

But, time and again he seemed to prove you wrong. Even after you’d bitched him out to kingdom come in the kitchen months ago. There was no reason for him to want to help you. But here he was. With his research, his beautiful and honest eyes, the phone that he gripped with purpose with explanation after explanation, as if a lifeline. . .

He cared. Whether you could accept it or not. . .it didn’t change the fact that he actually cared. 

“I’ll go talk to the therapist,” you finally offered, relenting as much as you could at that moment. “I’ll feel it all out after I talk to her about it. . .,” you leveled, feeling fair in that decision. 

And he didn’t question, just shook his head with a lip stuck out. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.”

“How do I schedule the appointment?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next day was spent making strides towards your future. You scheduled the OBGYN appointment as soon as the clinic opened— being as that was the first, major priority. Setting that up had been simple. A date and time. The insurance you’d be using. Then, you’d hung up.

But, as soon as you’d set that up (and felt utter relief at having that panned out), you called the counseling practice Jake had told you about. And, you set up a therapy session with the woman Jake had given you the name of for the day before your first OB appointment. . . 

The counseling appointment was set up for the upcoming Monday. . . For some reason, when you’d been on the phone, scheduling for the nearest date available had seemed like the only logical option. But, it hadn’t been as cut and dry as your scheduling for the doctor’s appointment. There’d been a form. They’d informed you that they would email it for you to fill out with some general information (and a picture) before your first appointment. It was slightly daunting, but not totally unexpected, the more you’d thought about it. It was an understandably reasonable precursor to your first session. Just a few minor things to assist in your therapist knowing the most basic things about you before beginning. 

Doing it before the OB appointment had also seemed like a good idea. Talking to someone about the newfound worries to help you wade through the days to seeing the obstetrician. . . It seemed like a good plan of action. Made you feel more peace for the whole situation, honestly. 

So, that Friday, as you settled into your seat for a stupid ass writing course, you didn’t even care as you felt like other things were on the move. Honestly, at this point, you wanted to say fuck school and your distaste for the major you’d chosen. . . As they didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of it all. Bigger things were about to start happening. 

And you could only hope that what awaited you would be positive. . . Positive bigger things ahead. 

Bigger things that looked like real healing and a baby with Jake’s eyes.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The couch was leather and a little cold, even through your leggings. . . and the small office-room smelled like essential oils. It was reminiscent of a spa without the ambience music. 

The place didn’t need the music, though. . . the oils and general atmosphere were the perfect, calming mixture. . . Well thought out combination of smells and colors to ease the mind. 

But no therapist. Not yet. You’d been led by the secretary into a room where you now sat by yourself. She’d offered tea, coffee, and water, with a large, welcoming smile on her freckled face. You couldn’t refuse the offer, so you’d accepted the option of water. 

It had been in a bottle, and you clutched it tightly, opened only for the tiniest sip as you let your body relax as much as it could, leaning the slightest bit back into the couch. 

And you continued to wait. 

You watched the closed wooden door, your eyes wandering every now and then to the artwork that depicted gardens and fresh flowers. . . Some were beautiful paintings, while others were simple little drawings, or even real flowers, pressed in a glass frame. 

The walls were tinged with a light sage—the color, oddly easing to the mind. 

Then the knob was twisting open, matching the feeling of your nervous tummy. The muscles at the pit of your stomach flexed and flinched at the prospect of the therapist. What was she going to be like? Would she match the cool, relaxing environment of her office? You could only fucking hope. . .

Looking down at your hands to avoid any awkward eye contact, you took note of how badly you needed a manicure. . . damn. 

“Y/n?” A reposeful, gentle voice interrupted your nail critique. You looked up to acknowledge your long-awaited company. . . and man, was she completely different from your last therapist. The first thing you noticed was that she was. . . young. Mid-thirties at the very oldest. She was much younger than your aging counselor from the past. How long had she been doing this? “I’m Gianna. But all of my clients and closest friends call me Gia.”

“Gia,” you tried it out, letting a small smile fit to your face. It was a genuine smile– you were relieved. Without even really knowing her, you already felt so at ease with her. She was one of those people–like Elsie or Josh–who just carried a naturally empathetic, calming air. Made you feel like you were standing in the breeze on a warm spring day. “Nice to meet you.”

Her hair, naturally dark, but dyed beautifully to be a blonde-gray, was up in a styled messy bun. Lips, painted in the most beautiful naturally red tint. . . and the round, wire-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose complimented her soft features so incredibly well. The freckles on her pale face, visible through the circular frames. Her cheeks were tinged with a perfectly rosy blush, and they swelled with your greeting. 

She adjusted her loose, beige overalls over her off-white, long-sleeved mock neck. The overalls were the fabric ones that’d gone viral (which helped you to note how incredibly trendy she was, if you hadn’t already been able to guess that). She inhaled and exhaled easily, her lips quirking even more than before. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n,” she repeated back to you. “I’m sorry it took me a bit to make my entrance. I like to give my people some time to adjust to the space before they’re bombarded with all of the therapy stuff. It’s an important thing to me.” Then her leg was being bent to balance her white, platform converse on the seat of her pale pink rolling chair. “Before we begin. . . I also need you to know that my office has a completely open door policy. If, at any moment, you start feeling uncomfortable, please let me know and you may leave to take a break, or simply leave the practice to adjust your thoughts before the next session. Won’t charge you for the whole time or anything. . .,” she added the last part, surely as another financially conscientious adult. “I just know that sometimes this shit gets tough–baring all of it and having to get through it. . . it’s rarely easy, and I want to be able to foster a healthy, resting environment for you as you wade through all of it.”

“Wow,” you blinked, your heart warm in your chest as you let yourself sink a little further into the couch, shoulders loosening just a bit. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”

Winking, she brought the mug up to her lips that she’d carried in with her. After taking a sip, she sat it on her desk and then wrapped both arms around her bent leg. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me and my profession before we begin?”

You pondered that, always having questions swirling in your head. “Just general things,” you snorted, playing it off. “Stupid, basic shit that I don’t need answered.”

“Nothing is stupid in here, sweets,” she said firmly, her eyes communicating more than the words she’d said. “Sometimes misguided and confused, yes, but never stupid.” She used the foot on the ground to swing the chair from side to side, ever-so-slightly. “Sooo, shoot. Ask anything you’d like–basic or not.”

Blinking at her again, you let your grip on your water bottle ease up. “Oh, um,” you quietly began. You scrambled for the right words. “Well, I guess I was wondering how long you’ve been doing this?”

She giggled. “Oh, sure. . . I’ve been practicing for about five years. Administered EMDR for the past two or so. . .” Her cheeks were still rosy with a gentle smile when she spoke next. “I will ask, though. . . did you not check out the website prior to this?”

Fuck. You hadn’t thought to do that. That was strange. . . usually you’d jump at the chance of looking into anything and everything before diving head first into something. Especially something as serious as a life-changing thing like therapy and the person you’d be inevitably baring your soul to. What in the fuck? Why hadn’t you thought to do that?

“I– um,” you searched her eyes, as if they held your answer. “I didn’t. Which is strange for me.”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” she said, grabbing her mug from her desk again. But before taking a sip, she continued. “I just noted on your form that you like having control over the things that transpire in your life. And checking the website to do some solid research seems like just the way to do that.” She took a sip, humming as she took it away from her full lips. “But there’s my thoughts going to crazy places based primarily on black and white principles. And we’re definitely not here to do that,” she shook her body as if shaking it off, putting her leg down and nestling her mug between her hands. “I don’t look at shit in black and white. That’s something that, as your therapist, I need you to know. There’s a lot of healing properties found in the gray.”

You couldn’t explain it, but the last sentence left you feeling this overwhelming sense of hope and understanding. Without even knowing you, she seemed to get the fact that you came with a lot of fuckin’ gray. All kinds of shades of the color. Had you been that transparent on your form? Not able to remember it, you just pushed it to the side as you figured it didn’t really matter. Because even if you had been open on the form, you were about to get much more transparent.

“Thank you,” was all you said, the water bottle held in loose hands as you comfortably crossed your legs. “My life has left me pretty fucking gray, so that’s a relief.”

“There’s beauty in the gray, love,” she noted, leaning forward as if engaging even further in the conversation (as if she wasn’t already remarkably with-it). She held her tea steady in her hands, and you couldn’t help but look down at the mug to see what it looked like. And, of course, it was covered in pale flowers, just like her office. “I’m down for any more questions you may have.”

“Family?”

“Just a fiancé, but other than her, I’m pretty estranged from much more family. Boundaries are a specialty of mine, and I’ve had to set a few in my life,” she said, assured and confident. “No kids yet. We aren’t quite sure if we want them or not.”

You nodded. But, you were not able to hold back the wetness that gathered in your eyes. The tears settled at your ducts and if you blinked, you knew they’d fall. The way you were feeling at the moment was unexplainable. So many things at once. But, most importantly, you were thankful. Thankful for people like Gia. The woman exuded peace and you weren’t sure why you’d ever questioned trying therapy again when there were women like her in this profession. 

“Thank you,” you said again, as if you were a manufactured robot. Then you shook your head, embarrassed at your currently tiny vocabulary. “I’m sorry I keep saying that. I’m just grateful there’s people like you in this world.”

Wow. Okay. So we’re getting real honest and sentimental now, huh? A good-humored voice asked you. Here for it.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said quietly, respecting the new emotions in the room. “Are you ready to tell me a bit about you?”

Letting the tears fall with a blink, you wiped at them with a breathy laugh. She grabbed the nearest tissue box and handed it to you. You wiped under your eyes and dabbed at your cheeks. “Chose to not wear makeup for a reason,” you chuckled, internally thanking past-you. She laughed with you, placing the Kleenex on the couch next to you for proper access, then sat back, balancing her elbows on her thighs as she held her face up with open palms. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said once you’d settled. “We’ve got the next hour and a half.”

“How much do you wanna know?” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you placed your locked hands over your tummy. “I’m a basket case.”

Her eyes sparkled. “As much as you’re willing to tell me,” she affirmed with a wink behind her glasses. “I’m all ears.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

So, as you left that day, you were absolutely confident in saying Gia knew about as much of your life as Elsie did. And that was saying something.

She’d just been so receptive, and had kept encouraging you– as you cried and laughed and sighed and growled. She kept reminding you that she wanted to ‘hear as much as you’d give her’. That she was ‘in your corner’ and that she was ‘there for you.’ And her words and kind eyes were enough to spur you on. Continue to the point of her knowing nearly everything there was to know about your life. 

From your childhood to now, Gia was now totally knowledgeable in the realm of Y/n. 

Thankfully, there’d been no EMDR, as she informed you that next session you’d begin talking about the intricacies of the practice and whether or not you wanted to begin with it the session after your next. She wanted to take time to adjust and ‘simply be’ before introducing the innovative method of therapy.

She’d given a couple of tidbits about it, just for you to think about before the next session, but not too much, since the next session was dedicated to her actually breaking it down for you. 

“Now, before you leave, I want you to know that we can locate your safe place next time. The place in your mind where you’ll return when you need a breath of fresh air amidst the memories,” she’d offered, hands in her pockets, tea cup abandoned as you stood up alongside her to follow her out of the office. But before you two left the office space, she took the time to assure you once more. “But only if that is what you decide you want. This is your life, sweets, and I’m just here to help you through it.”

And, for the eighty-millionth time that day, you’d told her ‘thank you.’ You were going to take a bit of time to consider it. 

She’d also given you a few nuggets of wisdom. 

They’d specifically followed the end of your session, when you’d broken down about the unsureness of your pregnancy (but easily applied to the rest of your messy ass life). 

One thing she said to do: “Slow down your thoughts. Do not let them take control. Slow them down and figure them out with what you know. Piece by piece, break them down before they get too astronomically crazy.”

Another being: “Let yourself feel peace. Just every once in a while, let yourself feel it and don’t let guilt eat you alive for it.” (When you’d laughed sarcastically, she’d nodded, agreeing that it was “most definitely easier said than done.”)

She had been wonderful at assuring you that it was most definitely a product of your trauma to react so preposterously. How you thought certain decisions and thoughts might give you peace, yet always resulted in the opposite. But, she’d also told you that you’d “figure it out bit by bit” as you move along and to “give yourself grace” as you navigate it all on your own, in your day-to-day life.

But, there was one singular, specific piece of advice she’d offered that was sticking out more than much else. 

Of course, you’d filled her in all the way up to your appointment tomorrow and Elsie’s idea for Josh to attend with you. You wanted her opinion on it, asking for as much, and she’d been firm in her opinion. Her words rang in your head as you navigated the late afternoon New York traffic on your way back home.

“Your sister is a genius,” she’d said astonishingly, blowing out a breath from between her naturally full lips. “Everything she said is exactly what I’d tell you, too, sweets. And if it helps to hear this, even as an outside party, Josh sounds like the type of person to receive it in a non-traumatizing manner. He will, most definitely, be sensitive to your feelings. And, having him there will help you feel less alone and calm in your worries. . . and it will help him feel needed–like Elsie said. So, truly, it’s a win-win. If I had my way, I’d make sure Josh is there tomorrow. But, again, it’s your life and it’s up to you.”

“How do I even ask, though?” You asked pathetically, pulling your sleeves down over your hands as you began to get nervous at the prospect. 

“Take a deep breath,” she calmly recited (as she’d done a time or two during your life lament). After doing it with you, she settled you with an understanding gaze. “Just text him. Tell him you have an important appointment tomorrow and that you need him there with you.”

“And if he asks what it’s for?”

“I’d say you tell him that you’ll tell him when you see him or when you get there,” she advised. “But, I don’t think he’s the type of person to question when you’re being vulnerable like that. I’d bet you he just agrees to it, no questions asked– if he’s free, that is,” she winked. 

So, with her sitting there, you’d texted him and asked exactly what she’d told you to. The thing about having an “important appointment.”

And even though he hadn’t responded, you tried to not overthink it as you calmed down from telling your entire life story to your therapist.

When you’d pulled into the apartment complex, your stomach sank at the sight that greeted you. Your space was awaiting you, but Jake’s, next to yours, was empty. Per usual these days, his new purchase of a used car was not at home at the same time as you. Really, you’d gotten used to his lack of presence. But it always made you sadder than you wanted to admit. Because, well, you knew if he wasn’t at the studio or some rehearsal, he was most likely with Maya (you were awfully glad he didn’t bring her around the apartment too much, but still. . .your mind went crazy at the other prospects of what they were doing). 

But today, it was worse. You were sad for more than your assumptions about his whereabouts. Today, you desperately wanted to tell him thank you– wanted to fill him in on how it had gone so great. But he wasn’t there. Because you’d pushed him away (something that Gia told you you’d ‘navigate the reasoning for’).

So, as you trudged up the steps, instead of walking in to tell Jake, you just took time to relax as much as you could. And you figured a good way to do that was to give yourself a long ‘everything shower,’ with your most favorite R&B playlist playing as background noise. 

And when you’d gotten out, the screen that you opened your phone to was something that brought a swarm of anxiously joyous butterflies. Under his name, there was a ‘Yes, of course!’ from Josh. And below his text, was a notification for your next appointment with Gia. One week from today. 

Everything would be okay. It would. You recited this as you responded to him, deciding to try your best not to think of telling him until you absolutely had to tomorrow, after hitting send with a simple ‘thank you :)’.

You kept reciting that everything would ‘be okay’ as you put a hand to the firm little bump, growing steadily at the bottom of your tummy. And you contemplated as much as you were willing to, without reducing yourself to any more tears (you’d cried enough already for one day). Because now all you were going to be plagued with for the next several hours until your OB appointment was whether there was actually a baby in your growing belly. 

You then ate a giant salad (everything else you wanted to eat had made you feel nauseous as hell), as you’d watched Friends. Your thoughts were subdued, but still spiraled a tad. . .though, you took Gia’s advice and tried to slow them down to navigate each one with what you genuinely knew. There was nothing telling you that you weren’t with child besides your own convoluted mess of negative thought. More signs were pointing to that you still were. One piece of truth keeping you going was your growing belly. And even though bellies could still grow after miscarriage or in the case of hysterical pregnancy, the probability of that being your situation was very, very slim. Right?

You knew that. 

Before too long, you were standing in front of your vanity, braiding your wet hair and laying down to find rest much easier than many nights in recent times. . . the only thing that kept you up for a bit longer than you wanted was wondering why Jake hadn’t come home yet.

But, again, you knew it was none of your fucking business.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next afternoon had you waiting outside of your apartment as soon as Josh said he was about five minutes away. Your apartment had started to feel absolutely insufferable, closing in around you as your mind went crazy with scenarios.

The autumn day was lovely, sun shining, but warmer today than it’d been yet this season. With no breeze. And, the lack of breeze was not aiding in your already-sweaty palms, wet with nerves. Or your upset stomach—your current nausea induced by your anxiety more than the (hopeful) baby in your tummy.

Your stomach was fucking rolling as you waited for Josh to pull up to the complex. 

Dramatic as it may have sounded, you felt as if you were on the verge of a heatstroke when he eventually showed up in his little car, which was literally squeaking and creaking as it sat still. The exhaust emitted from the back of the car was enough to make you feel like you were actually going to blow chunks, and you instantly decided you could not ride thirty minutes to the clinic in his little hunk of metal.

Sending a quick text, you made up an excuse to take your car. To emphasize the text, you went ahead and started walking to your Jetta, parked in its usual spot.

You, 11:49 p.m.: I need to get gas… Can we take my car? 

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Of course.

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Are you ready?

You smiled, looking over to where he was still parked in his visitor space. His eyebrows crinkled in concentration to the device in his hand as he watched the screen, waiting for you to respond.

You, 11:51 p.m.: Yes, Joshua. I’m at my car and staring right at you.

As soon as he got the text, you waited for what you knew was coming. He looked up from his phone, through his windshield, and at you with a giant grin painted across his features. It didn’t take him long to get out of his car, lightly jogging as he came over to you. 

“You creep,” he smiled, slightly out of breath. “Peeking through my windows.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach started aching, yet again, at the prospect of what you were about to tell him. Honestly, at this point, you were just ready to get it over. The longer you kept it to yourself, the more you were worrying about it and his possible reaction. And the sooner you could just tell him, you’d see his honest, real reaction. . . and then you could deal with the rest from there. 

It also helped that his girlfriend and your certified therapist thought that it would go okay. They were the practical thinkers in this situation, whereas you were an overthinker to the highest degree. And, if you could just get it out–just fucking tell him–you could (hopefully) validate their predictions of how the situation would play out. 

“Am I driving or are you?” He asked, bringing your thoughts back to the present. 

To current Josh. Josh who didn’t know anything yet. Completely ignorant Josh. . . fuck. The last moments of keeping him in the dark.

“You,” was all you said before you unlocked the car and made your way to the passenger side. Once you were both inside, you handed him the keys as he started the engine.

Your stomach fucking dropped as he backed out of the space. . . what was about to come out would literally change you and Josh forever.

Would it be for good? Would it be for bad? If he was going to be mad at you, how long would he stay that way?

You couldn’t be upset with him if he got angry. For everything. Like distracting Jake when Josh had specifically told you he didn’t want that for his twin. Or for simply keeping this giant ass secret from him about it all. The more you thought about it, you thought that perhaps the reason you were so scared was because of how completely validated he would be if he did end up being pissed as hell with you. . .

But. . . you just couldn’t stand losing him. Especially at such a time as this. . . you needed him. 

And that’s why you just needed to fucking tell him. It was inevitable for him to find out, and the sooner it was out, the sooner you weren’t lying to him anymore. Because that’s exactly what you’d been doing. You’d been fucking lying. For months. To your best friend.

“So,” he began, excited–the complete opposite of how you were feeling. “Where are we going?” 

Plugging your phone into the CarPlay, you turned off Siri’s voice before you did anything since you didn’t want her blurting out your destination before you were ready to tell him. Once she was silenced, you pulled up the directions to the clinic you’d carefully chosen. 

You sat back slowly after entering it, your stomach spinning as your thoughts went insane and your nerves continued to set on white-hot fire.

You spared a glance over at him through your lashes to see him looking out the corner of his eye at you, coming up to a stoplight. The look he was giving you made you sure that your face was morphed to show utter terror and worry. “What’s wrong, mama?”

Fuck. You turned to face the front again and squeezed your eyes shut at the nickname, bringing two clenched, sweaty fists up to your eyes as your skin began to feel like it was quite actually peeling off of you in nervous jitters. Your eyes couldn’t stand being squeezed shut any longer as you felt the tears forming behind your lids.

He continued driving, but with the occasional nervous glance in your direction. 

Then, he laid a comforting palm on your shoulder, his thumb soothing circles over your arm. 

And, once he’d done that, it was no longer in your control to keep the tears at bay. You tried to fight them back, but it was to no avail. 

So, there you were, face becoming drenched in tears as you couldn’t stop sputtering little sobs. 

In your peripheral, you saw Josh looking at you as he came to one last light before the highway, face surely painted with distress. “Y/n?” He checked, careful and concerned. “I’m sorry if I said some–.”

And what came out of your mouth next was not at all expected. But, it blurted through your lips with zero fucking warning. You did not know which part of your brain had decided to communicate with your mouth to say it.

“I’m pregnant,” you sobbed.

The car lurched to a stop, cars honking furiously behind you at Josh’s abrupt action. Your stomach, already thick with nerves, couldn’t handle it. You quickly slapped an open palm over your mouth to conceal any projectile vomiting. Thankfully none came, but you had to clench your eyes shut once again as Josh made a wide, sloppy U-turn off of the street that was leading to the highway. 

And when he’d finally come to a stop again, you opened your eyes to see he’d pulled the car over into the nearest McDonald’s.

Focusing too hard on trying not to vomit helped you to stop the outrageous weeping for a few minutes. You finally peeled the hand from your mouth as you took several deep breaths, in and out, to calm yourself and your stomach. 

Before you even knew what was happening, Josh was getting out, running to the door of the establishment. You watched in the mirror to your right as he simultaneously got his wallet out of his back pocket. 

Choosing not to worry about it, you shut your eyes once more to ease your tummy. But it did not help and you felt the puke coming in just enough time to unlock your door, open it, and puke all over a piece of the yellow line that boxed the car into its space.

You groaned as you leaned back up into the car and into your seat, letting your hair fall from the impromptu ponytail that you were holding at the back of your neck. Popping open the glovebox, you grabbed a few napkins to wipe your face (these days, between the incessant crying and vomiting, you were fucking constantly thanking God for the years-accumulated collection).

And then the driver’s side door was opening once more, this time Josh’s khakis making the first appearance as he climbed back in. He had two cups, one balanced between his bicep, clad in a white, long-sleeved tee and his chest and one in his hand. He quickly placed both in the center cup holders and popped a straw in each. 

Your brows lifted, wondering. “What did you–?” 

“Sprite,” he pointed to the one at the front. “And water,” the one in the second holder. 

“How did you–?”

“There’s a part of my brain permanently cemented with what it was like to watch my mom be pregnant with Sammy,” he explained, eyes soft with a smile gracing his handsome features. “I was too young to remember watching her pregnancy with Ron, but Sammy. . . he’s always been tough–even in the fuckin’ womb.”

You gave a small giggle, stomach spinning when your hand went to grab the Sprite. The carbonation sounded perfect, and Sprite had been a go-to in a few cases of your recent nausea. 

The cool drink had been just what you’d needed, sighing as soon as you brought the straw away from your lips with the first sip. You kept it clutched in your hands as a lifeline when you looked at Josh next, eyes wet. “Thank you, Joshy,” you croaked, tone exuding gratefulness. 

“Yeah, always,” he affirmed, his eyebrows dipped in. The next few minutes were spent in silence, your thoughts finally quieted a little with the initial confession to him. You took a few quiet sips of your drink, the sound of you swallowing the loudest sound in the small car.

Knowing he most likely wasn’t wanting to pressure you to talk, you took the initiative. “I–I’m sorry for not– I’m–,” you choked, shaking your head. The tears were beginning to gather once fucking more. Yet, even with eyes wet and throat tight, you persevered. You had to get the rest of it said before you continued to the appointment–you were going to be late if you didn’t get going soon. And you weren’t about to tell him the rest afterwards. “I have to tell you the rest.”

His jaw clenched in preparation for it as he nodded, his body turning to better face you for what was left. “Lay it on me.”

You gulped, mimicking his movement so you could see him better. Your throat was so tight it nearly suffocated you with nerves. “The–the father,” you started, looking into the eyes that looked so eerily similar to his brother’s. Very much like the ones you hoped your baby would wind up having–yet, not entirely the same. “Do you want to know?”

Of course you’ll want to, you thought at your ridiculous question. And I’m going to tell you anyway, but I’m stalling like a pussy.

His lips quirked, but only the slightest, tiniest bit. “Only if you want to tell me.”

I have to.

“I–I do,” you said, your eyes darting down to your hands which wrung at your waist, itching to touch your tummy. So, you did, settling them on the small bump. And instantly, you felt better. You were beginning to find it slightly crazy what one simple touch could do. 

Choosing to watch your hands lace at your tummy instead of him, you took the last jump with two words. “It’s Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i promise you won't be waiting a month for Josh's reaction ;) see you very, very soon <3

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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, @thetroublegetssoloud, @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, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake fic #jake kiszka #covet #my fics

[tu-es-gegg]

untuk hari bahasa ini, saya cubalah mengajarkan semua tentang sikit budaya melayu dan berkongsi kosa kata juga (ENG TRANSLATION)

(for this language day, I will try to teach a little about Malay culture and share vocabulary as well)

i made the original post detailing some fun stuff abt my culture of being malay (specifically from perspective living as a Malay from Singapore), i want to do an english translation so its more accessible to those who don't speak malay. This isnt an exact translation (plus im adding mroe additonal info) so keep that inmind

FIRST, what is the Malay language? This is an Austronesian language, also the national language in Brunei, Malaysia and Singapore. Malay is usually written in Latin script, also known as Rumi. There is also Jawi script based on Arabic writing. If you want to know (most) letters in Jawi, this is a video stuck in my head from Andalus (I'm bad at writing in Jawi and Arabic too, even though I study, I don't know much;;;)

Malay culture is deeply connected with Muslim culture, that's why a lot of malay festivities and celebrations revolve around the islamic calender. one such celebration is Hari Raya. there are two ceremonies; Aidilfitri and Haji, I will talk about Hari Raya Aidilfitri only because it is close this year and most well known (for context, its litterally in april this year).

The previous month is Ramadan where we fast/puasa. We do not eat from Subuh (around sunrise) to Maghrib (around sunset) (these are two of the names of the prayer times, in Islam we are supposed to pray around 5 times a day during different intervals. it goes Subuh, Zohor, Asar, Maghrib, Isyak). Before dawn, want to eat Sahur and then pray. At Maghrib, want to eat to break the fast/ berbuka puasa (usually say "buka" for short). Also in this month before Aidifilti, the family will prepare by cleaning the house for visitors, buy new baju kurung, get kuih, etc etc.

aaaa there are a lot of kuih, here's anything I can name (many are from Singapore); kuih lapis, kuih salat? ondeh ondeh, kuih bahulu, kuih dadar, BISKUT CORNFLAKES OMG does that count?. there are many more lol.

ALSO! In Singapore, during Ramadan, there is a huge Night Market in Geylang. Not only in Geylang there is a night market but this is very popular. There are MANY stalls selling food. Everyone who buys from geylang night market knows Ramly Burger, deep-fried Oreos, vadai, KEBAB, DENGDENG. (I like to buy rolled ice cream and chicken kebab mmmm)

In Geylang too, they will buy traditional clothes to visit family. Baju kurung (ehh for traditional clothes, women wear baju kurung, men wear baju melayu but the names are the same anyway) is the normal clothing. Often, one household will choose to coordinate colors together (but it's not mandatory, lmao my family doesn't care)

For men, they wear songkok (that flat black hat) and samping (the long scarf wrapping around the waist)

For women, wear a sarong (skirt) with a long top. If desired, will also wear a tudung (type of hijab) (i should also clarify for muslim women its their choice whether they want to habitually wear hijab. its not just specific to just baju kurung. for example i have lots of aunties that dont wear hijab at all meanwhile i have a lot of aunts who do)

Baju kurung is also worn at other festivities, such as weddings

(my whole childhood I attended so many weddings, this is another topic lmaooooo)

On Hari Raya Aidifilti but before going to raya (this is what we generally call going out to see family), close family in will ask for forgiveness. (it's important the forgiveness is not one-sided, the adults will also ask forgiveness from the younger family members too). Usually this is when people start crying. After that, we go RAYA!!! When in someone else's house, if you are not working now, you can get duit raya! (because I grew up in singapore surrounded by chinese influence, I also call this "angpao" too)

OHHHH THERE IS A LOT OF FOOD;;;; My grandmother would cook a lot during Ramadan and Hari Raya. Rendang, lontong, KETUPAT OHHH KETUPAT, CHICKEN CURRY (my mother every aidifitri cooks green chicken curry, FOR HARI RAYA AIDIFITRI ONLY, ohhhhh that's my favorite part, ASBFKASB I'M HUNGRY.)

(theres also like way more cuisine than this, iu havent even mentioned nasi goreng and nasi lemak and briyani and FUCKIGN BEGEDIL;;;;)

ketupat is kind of icon to represent Aidifilti holiday, for example:

other icons of hari raya include: bunga api, neon string lights, bamboo torches, etc.

I love Hari Raya even thoug my feet hurt ALOT after visiting LOTS OF FAMILY AND FRIENDS OH MY GOD:;; it's okay if you take your shoes off in the house somehow your FEET WILL HURT at the end of the day;;;;;;

uhhhh others about malay culture? we have art! A martial art is silat melayu! I don't know much about this but it's great

there is performance art: one example is dikir barat

juga ada permainan, ada yang terkenal ialah wau (kite)

and congkak (like that one club penguin game, mancala, im not kidding)

there are many malay cultures that are also from indonesian culture because of its influence. (Mainly malay culture was influenced by its neighboring cultures such as from Thailand, Sumatra, Java. Malay culture were from Hinduism before then converting to Islam) That's why we have wayang kulit (natively from Java) (a lot of indonesian culture and malay cultures share similar things because of kinda their similar roots and their spread of their own culture, hence why we also have similar dishes, traditonal clothes, even our language is kinda 70% the same)

Do you know; Singapore was discovered by Sang Nila Utama and was originally Malay kingdom (at that time the island was called Temasek before it was owned by the British) (the original indigenous of Singapore are called Orang Laut, litterally translated to "people of the sea"). That is why in Singapore, the language and the national anthem (Majulah Singapura) is in Malay. Singapore is not only for Chinese people, we Malays and Indians are also here;;;

(and im not at all from malaysia god please none of my relatives are. Malaysian is referring to the country, Malay is the language and the ethnic group)

There's a whole lot more I haven't even touched on, like lmao there's a whole thing about weddings and a whole baby shower thing.

theres also a lot of singaporean stuff i want to share i haven't even mentioned singlish but thats a post for another time

#txt post #language day #bahasa melayu #malay #Youtube

[teaxeee]

MeanDom!Jiwoong x Sub!Reader - Fisting, toys, overstim, dumbification, slight bondage (only really mentioned once), stop light method, aftercare, lover!reader, gn!reader, GoodDom!Jiwoong

Reader being needy and subby so Meandom!Jiwoong leads them to the room, ass up and hands tied behind their back.

Unbeknownst to reader, meandom!Jiwoong isn't letting them cum and instead works reader up to his full fist and two fingers in the ass, overstimulating reader to the point of going dumb and begging to cum.

Meandom!Jiwoong denying reader's release so he pulls them back toward him by their hair, stops his fingers and whispers

" are you questioning me slut? and if i pull my fingers out and leave you here all dumb and useless? then what? are you gonna be needy and come crying to me again?"

"no sir.." reader says in a whisper, tearing up but not forgetting his 4 fingers burried deep inside them,

"no what exactly?" meandom!Jiwoong says, looking like he's losing his patience,

"no i'm not questioning *hiccup* you sir.."

Meandom!Jiwoong lets go of reader making them flop down into the pillow and continues fingering both of their small tight holes.

He finally makes it to a full fist and starts mercilessly pounding into readers hole while reader starts screaming and crying tears of pleasure and overstimulation

"please sir please can i cum sir PLEASE sirrr"

Meandom!Jiwoong ignores their begging and pulls his fingers out their ass, replacing them with a long thin silicone vibrator custom made to reach the prostate and plug the ass in the process. He puts it in slowly and continues fisting the reader,

After a while of fisting, the reader can no longer form coherent sentences. All thats coming out their mouth are please and mumbles. Meandom!Jiwoong stops his fist and leans down to the reader

"color baby?" he says in a sweet whisper, drastically different to the last time they spoke.

"green honey please don't stop" reader says back gently, but he notices how worn out they sound.

Meandom!Jiwoong slowly starts his hand up again, this time going in deeper and more toward the g-spot, having reader moaning and begging again in no time.

He starts up the prostate vibrator on high level making the reader scream. He starts pounding the readers g-spot accurately at a good pace,

"cum when you like, i wont be holding back" He says shortly.

"please sir please sir i need to-" reader gets cut off by a harsh slap on the ass

"cum i said." Jiwoong says, speeding up his hand.

Reader cums, eyes rolling back, spasming and squirting all over when Jiwoong pulls his hand out. Jiwoong leaves the plug inside, turned off, because the reader likes feeling nice and full.

Jiwoong gets the reader nice and cleaned up, peppering them with kisses and cooing. He gets in bed alongside them, pulling the plug out and putting his cock in, cockwarming while cuddling them to sleep.

"did i go too hard baby?" Jiwoong says softly, trying not to disturb readers peace.

"no my love, it was perfect" reader reassures him, kissing his nose bridge and cuddling closer to his neck. "you know i'd always tell you if you were making me uncomfortable"

"i know honey" Jiwoong says falling asleep with his content lover in his arms and a smile on his face.

·͜·ᰔᩚ omg i hope this wasnt too much.. i was flooded with Jiwoong brain rot 💀 i was wondering if you could maybe rewrite/refrase and expand on this a bit? I'm a really bad writer lmao 🫂

( i love your work btw, you always end up having something in looking for 🙈🫂❤️)

HELLO?! YOU SHOULD BE A WRITER THIS IS PRE GOLD!! Also I wanna apologize for not answering your ask so soon anonnie, had a lot going on.

I feel like Jiwoong really likes seeing you unable to move as he uses both of your holes. He'd start off slow at first, 2 fingers inside your ass and his cock in your cunt, as he fucks and preps you at the same time, watching how you fall apart from the double penetration. He slowly works his way from 2 fingers, to 3, 4 and finally a full fist, which makes you scream and cry out from the sudden feeling of being full, becoming overstimulated and overwhelmed with pleasure. After a while he pulls out from both of your holes, leaving you empty and begging for more, as he replaces his fist with the plug, as he assaults your hole, his other hand moving to toy with your clit, causing only pleas and soft cries to fall past your lips. He asks and makes sure you're alright, before he allows you to cum. After he's finished with you he makes sure to be very gentle with you, as he kisses all over the places he bruised as small apologies leave past his lips, before he pulls you close and lets you cockwarm him, as you both fall asleep.

#zb1 hard hours #zb1 smut #jiwoong smut