#playlists are also continuously updating and will get longer

[nyxx-nth]

Pathologic Playlist Masterpost

If you have song/artist recommendations, send an ask or DM me!

Specific Characters

Lara Ravel :: ×.×.×

Anna Angel :: ×.×.×

Eva Yan :: ×.×.×

Vlad The Younger :: ×.×.×

Clara Saburova :: ×.×.× || ×.×.×

Bad Grief / Grigory Filin :: ×.×.×

Aglaya Lilich :: ×.×.×

Daniil Dankovsky :: ×.×.×

Serafima :: ×.×.×

Relationships 『R』

Clara & Grace 【ClaraGrace】 :: ♡.♡.♡

Yulia & Lara 【Yulilara】 :: ♡.♡.♡

Aglaya & Yulia 【Aglayulia】 :: ♡.♡.♡

Andrey & Eva 【Andreva】 :: ♡.♡.♡

Grief & Lara 【BadGravel】 :: ♡.♡.♡

Yulia & Eva 【Yulieva】 :: ♡.♡.♡

Lara & Stakh 【LaraStakh】 :: ♡.♡.♡

Lara & Eva 【Lareva】 :: ♡.♡.♡

Relationships 『P』

Clara & Katerina :: ☆.☆.☆

General Characters / Groups

Herb Brides :: ◇.◇.◇

[crownofefflorescence]

DEMO RELEASE DAY

DEMO LINK | INTRO POST | ROMANCE OPTIONS

The Garden of Bones demo is very much in-progress and it will undergo more edits as the story continues. I also plan to continue upgrading the CSS and aesthetic of the game right alongside everything else! EVERYTHING is subject to change and nothing is final, especially the worldbuilding.

So expect some retconning and even small personality changes for the ROs as the story moves along...

There is at least one known error that I'm working on where you might get a repeating passage, but it won't break the game. Also it's not currently mobile-friendly although I anticipate adding that with the next update, so you'll need to play on a different device for now!

That said, I'm very excited to present the first chapter to anyone who might wish to play it! I've been working on this project since October and it feels great to finally have a shareable version.

I hope you enjoy version 0.1.0!

IN THIS DEMO

Design your character.

Catch the eye or ire of the Younger Twin.

Earn one of three achievements - maybe.

Flirt - or don't.

Be friendly - or resentful.

Unlock a journal page.

Endure involuntary imprisonment.

Try to remember what you've forgotten.

Play approximately 45 minutes of the game.

FEATURES

50,000+ words

a few original background WIPs

journal page under construction

4 in-progress personality variants

one hidden achievement

MUSIC + AUDIO

The soundscape is important to the experience I'm attempting to cultivate for you and my beta readers have really enjoyed it, so my earnest recommendation is that you give the audio at least one chance to win your affections - but if you aren't someone who likes music in your IF games or you have your own playlist, you can always mute the game!

NOTES

Ignore if you don't want any spoilers!

If you're hoping to befriend (or romance) the Younger Twin, don't sweat too many of your decisions in this chapter... within reason. Most of your attempts will be deflected by their natural inclination to hate everything.

That said, you can definitely make them hate you slightly more.

If you were hoping to meet the Elder Twin you'll have to wait a bit longer - but that doesn't mean won't get any information about Z in the first chapter!

This is all early access, my first attempt at coding anything ever, and my very first IF, so please be kind! You can read the intro post HERE or jump straight into the...

DEMO

[nonbinoclard]

>>> TUNES TO LOSE YOUR MIND TO <<<

KEEP IN MIND: This is a living playlist! Songs may be added and removed at times to further curate the vibe I'm going for. I'll try to keep this post updated, but you can just check out the link for an up-to-date track list.

(EDIT: Song discussions are not finished! I have a lot more to say. I'll reblog when I've updated.)

This is set in a sort of nebulous time between Harry's life right before Martinaise and the night before he lost his memory. I wanted this playlist to feel erratic-- full of manic energy one second, then slow and bleak the next, dreamy, unreal, then right back to ridiculous.

(In no particular order. Shuffle for full emotional whiplash effect.)

I Don't Like My Mind - Mitski

I don't like my mind, I don't like being left alone in a room [...] And then I get sick and throw up and there's another memory that gets stuck / Inside the walls of my skull waiting for its turn to talk / And it may be a few years, but you can bet it's there, waiting still

The days before cleaning out the rooms... also, eating an entire cake and throwing it all up again feels very harry-esque... Overindulgence

A whole cake, so please don't take / Take this job from me

End Of The World - Hether

I mean, I could just post the entire set of lyrics as evidence, tbh. Struggling to find meaning and purpose in his life in the wake of heartbreak (5 year old heartbreak, but who's counting anyway)

I wake up in the morning and I wonder / Why everything's the same as it was I can't understand / No I can't understand / How life goes on the way it does

Cane Shuga - Glass Animals

Baby, don't go / I'll stop breathing coke / No more bloody nose / No more John Does Burn through my love / Just like your drugs / I've had quite enough / Or lack thereof

This is about the last moments of Harry and Dora's relationship to me. The chorus (a kind of circular, endless, self-aggrandizing internal monologue likely fueled by stimulants, implied in the song) continuing after the second verse kind of reflects the solution for Lonesome Long Way Home.

"11 Voyager Road. You no longer live there. Those times are gone, and so are those people. Why did you come here? Why are you still here? And where’s the dealer? You have to get back to work. That’s all you have now."

Hot Venom - Miniature Tigers

Hot venom is mixing with my blood / I can feel it on my fingers and taste it on her tongue / It feels so good to fall in love with you

I've heard a lot of people say this song is about heroin addiction, which is thematically appropriate for this playlist, but also. Harry's unhealthy obsession with Dora/Dolores Dei. Adoration (and hatred) so strong it's killing him.

Her venom makes me strong / Stronger than I am on my own / Before too long, I'll wake up to it gone / Wondering how I ever was happy [...] You can't go back now; that's not how this works / And as long as she's gone, I can never be happy

Who Is She ? - I Monster

This is just straight up about Harry's recurring dream to me. Just. Gestures at the lyrics.

Oh, who is she? / A misty memory / A haunting face / Is she a lost embrace? Am I in love with just a theme? / Or is Ayesha just a dream?

I feel like it falls in line really well with the idea that Harry's mind has been affected by the Pale-- a lack of memory, or maybe mixed memories, in a misty haze beyond the boundaries of reality. (and maybe Dolores Dei has started haunting him via Pale? Like some theories I've read.)

Somewhere across the sea of time / A love immortal such as mine Will come to me / Eternally

I Don't Miss You at All - FINNEAS

Dummy - Portugal. The Man

F the World - The Northern Boys

You Stupid Bitch - Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV Show)

These shards are a metaphor for my soul Won't stop the self-pity 'cause I'm on a roll

This song perfectly captures the inherent melodrama of a mental downward spiral imo. Catastrophic and all-encompassing. This is what I think it sounds like in there (Harry's head).

You ruined everything / You stupid bitch / You ruined everything / You stupid, stupid bitch / You're just a lying little bitch who ruins things / And wants the world to burn / Bitch / You're a stupid bitch / And lose some weight

Oleander - Mother Mother

Intermission - Scissor Sisters

Skit #2 - Kanye West

Self explanatory. He's got no money. He's got no clothes. He has no car and he has no hoes.

We broke, broke broke phi broke We ain't got it Broke, broke, broke phi broke We ain't got it Don't spend no money, ain't got no clothes Ain't got no cars, ain't got no hoes

Nobody - Mitski

My God, I'm so lonely, so I open the window To hear sounds of people, to hear sounds of people

This one is more about the feeling of the song itself rather than the lyrics specifically; I love the upbeat tempo that continues through the song (trying to remain steady, continue working), how the beat is simple at first then builds into a kaleidoscope of sound by the end of the track (overwhelmed by the world), then ending in a distorted loop (trapped in a cycle). This song has always felt really authentic to my own experience with mental spirals. The themes of loneliness tie it all into a nice bow.

I'm A Broken Heart - the bird and the bee

Not Allowed - TV Girl

Party Time - The Northern Boys

Comfortably Numb - Scissor Sisters

(Do The) Act Like You Never Met Me - TV Girl

Novocaine For The Soul - Eels

Basket Case - Green Day

Do you have the time / to listen to me whine About nothing and everything all at once? I am one of those melodramatic fools / Neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it

I just think this one fits him well during Martinaise... just shaken up and unloading trauma onto unsuspecting strangers like a can of soda (bad analogy lol), depending on the dialogue you choose.

I went to a shrink to analyze my dreams She says it's lack of sex that's bringing me down I went to a whore, she said my life's a bore So quit my whining 'cause it's bringing her down

Sometimes, I give myself the creeps / Sometimes, my mind plays tricks on me It all keeps adding up / I think I'm cracking up Am I just paranoid, or am I stoned?

Also it's just a little pathetic, which just... it fits. Sorry Harry.

Labyrinth - Miracle Musical

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 11 (Part 2 of 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

-🌼🌼🌼-

Monday

December 12, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somewhere bad? Good? In-between?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hence you being here.

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

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

We. I’m not alone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, you had a thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was perfect. Just as you’d imagined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you, sweet baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My safe place. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My lavender. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was safe. This was home. 

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

Your safest place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was time. 

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

Home, you thought. He looks like home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder you liked things so pristinely clean. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Living room. The living room. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like your current situation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it just seemed to be getting closer. . .

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

A dark memory. Bad. So, so bad.

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

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

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

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

“Pig.”

No. Not that nickname. No no no.

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

The person on the couch.

“Piggy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked lost. . . Confused, yet furious. 

The fury, pointed towards you. 

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

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

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

Mr. Morgan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. I’m safe. 

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

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

Then, you felt him. Jake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart monitor. 

Shit.

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

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

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

And then you remembered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. 185. What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

A long fucking session.

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

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

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

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

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

And Jake was the person you wanted most. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay focused, y/n.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cleared your throat to break up the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The car stayed silent for a few beats. 

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

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

He seemed to be contemplating it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?”

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

Now was not the time. 

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

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

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

Music. You needed music. 

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

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

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

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

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

You were just hormonal and emotional. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was going to drive you fucking nuts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I'm sorry for it 

I'm emotional 

This is your fault 

Please listen when I say 

I care about you

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

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

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

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

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

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

This moment. . .

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

I was in the moment

I ain't really mean what I said to you

So put away your pride, baby

We can work it out if you want this, too

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

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

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

The OB office. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” You sniffed. “You think so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And he will be comin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe you were just really, really tired.

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed fucking sleep.

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

Finally.

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

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

He hadn’t left you yet.

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knock, knock, knock, knock. 

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

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

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

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

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

He’d changed clothes after dropping you off. 

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

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

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

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

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

Pleasant surprise. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t say that last word. Nope. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wouldn’t remember it anyway.

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

You wrapped your arms around his midsection. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But. . . drunk words are honest –.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t fair to anyone involved. Right? 

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

But goddamn — what a beautifully welcome sight. . . 

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

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

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

A secret not even for Jake to know.

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

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

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

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

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

“What was your question?” 

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

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

“It was noth–.”

“I don’t care. Still wanna know.”

“Jake, it seriously doesn’t matt–.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diversion. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You thought a moment before you answered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stars. You saw so many stars. 

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

All that mattered was Jake and his searing hot touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

“More than.” 

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

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

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

But he was right there. . . 

No. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

About forty-five minutes passed. 

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

Now, to wash your dishes and go to bed.

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

Jake. 

“Will you come sleep with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God. . .

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

“Want me to wash it?”

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

“Okay. You full? Get enough to eat?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

Well. 

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

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

He definitely wasn’t.

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

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

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

Damn. . .oooo-kay, y/n. . . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

“Why did you come home?”

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

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

Everything else though? Same as always.

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

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

It was heaven. That was what it was. 

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

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

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

“Was Maya mad?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, within a minute, he was lightly snoring. 

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

December 16, 2022 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You, speaking of love. 

Jake, mentioning multiple kids. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here we go. . .

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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[pkg4mumtown]

Special Weapons and Tactics (Ch. 2)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Original Male Character (OMC)

Rating: Teen (for now)

Summary: Checking up on the agent you carried out of a hostile situation is innocent, right? Right?? León sure thought so.

Content Warnings: strong language, first person POV, canon-typical violence, mostly fluff

A/N: (As of March 8, 2025, this fic has been transitioned to Hotch/ OMC as I realized I put too much detail in later chapters to still make it a feasible Reader fic. Thank you to everyone, so far. I hope you'll continue to read but totally understand if you don't!) Hiiiiii! Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first chapter, here is the second! I’m embedding the Spotify playlist I made for the fic, but due to the lack of dividers for you all to know what chapters I placed them in, I’ll let you know here. Feel free to listen to the whole playlist if you want, just know I’m still making continuous changes to it.

Chapter 1: The Man, Mad Sounds, Want You Bad, Take A Chance on Me

Chapter 2: If I Wanted Someone, Neon Moon, Lovers Eyes, Want Want

Also available on AO3 - I do use a workskin on AO3 for text messaging, so I uploaded screenshots of the texts here. I know this isn’t what iOS looked like in 2010 but I didnt feel like learning a new workskin lol.

July 2010

I could practically feel his eyeroll through the phone.

Before I could ask for his order, he started typing again.

It felt stupid to send considering his team would probably bend over backwards for him, but I sent it anyway. He should know someone else was thinking about him, right?

—

Beyond the occasional checkup text on how he’d been feeling—I couldn’t help it—he was still on track to get back to work Wednesday morning. It was actually quite convenient for me as I had a medic course to teach at the academy that day.

Keeping a straight face around my team was nearly impossible as his daily updates came in, some of them even unprompted. That part was surprising given that at work, his demeanor seemingly left a lot to be desired.

When Wednesday morning arrived, I got up extra early to stop at a decent coffee place on the way into Quantico instead of whatever sludge passed for coffee and littered every corner of FBI Headquarters. Don’t get me wrong, I was plenty used to dirty water that shouldn’t have the honor of being called ‘coffee’ from my time in the Navy; but when I had the opportunity, I treated myself to good coffee.

The drive was maybe half an hour longer than I would have had going into the DC field office, so I had plenty of time to sweat over seeing Hotch after our brief texting over the last seven days. After stopping for our morning beverages closer to Quantico so his coffee wouldn’t be cold, I made my way into Headquarters armed with the carrier holding our two drinks, a box of coffee for the team, some random assorted pastries to win their hearts over, and my training materials (which were super important, of course).

The elevator dinged on what I hoped was the correct floor for the BAU. Stepping out, I spotted the team immediately and headed over to their group of desks in the bullpen.

“Good morning, I come bearing gifts,” I announced in front of their desks.

Prentiss and Reid had noticed my presence as I walked in, and they peered over their dividers until they were basically standing as I approached. At the sound of my voice, Morgan’s head perked up and he rushed over to greet me.

“What's all this?” He smiled, gesturing to my full arms.

“This is for you all,” I gently handed the box of pastries with the coffee box balancing precariously on top to Morgan. JJ and Emily looked surprised, and I watched their eyes flick back and forth at each other in some unspoken language.

“What’s the occasion?” Derek laughed after setting the boxes down on one of their desks.

“Just didn’t want to come here empty handed for y’all,” I shrugged. He reached for the carrier in my hand, but I swatted his hand away and moved the drink carrier out of reach. “This is for your boss, and speaking of him where can I find him?”

Reid, who hadn’t said a word the entire time, gestured behind me with his chin. He was definitely familiar, and I knew him from somewhere. Judging by the look in his eye, I wasn’t wrong. Reid gave me a knowing smile and it finally hit me that he frequented one of the same local bars that I do, making me instantly nervous given the potential for volatility in a government workplace. Hell, most of my SWAT teammates didn’t even know I was gay because of that overly macho and straight culture on the team. The only one here I was actually out to was Morgan, though by now, I was sure the room of profilers had figured it out. It was inevitable that Reid had seen me flirt with men at said bar but, by his nod and comforting smile, I was reassured that I was safe and in good company.

I turned and looked over my shoulder to where Reid had gestured and saw Hotch skimming through a file behind the window of his office.

Turning back to them, I raised the drink carrier, “Thanks.”

I spun on my heel and made my way up the stairs to his office.

“Well, that was weird,” Emily spoke up as soon as I was out of earshot. When no one replied, she turned around to face the team, “That was weird, right?”

“Nah, just checking up on Hotch, I’m sure. He’s a good dude like that,” Derek shrugged.

“I mean I’m not complaining. That polo was doing wonders for his arms,” she absentmindedly fanned herself with a file to exaggerate her point.

“You should ask him for his number and get his workout routine,” JJ teased.

“Please, Sergio is the only man I need in my life,” Emily laughed, causing the two of them to veer off in a separate conversation.

“You're being awfully quiet, pretty boy,” Morgan murmured suspiciously to Reid as Emily and JJ kept chatting.

“Am I?” the genius jokingly feigned ignorance.

Derek fixed a pointed glare at him, “What aren’t you telling me?”

“We frequent the same bar,” Reid clarified. “Obviously, I recognized him, but I didn’t think he would recognize me, too.”

Derek’s eyebrows had never flown faster up his face, “Have you fu—”

“—No! No, no, no,” Reid cuts him off hurriedly, glancing at the girls who were still talking amongst themselves. “I’m not his type,” Reid answered matter-of-factly with a smirk and directed Morgan's attention to Hotch's office with his eyes.

“Oh, I’m giving him hell over this,” Morgan shook his head and walked back to his desk.

“Over what?” Emily asked as her conversation with JJ ended.

“It seems like he has the number he’s looking for,” Reid answered cryptically and flicked open the box of pastries to hide the smile threatening his features.

—

I took my time on the stairs to gather my wits and my nerves, feeling absolutely ridiculous considering my profession. I knocked on his door frame with my free hand, seeing a pinched frown on his face as he quickly looked up. The tension in his forehead eased upon being greeted with my shy smile and I watched his brain fight his lips as they twitched upward.

After a beat of silence, Hotch snapped out of it and gestured me in, his voice softer than his face indicated, “Navarro. Sorry, come in. Please, sit.”

“Black, two sugars,” I recited while setting the carrier down on his desk. I gently rotated the cup out and placed it in front of him. “And Leon is fine,” I smiled.

Despite most people pronouncing my name as Leon instead of León, intentionally pronouncing it wrong myself still left a bad taste in my mouth after all thirty-five of my years. It was easier to understand the mispronunciations of Navarro, that one even I caught myself slipping to a hard “R” rather than the rolling “r” it was supposed to have. But, it was easier than listening to people struggle and apologize.

Hotch’s lips finally won the battle, turning into a deep, closed-mouth smile before repeating, “Leon.”

As quickly as it came, his smile disappeared again as he turned to look out of his window at the team. They feigned “work” well, but Hotch wasn’t convinced and stood up to lower his blinds.

“Subtle,” I nearly snorted.

“They’re nosy,” he sighed and sat back down.

“How are you feeling?” I shrugged my bag off my shoulder and plopped it on the floor before taking a seat across from him. I twisted my own cup out of the holder and brought the straw to my lips with a satisfied hum. Yes, iced coffee, sue me. I ran hot and didn’t need to be drenched in sweat so early in the morning.

I hadn’t realized I closed my eyes with that sip until I was blinking them open to see Hotch’s calculating eyes scanning me. I tilted my head questioningly.

“Much better. I think the withdrawal headache made it worse,” he lifted the coffee cup up and sipped his. As he pulled it away from his face, he examined the label, “Where’d you get this?”

“Just some place in town I found on the way in. I brought pastries but I think they’ve started decimating them out there,” I laughed, imagining Morgan working with one hanging from his lips.

“That’s kind of you.”

“Felt rude not to,” I shrugged. “I’m glad you’re feeling better though, it didn’t seem like you hit it that hard but the mixture with the blast probably didn’t help.”

“I’ve also had my head rattled more times than I’d like to admit, so my hearing isn’t what it used to be. ”

“You and me both.”

“But, the past week was eventful in all the worst ways.”

A laugh was pulled from deep in my chest as I nearly choked on the liquid in my mouth. I wiped at the corner of my mouth as I recovered, “Seems like that might be putting it mildly.  But hey, you could have used the lingering headache as the perfect excuse to avoid a coffee d—meet.”

Hotch smirked over the lid of the coffee cup with a raised eyebrow, “A coffee date? Presumptuous, SSA Navarro,” he finished, making my face heat up at how deep his voice was and how smoothly it came out. “But…I would have missed out on my wager, and it’s been worth the wait so far.”

Any worry I had last week about whether I was imagining this or not flew out of the window at lightning speed, “I’m glad I’m good company.”

“I know, I was surprised,” he joked, smirking once again. “Hopefully this isn’t too out of your way.”

I bit back a laugh, “I work out of the DC field office in Violent Crimes.”

Hotch’s face dropped immediately, “Why would you come all the way here?”

“You asked me to,” I stated simply. His face was concerned and almost looked mad that I would do that, “I’m teaching an intro to field medicine course at the academy today, don’t worry. I was just making you sweat.”

“You didn’t have to try hard to accomplish that,” he shook his head, visibly relaxing and licking over his lower lip.

We enjoyed a brief silence, savoring our drinks and listening to the bustle outside of Hotch’s office. His eyes flicked between my face and the cup being cradled and dwarfed by his hands. He was reserved, which was unsurprising given the setting, and hadn’t quite shut off the serious demeanor he carried in his office. It was hardly a problem and was still a fairly comfortable silence.

That was until my eyes settled on a photo behind his head, “Is that your son?”

Hotch slowly spun away so he could see what I was looking at and nodded with the brightest smile I’d seen on his face so far. I could tell his son was his whole world just from that look.

“Yea, Jack,” he confirmed with a proud smile.

“May I?” I was already half out of my seat.

“Sure,” he nodded, savoring another long sip of coffee.

I rounded his desk and got a closer look at the photo of father and son, with a real, honest-to-God grin on Hotch’s face, “He’s so cute. How old is he?”

“Five,” Hotch tilted his head at his son’s smiling face, fiddling with the coffee cup in his hand.

I glanced at his left hand, quickly looking back at the photo.

Lack of a ring tan means he didn’t divorce or separate too recently. Oh my—stop that right now.

“He had to have gotten his looks from his mom because…” I looked at Hotch again, making a show of looking him up and down before mocking a cringe. I stepped back from the photo and leaned against his desk.

Hotch hissed from between his teeth, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, “That would hurt more if you weren’t right.”

“I’m kidding,” I purposefully knocked my leg into his foot. “He’s got your eyes.”

“He just started school recently. He’s so smart,” Hotch looked thoughtfully up at the photo once more. “Figuring out co-parenting with school has been a bit of a struggle, but Haley and I are making it work.”

“I’m sure it’s a whirlwind, even with two parents.  My younger brother is a newly single father.”

“It is, but he's a great kid and I’m lucky to have him.”

My watch started beeping, alerting me to my twenty-minute warning before I needed to be downstairs for the course. I quickly turned off the alarm and focused back on Hotch.

“Speaking of kids, have you taken him to the new bakery on King and Cameron?  They have these incredible cupcakes that my nephew loves. I don’t know how far that is from you.”

“Not too far and Jack does have a sweet tooth,” he pondered for a moment. “Maybe we could check it out sometime. Without him. You know, make sure it’s safe first.” 

I was taken aback for a second at the invitation, “We? Now who’s presumptuous?” I smirked. Before he could reply I was speaking again, “Would Saturday work for you?”

“It should. Provided we don’t get a case. Eight?”

“Sounds good. I have to run, but—uh—I’ll talk to you later?”

“You will,” Hotch smirked back.

I just about ran out of his office, almost forgetting my bag in the process, not wanting to be late in front of a bunch of trainees. He shook his head at my antics and I had to ignore the way my face felt like it was on fire out of embarrassment.

I’m so fucking dumb.

-

Chapter 3

[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Four

Fool's Fare: Chapter Four

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Triggers: Serious discussions, Flirting, Language, Falling overboard. I think that's it.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Hey! Long time, no see kind of. I know it's been a HOT minute since I've updated this story, but I'm hoping to update it a little more now that Don't Hang'em Til Noon has basically wrapped. Hanging By a Moment will be out probably sometime in the next month, but we'll see! In the meantime, enjoy! Anyway, it's a little shorter than my usual chapters, but I'm trying to get back into the swing of this story a little bit. As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! You can also find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I post my updates as well!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

Your head was pounding something awful as you came to. The light was blinding as the sun filtered in through the window, the crash of waves echoing up and through the room. You were nestled comfortably against a plush pillow, your body cradled by the soft mattress beneath you. You let out a groan as you moved to sit up, pressing against your temples in the process.

“Well, good morning!”

You whipped your head around to look at the source of the voice, wincing as the sudden movement caused a flash of pain behind your eyes. Natasha sat perched on the bed opposite yours, a grin stretched across her face as she watched you.

“What?” You muttered, squinting your eyes at her in confusion. “What’s going on?”

You didn’t remember much from the night before, just the faint memory of tears and two different feelings of shock mixed in with passing faces and jeers.

“You had a lot to drink last night, Guppy,” she smirked at you, one leg propped up to lean against as she studied you, amusement still shining bright in her eyes. “Came up from the galley to find you asleep in bed with Jake sitting there right next to you. It was a sight for sure.”

You groaned once again as the events of the night before came rushing back to you, hiding your face in your hands. The reveal of your father’s past. The ale the men kept handing you. Bradley’s betrayal. Jake knowing who you were all along. The feel of his hand on your cheek.

You peeked through your fingers to look at the other woman. A smile ghosted on her lips, widening the longer you looked at her.

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about,” she assured you. “Everyone on this ship has done something they aren’t proud of after too much ale.”

“Nonetheless,” you muttered, dropping your hands back down into your lap, “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m not usually like that.”

“I believe you,” she smiled. “It must have been quite the shock to get all of that information in one go.”

“It was.”

“So,” she hummed, her smile shifting into a conspiratorial smirk. “Why’d you do it?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

“Why’d you sneak on the ship?” She scoffed, leaning back against the wall, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together as she continued to watch you.

“Oh,” you murumured, glancing away and towards the window. It had to be almost noon with how bright it was outside. How long had you been asleep? “I did it to make sure Bradley stayed safe.”

She quirked an eyebrow at you and you sighed, fidgeting with the blanket in your lap.

“He’s the only family I have left,” you whispered, fighting back the tears that threatened to make an appearance. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to him and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

Natasha didn’t say anything for a moment, instead moving to stand, walking over towards her wardrobe on the other side of the room. You watched her rummage through, pulling out several different pieces of clothing.

“Here,” she said, tossing some of the pieces to you. You caught them, looking at her in confusion. She chuckled before starting to change. “I figured you’d want a change of clothes. You’ve been wearing your old ones for a while now.”

You eyed the clothes in your lap before moving to change as well. Once the two of you were decent, she headed for the door with you hot on her heels. Her hand hovered over the door knob as she turned to look back at you.

“Guppy?”

“Yes?”

“What you did was really brave.”

“You idiot!” You shrieked, throwing your shoe with all of your might. It launched across the deck, hitting Bradley squarely in the shoulder as he flinched, his hands shooting up to try and block the offending item.

“I know, but why?” He hollered, looking around for any way to escape. Several of the men on deck watched the scene with amusement, some already cackling at the large men cowering in fear as you stalked towards him.

“They all knew, Bradley,” you hissed, punching the meat of his arm once you were close enough. He winced, rubbing the spot lightly as he glanced from you to the rest of the crew.

“Knew what?”

“Knew that I was a girl,” you growled, placing your hands on your hips as you glared at him. He stared at you for a moment, mind struggling to catch up. Another moment passed before a light of realization sparked in his eyes, and he looked around wildly at the crew, some nodding and shrugging.

“They knew?” He breathed, eyes darting to your smaller form hesitantly.

“The whole time, in fact,” you groused, now crossing your arms over your chest. He swallowed thickly, a sheepish smile crawling onto his face.

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously. “Oops.”

You landed a solid punch to his upper arm, causing him to cry out.

“Would you stop that?” He snapped, dodging your next blow and maneuvering so that he held your forearms in his hands. “That hurts, you know.”

“Good!” You shot back, still glaring at him. “You deserve it after everything.”

“It was an honest mistake!” He reasoned. “How was I supposed to know the disguise wouldn’t work?”

“It’s not just about the disguise, Bradley.”

His face went slack at your words, a mixture of regret and guilt flooding his brown eyes as the effect of your words rushed over him. No one on the deck spoke or moved as the two of you stared each other down.

“Alright you lot,” Javy called out from the upper deck. All eyes turned to where he stood, a stern expression on his face as he looked over the crowd. “Get back to work. There’s still lots to do before we dock tomorrow.”

Your eyes darted from him to meet the green ones already on you. Jake had a bemused expression on his face as he watched you while leaning against the rails, a twinkle of something that you couldn’t name shining in his eyes. A smirk tugged on his lips as you stared at him, shooting a wink your way before standing up straight and turning to move back towards the cabins. You felt your cheeks warm, glancing back at Bradley who was already watching you with a knowing look. Your irritation with the man was renewed and you pushed at him with all your might, sending him stumbling back a couple of steps.

“You lied to me.”

“He didn’t want me to tell you, Guppy,” he sighed. “He didn’t want you to know that part of him.”

“So instead,” you seethed, “I had to find out from strangers instead of my own brother.”

He had the good sense to look ashamed, and he looked away from you and out towards the sea. “You shouldn’t have found out about it like that.”

“You’re damn right I shouldn’t have,” you huffed.

He peeked over at you, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry.”

It was your turn to watch him now. Bradley was your brother, and no matter how much of an idiot he could be at times, you still couldn’t stay mad at him for long. The anger drained from your body, replaced with a calm sense of acceptance as you turned to look out at the sea with him.

“Are you hungry?” You asked. He shook his head, grimacing.

“No, not at all.”

You turned to look at him again, worry now etched across your face as the wind whipped your hair about.

“Bradley,” you started, “when was the last time that you ate? You didn’t eat much last night.”

He gave you a noncommital shrug, avoiding your eyes as he answered.

“Guess it’s been a while.”

“Are you not feeling well?” You hummed, reaching over to feel his forehead. He shirked away from you, eyeing you warily.

“I’m fine, Guppy, really.”

“If you aren’t eating, then you aren’t fine,” you scowled. “We’ll have to go see a doctor when we dock.”

“Guppy-”

“No buts,” you said firmly. “We’re going in the morning.”

“You know, you’ve caused not one, but two scenes on my ship now.”

You whirled around to meet a familiar green gaze. Jake’s lips were tugged into his signature smirk as he regarded you. Your cheeks once again warmed under his gaze, and you pursed your lips as you gazed back at the water before you.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he chuckled. “It’s fun having a fiery little thing like yourself on board. Keeps things from growing monotonous.”

“I’m glad I could at least serve as your entertainment,” you muttered with a roll of you eyes. He appeared beside you, resting up against the edge of the ship as he continued to watch you. It was just the two of you on the deck, the rest of the crew having moved down into the galley for dinner. You had stayed behind to bask in a rare moment of solitude, but now you welcomed the company.

“It’s better than nothing, I suppose,” he hummed thoughtfully.

“I want to be treated like a regular member of your crew, captain.”

He threw his head back with a hearty laugh, his voice almost echoing off the walls.

“Pretty girl, that is the last thing you want.”

You turned to him with a scowl. It grew deeper as his smirk widened, and you felt the creeping coolness of night crawl across your skin as the sun began to sink below the horizon.

“And why is that?” You demanded, raising your chin at him in defiance. His gaze dropped down for a moment before he locked his gaze back with yours, leaning in closer. He was so close that you could feel his breath tickle the skin of your cheeks, and you sucked in a breath.

“Because,” he drawled, his nose brushing yours. “If you were one of my men, I’d have you walk the plank for even sneaking on here in the first place.”

You snorted, but sobered when his face remained impassive.

“You can’t be serious.”

“As the dead, darlin’.”

He pushed away from you, sauntering over to pick up a board lying off to the side. With a grunt, he lifted it, placing it at the opening where the gangway would normally sit. He secured it down, and once he was sure that it was steady, he turned to you expectantly. You stared at him, unsure of what to do, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“You want to be treated as a regular member of the crew, don’t you?” He taunted, the faintest hint of humor still in his eyes. You pursed your lips, throwing your shoulders back as you marched towards him. You eyed the wooden board warily, glancing back at the blond who looked at you expectantly. You turned back around, taking a hesitant step onto the board.

“You’re not going to back out?” He called to you as you took a couple more steps, now standing precariously over the water. You glanced back at him.

“Not on your life, captain,” you smirked. “I want to be a member of this crew.”

The humor was gone from his face as he watched you take another step, his lips pressed into a thin line. You were at the edge now, and you looked back at him with a brow raised in challenge.

“Dammit, alright,” he grumbled, eyes darting between you and the water below. “You’ve proven your point. Just get back over here.”

You smiled triumphantly, carefully maneuvering to turn around and head back when a sudden gust of wind knocked you off your balance. You stumbled back, but there was nothing there to catch you and you caught the briefest glimpse of Jake’s eyes widening in shock as you plummeted to the depths below.

The water was cold, shocking you when you hit the waves. You were suspended for a moment, panic not having set in yet. Swirls of blue blurred your vision, nonexistent shadows reaching up from the deep to grab at you.

You scrambled towards the surface, kicking your legs in a desperate attempt for air. You felt a hand wrap around your upper arm, dragging you upwards until you broke the surface. You sucked in a lungful of air, eyes darting around until they landed on Jake’s form next to you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking you over. You nodded, not entirely sure if you were or not, but knowing that you were still alive. Jake breathed out a sigh of relief as he turned to look back at the ship. You heard the distant sound of shouting, becoming hyper aware of Jake’s arms wrapped around you as the two of you bobbed with the waves.

“Lucky for you,” he continued, “Javy saw you fall and moved the crew to action while I dove in after you.”

You didn’t say anything, starting to shiver as the adrenaline caught up with you. Without thinking, you rested your head against his chest, seeking out the warmth he gave off. You could have sworn his grip tightened, but you heard the sound of one of the life boats hitting the water, and relief sank over you.

Moments later, Reuben was reaching his hands out to grab you, Jake passing you to him as he helped lift you into the boat. You tumbled onto the floor, landing at Mickey’s feet as he scrambled to wrap a blanket around you. Jake landed next to you, waving off Reuben as he began to inspect you more thoroughly.

“I’m fine,” you muttered as he ran his hands over your arms. He ignored you, brow furrowed in silent concentration. When he was sure that you were fine, he nodded at the two other men.

“Let’s get back to the ship.”

Humiliation washed over you as you were once again standing on the main deck. Bradley was front and center, dashing over to you to conduct his own investigation into your well being. You pouted, eyes refusing to leave the floor. You could feel the stares on your drenched form, and you struggled to keep from shivering in the cool night air. A rustling came from behind you, and you jumped when a heavy coat was draped over you. Jake must have shrugged it off before diving in after you because it was still dry as it sat on your shoulders.

You turned, seeing Jake fixing the crew with a glare.

“What are you all staring at?” He asked coldly, leveling each man with a stare. “Get back to work or out of my sight.”

The rest of the crew quickly scrambled to obey, none of them daring to give you another look as Jake rested a hand on your shoulder. You burrowed into the warmth of the leather, inhaling the scent that lingered. Clean linen and a hint of musk. It should have worried you how it set your mind at ease almost instantly.

“Guppy, what were you thinking,” harped Bradley, brushing wet strands of hair out of your face. You stared at him, feeling Jake stiffen behind you. Refusing to meet the brunette’s eyes, you offered him a slight shrug.

“Must have leaned too far over the railing, Roo,” you muttered, your fingers fidgeting with the ends of the coat. “It won’t happen again.”

Bradley didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t say anything as he glanced up at Jake.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jake grumbled, his hand tightening slightly on your shoulder. You watched him gesture towards someone, and Natasha popped up to stand beside you.

“See to it she gets some rest,” he told her, his eyes glancing to you before landing back on her. She nodded, wrapping her arms gently around you as she began to guide you towards the cabins.

“Guppy.”

You stopped, turning back to look at him. His sea-green eyes wandered over you, his jaw flexing like he was mulling over what to say. He locked eyes with you, and you once again caught a flash of swirling blue before it disappeared. You frowned, wondering what you just saw, but Jake shook his head, letting out a sigh.

“Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

[endereies]

FUCK IT - MATT STURNIOLO - PART 10

Spotify Playlist:

Pairing: Matt x Oc

Contains: Growing up with parents who make her feel isolated, what happens when she meets Matt. A person who introduces her to new people, new experiences and new feelings.

Requested?: no

Author's notes: Finally!! another fucking update for this fic, i know its been too long. I'm finally hooked on these characters again and i hope this somewhat makes up for it.

Word Count: 4188

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“Is this something we are meant to do?”

“Fuck it.”

“What exactly did you buy, Matt?” I leant against the passenger door with my back facing the car, adjusting my clothing repeatedly since I had nothing else to do.

“God, you can be so impatient sometimes” He was being vague on purpose, and nothing gave away what he had planned, I just messed around with the hem of my skirt until he was ready to leave.

“I’m not the one being secretive here” I huffed, growing more impatient the more he was leading this conversation on. With the sound of the trunk shutting, I quickly swivelled my hips to try and spy anything to answer my questions. However, he shoved everything into his bags, holding them by his hips.

“I’m not the one being whiny, look I promise you will like it.” He almost snaps at me with a harsher tone than before, so I drop it to avoid making the situation worse.

I walk in front of Matt, leading him through all the bushes and pathways. I knew the path like the back of my hand and yet once again we had gone in the dark to it took longer than necessary. I had never planned to go here either and so I got struck with brambles that also stuck through my clothing. My shoes were scrapped, and my zip-up jacket had been dragged back by branches and leaves and I was growing agitated.

“Are you alright, Ally?” While I know he is being sincere in his questioning, I merely respond with a deep sigh before finally responding.

“All of this shit is overgrown and it's getting on my nerves.” I feel the level of stress rise whenever I had to throw another branch to the side, but I get distracted by the nickname that he reused. That wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.

“Here, let me help you” I turn around to see the distance between Matt and I shortening before he walked past me, he holds the next few branches to the side with one arm and insinuating for me to go forward with the other.

He continues this for the rest of the journey up towards the houses behind the Grove, holding back branches and leave to clear a path for me. This was definitely something that Matt had planned to do in his head, wearing heavy duty boots that weren’t impacted when standing down on the thorns. A thick pair of jeans covered his legs followed by a jacket I had seen him wear multiple times during school practice in the mornings.

The closer that we got to the houses, the less amount of foliage that I had to pass through. Matt remained walking ahead of me and I took any chance I got to stare at his backpack trying to find any hint or recognisable shape that I could pinpoint.

“Which house are we going to” we had only explored a few of the houses since the last times I was here and there were still about six of them that we hadn’t looked at once.

“The first one we went into when you brought me here” He smiled at me, holding a strap with a free arm getting more excited about his plans the closer we got to each house.

He follows me to the second house on the street, instantly recognising the poorly painted walls and abandoned tools on the tables.

“You want to see what I brought now?” The backpack is gently placed on the floor, lowered by its straps and Matt looks up to me and I immediately get a bigger smile on my face.

“Ugh finally!” My body stands directly next to his with my eyes not moving from his hands that gently open up the top of the backpack and unzipping the first section.

He pulls out several pots of paint, varying in colours but still remaining consistent to each other. Several blues, browns, pinks and white paint cans spread over the wooden floorboards. After barely processing the colours, Matt pulls out more equipment that I hadn’t used in the house before like a sander and mini saws.

“What the fuck, where did you get all of this!” I grab the saws out of his hands quickly and analyse them one by one before placing them atop the table next to me.

“When you pointed out details when you first brought me here, you kept naming things that remained unfinished or the plans you never got to put in place. So...I thought I could do something about it..” He trails off as he notices me staring up towards him, not realising that my cheeks are turning redder with each small detail he remembered.

“You really did all that?” My smile widens on my face.

“You’ve talked about this place and anytime we go you always bring up a plan that never happened. I needed to change that quickly.” His arm grips the back of his neck and rubs the skin gently.

“How much did this all cost Matt..” I peek at all the tins of paint with a multitude of colours being represented with small labels across the front.

“Doesn’t matter” His voice was blunt as he picked up one of the pink shades displayed in front of us.                                                                       

“The fuck do you mean it doesn’t matter, this amount of paint has got to be expensive.”

“Doesn’t matter. Your smile matters to me more than a bit of money.” Those words just spilled casually from his lips and my body seized slightly and dropped the initial attitude. I felt my stomach twist in an unfamiliar way, and I just slowly shut my mouth.

“Now are you going to be quiet and grab a paintbrush or keep complaining.” I am left a little stunned as he brushes past with me with a grin over his face. I manage to reconnect with my thoughts and quickly grab a small paintbrush sprawled at my feet. I walk over to Matt where he had start to pour the thick liquid into a spare tray that had obviously been used before and dips his own brush into it. I watch as the lightly pigmented mixture drips down the sides of the tin after he scraps it.

I saw a small smile linger across his face as I approached him, now standing by his side. It wasn’t like being in this house was anything new to either of you but it was the way he was remembering each detail of me that stained my thoughts.

I had seen him be observant before, especially with people he cared about. It was one of the very first things that ever stood out to me about him.

When I had mentioned that I only wear silver jewellery, he made sure to get me a matching bracelet and necklace that was silver.

I mentioned how I like to get a coffee on a Friday after the long weeks and he started showing up with me exact order each Friday before I ever had a chance to object. And if the cafe didn't have the ingredients? He made sure he went somewhere else for it.

But this time it felt slightly different knowing that he was involved in what was a huge part of my life, the buildings finally reminding me of something that wasn't a lost friendship.

-

It had been about an hour of painting between us two and I got most of a room covered in it's first coat of paint. The sunlight etched onto the walls which only enhanced the pink pigments.

I took a small moment to stand back and appreciate the wet coats of paint that had been freshly layered onto the walls.

Matt was finishing up a section of the wall next to me as just as I zone out fully, I get dragged back out again when Matt calls out my name.

"Alyia?" His head is titled, and his body is leant towards mine, subconsciously closing the distance between us.

"Hm? What's up?"

"Can I have some more paint from the tin..I've nearly run out." His voice naturally trails off as his focus turns to the areas he still needs to cover.

I fumbled around a little as I scanned the floors for the tins of pink paint.

I walked quickly through each area of the room, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. I looked on every available space, trying to spot the bright, recognizable colour.

The small paint tin is sat right by the stairs and with a pull of the handle, I lift it up to carry over to Matt. The thin wooden stick pokes out the top of the lid and once I pour the extra liquid in it stirs in the pigments.

Matt's gaze burns into the back of my head, watching the small stirring movements. When I stand up and lift the stick from the floor, the wood smacks on Matt's arm, leaving a trace of baby pink across his skin.

"Oh God, sorry Matt. Fuck I didn't mean to". Panic sets in my chest while I try to fix my mistake.

I grab the tissue box and grip a few at once before turning to Matt once more.

"Hey..Alyia, you're stressing too much. It's just some paint." Suddenly I feel his hand grip my wrist, lowering it ever so slightly.

"A-are you sure?" I was only met with a meek nod and a sincere smile, which did soothe me a little.

"S'ppose so...as long as I can do this" It wasn't long before his own brush swiped the tip of my nose. My nose now felt wet, like a dog's nose. Surprisingly, I didn't hate it.

"Matt! What!" A grimace spread under the paint while I brought out my phone to assess the damage.

It was only a cute little dot, yet enough to stand out against my skin tone. I was brought out of my focus by giggles that Matt desperately failed to hide. He turned his body away from me, but it was obvious he was laughing at me.

“You can be insufferable, yknow..” I grabbed the box of tissues I was going to use on Matt and wiped my own face instead. It felt cold to touch, that feeling spread to the tissue.

As I wiped my face, I failed to realise he had turned back around to face me. The tissue fell to a nearby stack of rubbish, and I sighed as I missed the empty pot I was aiming for.

I grimaced at Matt once I caught his attention again. Which didn’t seem too hard.

“Really. You managed to miss a spot, kid.” He swapped the brush to his left hand and before I could reach my own hand to his face, he did it for me. His touch was gentle, that wasn’t new. His thumb traced the outline of my nose, barely missing my cheeks. He laid his hand on the skin next to it. Unlike the cold paints, my cheeks heated up faster than I could stop it.

“Hey, at least it matches your cheeks now.” It did until he pointed it out. That’s when they faded darker.

“Get outta here bro. Don’t even.” He didn’t even flinch when I swatted his hand away to the side. Anywhere away from what I just experienced. Even if I didn’t quite know what that was.

“Sweetheart. You know I don’t bite right?” He had to refrain from giggling at the situation, a meaningful laugh I hadn’t heard from him in a while.

It never got any easier to hear that nickname fall ever so sweetly from his lips.

“Yeah yeah. Whatever.”

-

It had only been a few minutes since we both managed to compose ourselves, barely. Yet I kept thinking about it like it was the only thing I knew. It was definitely something that I didn’t want to end. So, I didn’t let it.

By now I had swapped the colour on the brush to a jet black to line the walls with. Why not have fun with it.

Quickly, the dark substance drew out a lengthy line on Matt’s arm, missing the previous pink line he left on. For some reason. He jolted backwards with a laugh almost grossed out by the sudden change in stimulation.

“Such a child.” His words held no fire to them, I wondered if he had wanted to. “Says the one who started it.” I use my free hand to point to my nose, patching with paints.

He attempted to swatch another layer of paint onto my skin but he failed. That resulted in drops of paint flicking onto my clothing. Traces of baby pink were now splattered atop the grey jacket that was slipped off my shoulders.

Regret immediately crossed his face. He knew my parents were designers and that I, more than likely, was covered in their articles. Expensive articles.

“Shit. I-“His voice was meek, not being able to read my face as it was tilted away from him. However, he quickly found out how I felt.

The shade of black I was still using soon mimicked the paint on my clothing. It sprayed onto the shirt he was wearing, a simple and plain tee. But the fact it was white made me chuckle.

He let out a sigh of relief once he realised, I wasn’t mad at him for ruining the fabric. Frankly, I didn’t care about any of it. I never cared for anything my mother mad, it was practically the thing that drove us away. Besides her attitude of course.

We acted like children, now running around the room and flinging the paints around. For a moment we forgot about the price of the tins we were now throwing everywhere. All that mattered was ensuring the other was covered in more pops of colour than them.

“Matt, I swear if that gets in my hair.” As quickly as I spoke, he laid eyes on his new target. My hair that was just relaxing on my shoulders now appeared like a botched dye with pink.

“Oops, missed.”

-

After deciding it was better to subside the paints for another day, we laid on the wooden floor beneath us. Making sure we had a clearing that wasn’t obstructed by loose nails or tools.

“Its late...” It wasn’t a hard observation to make, the sky grew dark and was patterned with faint stars. It was the fact you hadn’t expected to lose so much time to paint fights.

“Guess so. You need to head home?” I looked at him with a heavy expression, he got the message.

“They aren’t home…right.” He almost grimaced at the thought of forgetting, sometimes he wished they were home for me more. But that would cut into the sessions we spend together. He chose to be selfish.

“But you have Nick and Chris at home, you gotta be back before Nick yells at you again.” I recalled the last time we stayed out late without making him aware. Safe to say Matt never heard the end of that.

“It’s a bit late for that, I’ve already seen the missed calls.” He seemed so relaxed about that, if I had missed only one call from my mother, she would’ve gone ballistic.

“Cmon, let’s get you back home, yeah?” His voice coaxed me the same as a small child, gentle, sweet.

The strong places of the stairs were memorised by now which made our exit quicker. Some of the thorns previously stomped down by Matt remained pressed into the ground. When one thorn gripped my skin and scrapped it, he insisted he went in front again. As if my skin and clothing wasn’t damaged enough.

He took a small glance back when he heard me playing a small quiet tune from my phone. I simply put my playlist of shuffle, but it obviously peaked Matt’s interest.

“Turn that shit up, kid.”

“You fuck with Kid Cudi?” He gave me a nod as if it was obvious, but I shrugged it off and ‘turned that shit up’

The music continued into the car ride back, I didn’t want to insist I could walk home. I knew he’d win no matter what I did. My head bopped to the music, zoning out at the window. We were in silence the whole ride back towards my house. I wasn’t uncomfortable, however. The music filled any awkwardness, if there was any. There was only one thing that I seemed nervous about, which was getting paint on the seats of is vehicle. I knew most of it had air dried by now, I just knew that car seats were expensive to replace. I know the exact price because anytime that I drove my parents’ car, I always ‘messed something up’ and had to replace it. I didn’t want to seem as someone who wasn’t capable of anything, so I stopped driving it after that.

Familiar streets seemed to appear, and we both knew it would only be a few minutes before we arrived at my place. The radio was cranked down until it became background sound for us both. I looked at Matt who had one hand placed on the wheel while the other rested on his thigh. His fingers twitched slightly, and I noticed pretty quickly that he was mimicking the drums from the song playing.

I hadn’t realised we had pulled up until Matt spoke for the first time in a while.

“Alyia? We’re back at your house.” He tilted his head closer to mine to make sure that I heard him. I did.

“Oh yeah right. Thanks for dropping me off.” My body slid back towards the door and pushed it open. Once I grabbed all my belongings, I walked around the car to see Matt. The window separating until he pulled it down.

He looked at me expectantly. Why did I never realise how icy his eyes looked.

“Need anything sweetheart?” I swallowed harshly and pushed myself away from the door. “Nope, just..thanks again. For the supplies, paints and the dri-“

He raised his fingers and put them inches away from my lips. “If I hear another thank you come from your mouth, I swear Aliya. I’d do it again no matter what you say.” He smirked at me, and it did ease a few concerns, now pushed to the back of my throat.

“Look, just because you’re used to apologizing and feeling like everything is your fault doesn’t mean that’s true. You don’t have to thank me every minute. You can relax around me. I don’t bite.” He looked down at where the window fell into the door, tracing the tip of the glass before finally making eye contact with me. He seemed almost apologetic for pointing out how my parents made me act. To be honest, I had been sorry about that for longer than he did.

I didn’t reply, I didn’t have to. I kept looking at him with a stupid smile on my face. The same I had while in the grove mere hours ago.

“See you in school?” I finally trusted my voice to speak but it was timid. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” My head nodded and I stood up onto the curb, pacing back to my house.

Shit.

My parent’s car is there. If they see me like this, I’m screwed. That’s it, I’m grounded. I won’t be able to-

I cut my thoughts of when I heard footsteps, they were heavier and dragged ever so slightly on the carpet. My dad.

“Alyia, are you home, I’ve been worried sick.” He quickly trailed off once he saw the state of me, paints covered a lot of my clothing, even the ends of my hair were dishevelled. I hung low, expecting yelling to follow quickly.

“Upgrading your mother’s work?” He laughed. He wasn’t mad at me? “Just go clean up before your mother sees, alright. Make sure you either clean those or throw them. As much as I love the experimentation, I’m not sure that your mother would approve.” With that he walked past me and wondered into the kitchen. I wasn’t willing to risk the chance of my mother seeing the way I destroyed her works. As much as I’m willing to do that all over again.

-

Matt’s pov:

I stayed there for a few minutes, leaning back into the leather. The music was chirping softly. I should’ve left, I watched her get in safely, but I just couldn’t move. I wasn’t waiting for her to run back out and ignore her home life. I wasn’t even watching the door. Traces of paint covered my hands, and I couldn’t help but stare. I tried to run my fingers over it, but the heat of my palm scrapped away a few spots.

By the lights on in the driveway, I knew Nick was awake. I felt bad that I let him stay up again, I just hoped that Chris wasn’t up as well.

“Matthew. Taking your sweet time staying out again. I knew you had the band shit, but we both know it doesn’t last thi- My god, what the fuck happened to you!” He was blunt and straight to the point, he always was but that didn’t make the words he said any easier to hear. I knew he was mad, anyone could figure that out.

He pushed down his glasses and held the bridge of his nose, taking all the clothing in one by one.

“Practicing music doesn’t require baby pink and black paint, what did you do?” He grabbed my shirt and tugged on it. “White. Really?”

I smirked pathetically “Its just some paints, I didn’t care, and I still don’t.”

“You’re lucky that I love you, kid. Just have a shower, its late.” He shook my shoulder as I walked forwards the kitchen for a drink. My eyes met Chris’s through the hallway, he had a weird smile on his face. He smirked at me and raised his eyebrows; I was talking to an actual child.

“I take it you were out with Alyia?” His tone pissed me off, acting like all I did was talk to or about Aliya. I wanted to but that doesn’t mean I did.

“Oh, shut it.” Chris simply shrugged and retreated to his room, humming a song that had been stuck in his head a few days.

During my shower I noticed an obvious change in the water colour, especially when I got rid of the black lines up my arms. No other lights than mine remained on and it made me realise how late I actually stayed out.

Fatigue had hit my system by now and having that hot shower only managed to relax me further. My phone screen lit up the room as I got a message. The quiet vibrations were the only sounds I had heard since the car radio.

My body slumped next to it and stared at it until the screen faded black. I held the phone in hand and since my room was almost pitch black at this point it failed to use face id. After I failed numerous times to fill in my password, I scrolled up to see who had messaged me.

Alyia🎸:

*Sent 1 attachment*

‘Youre lucky my mother didn’t see lmao.’

A photo? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her take photos, let alone send one to me. It didn’t take long for me to click on it.

It wasn’t exactly a selfie and now I understood her sending the photo. The most that I could see of her face was her lips that curled into a neat smile. Locks of hair flowed past her shoulders, and I could see she hadn’t cleaned up just yet, her jacket lay just below her shoulders which allowed the remaining fabric to bunch at her wrists. The selfie was taken from up high just so she could present the paint in one go. Her skirt remains hugging her hips that hadn’t moved from before. I assessed the amount of paint that had been sprayed and was still covering her hands. A light smile covered my face

I stared longer than I should have, I didn’t have the fear of being caught by her real form. I never had the urge to before. I had no idea why I was now.

I don’t respond immediately, and I know that she can see that I’m online, that takes a second to seep in.

Matt🥁:

‘Nick caught me, scolded the fact I was wearing white more than anything.’

Alyia🎸:

‘Frankly, that doesn’t shock me. I better go get this shit out of my hair. Cya kid.’ I just hearted the message and left my phone on the duvet. Light rain began to scatter my window, and I was thankful I wasn’t outside in it. My hand raised itself to my face and I tried to wipe away the weird feeling in my chest. I just hoped sleep would wear it away.

© ENDEREIES 2024

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckers @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @missmimii @thecynthh

[pinkchampagne]

♡ 365 Soft ♡

Pink Champagne's Personal Development Plan

updated december 6, 2024

this is my version of 75 Hard, modified for a realistic approach to long-term personal development and self-improvement. though i was inspired by the structure of 75 Hard, this isn't a short-term challenge. i've organized this plan as a lifestyle blueprint that can be continued for longer than 75 days.

unlike a crash diet or a challenge intended to be started and stopped over and over again, this set of guidelines can be easily implemented into one's life, and here’s why:

i will not lie and say i don't care about physical appearance, but the focus of this strategy is to feel better and improve overall health. my plan explicitly outlines which foods to gravitate towards and which to cut back on. there are no bad foods; this is just what works for me.

crash diets and workout challenges might produce the superficial results you want, but implementing a health strategy that focuses on the big picture is more beneficial in the long run. i’m easing into it, allowing cheat days, and not setting a 75-day timeline. give yourself grace and celebrate your wins.

i love the basic concept and structure of 75 Hard, however, progress pictures are generally most helpful for those who are trying to improve their physical appearance. since this is a long-term plan prioritizing health over appearance, i replaced this section with one on consistency in general, focusing on routines and habits. i also added a self care section because that’s extremely important to me. i will continue updating this post.

with healthy habits comes a healthy body and mind. take care of yourself and you will reap the benefits, mentally and physically.

🫧 DIET

alcohol:

weekends only

never alone

water between drinks

no shots/shooters/bombs etc.

5 drink limit

be mindful of who you're with; do they encourage good habits/behavior?

cut back on the following significantly:

sugar

dairy

carbs

red meat

processed foods

caffeine

exceptions: feta, parmesan, greek yogurt, kefir, mayo, bacon, honey, matcha, celcius

notes:

begin taking marine collagen and chlorophyll for skin and hygiene

increase fruits and veggies: romaine lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers are my focus right now.

increase protein intake: chickpeas, peanut butter, eggs, black beans.

honorable mentions: oats, blueberries, avocado, sweet potato, carrots, broccoli, spinach, kale, white meat, kombucha

🫧 WATER

100 oz a day. i'm purchasing a brita faucet filter and a new water bottle to encourage this goal.

🫧 WORKOUT ROUTINE

mondays, wednesdays, fridays:

30 donkey kicks, each side

30 fire hydrants, each side

3x

tuesdays & thursdays:

30 second plank

30 second side plank, each side

30 crunches

3x

notes:

sometimes i do my ab workout on saturday or sunday as well to get a third one in.

i plan on working cardio and physical therapy exercises into this routine eventually.

i’m thinking of purchasing a home pilates reformer!

🫧 SELF CARE

skin

wash face twice a day + use zit stickers

rhassoul clay/charcoal/honey face masks

sheet masks

actually use my quartz roller

ice roller, gua sha, steamer

red light therapy!!

body

exfoliating body scrub

first aid beauty kp bump eraser for legs

glycolic acid for legs + under arms

pumice stones for feet

misc.

continue getting hair cut every month and a half

be more consistent with brow waxing

get rid of old clothes + build new wardrobe

🫧 KNOWLEDGE AND GROWTH

daily podcast playlist

personal development podcasts & youtube - listen to at least one ep/vid a day

date yourself instead podcast – lyss boss

hail yes podcast

hailey gamba on youtube

thewizardliz on youtube

tam kaur youtube + self obsessed podcast

books - 30 minutes a day

freedom is a constant struggle - angela davis

a people's history of the united states - howard zinn

i'm taking book and podcast recs!

🫧 CONSISTENCY

follow budget

follow morning, evening, bedtime, and weekend routines

meal prep for weekday lunches: couscous salad with chickpeas, feta, sundried tomatoes and white wine vinegar + lemon juice dressing

create & post content every day ♡

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth

chapter 1: suffocation.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read that, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, mutilation, death, & animal death. the animal death is pretty detailed, so please don't read this fic if you're triggered by that kind of topic.

author's notes: This first chapter is a little bit of a mess imo, but I wanted to post it to assure you all that I don’t want to abandon this fic. It may take me longer to post and update chapters, especially since I graduated from uni (mwahahah) and my schedule may get busy. Still, I really enjoy writing this story—and you all seem to enjoy reading it. Both of those things are enough to keep me going.

Something extremely ironic happened around the time I was writing the last few chapters of Act 1. So… if you remember, in Chapter 6, Hannibal and the reader go on an opera date (of sorts). During that date, the reader remarks that they “don’t know the first thing about opera.” Those words were pretty much taken directly from my mouth. Fast forward to about mid-fall, I get a call for an interview for an internship. I end up doing the first interview, then a second interview… Then I get the internship. The irony? This internship is at an opera house. (What’s even more ironic is that I’m now getting to the point where I do actually know things about opera—I know different productions and directors and technical terms… It’s absolutely crazy. The universe is making me eat my words, lol.

To make matters even stranger, I was in the office for the internship one day and caught a glimpse of a television, which broadcasts what’s happening on the stage. Imagine my absolute surprise and fear when I look up at the television screen with absolutely no expectations and see a single man in a beige jumpsuit with something over his face standing on stage, his shadow silhouetted against the wall behind him. Imagine my surprise when I see that, not only is he standing in an enclosure with iron bars (just like the ones at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), but it also looks as if he is staring right at me—and he looks exactly like Hannibal Lecter in captivity. It was simultaneously scary as hell and weirdly reassuring. Anyway, I’ve taken these experiences as cosmic confirmation that I should continue writing this fic. Lol.

Anyway. Back to the important things… I’m planning to borrow elements from both Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but, similarly to the first act, there will be canon divergence and canon non-compliance. Also, as you probably discerned in the past act, there is some plot armor. But, this is fiction.

Your life currently takes two forms: before the Chesapeake Ripper… and after. 

Before the Ripper, the leaf-stained pavement of the Bureau filled you with hope. Walking through the agency’s halls was a testament to the hard work that brought you there. Each assignment was an invaluable opportunity to further develop your interrogation and combat skills. You went to classes, completed assignments, trained, slept, and repeated the cycle the next day. Over and over and over again. But you were happy. 

Life doesn’t feel so simple anymore. You feel like you’ve been fading for a while now, slowly deteriorating as you invest more and more energy into catching criminals. Your work has morphed into an exhausting mutual exchange, one in which you take murderers’ freedom and they take your restful nights. You can’t remember the last time you rested unencumbered by the horrors you’ve seen in the field.

By some miracle, Jack manages to keep the press relatively uninformed about the happenings behind the Ripper case. Everyone is too absorbed with the fact that Hannibal’s in captivity to remember to ask just how he got there, and you’re very grateful for that lapse in memory. You can just imagine the interactions you’d have with paparazzi. Is it true that he stabbed you? Is it true that he purposefully left you alive, only to surrender in your front yard and torment you with the constant knowledge that he will remain in the same place, lying in wait until the moment you will inevitably need him? You shudder. 

Even with all the chaos that comes from the Ripper case—the media coverage of Hannibal and the attention the FBI gets—life goes on. Back at the Bureau, you occasionally lecture the new recruits and you take on assignments along with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Jack is still wont to call on you at the most ungodly of hours; Beverly still trades lighthearted taunts with you; Brian Zeller still seems to hate your guts, for reasons you’re not quite sure of; Alana and you are back to a steady friendship, albeit with occasional beats of unexplained tension and awkward silence. 

Criminality continues to occur in the Ripper’s wake. You’re not surprised: the imprisonment of one criminal doesn’t beget the imprisonment of another. Even so, it’s difficult for you to proceed as if things are normal. You see traces of Hannibal in each of the monsters you apprehend. Your emotions are starting to eat you alive from the inside. You don’t have a therapist to assist you with those emotions anymore. And, while you think therapy would be helpful, you also know that there’s no way in hell you’d be able to actually be honest with a therapist without being imprisoned yourself. The things you’ve done and the urges you’ve felt…  Neither is even close to a semblance of normality. 

You take a deep breath. You have no issue stopping other criminals, sending them to empty white walls and thin mattresses. Why was Hannibal Lecter any different? You suppose you shouldn’t fool yourself—you know the answer to that question already: you got to know him. Beyond the mask of the Ripper, beyond the bloodied skin and cruel smile… You started to see him as a man, perhaps even a friend. Perhaps, even-

You tear yourself away from that thought process before it gets too far along. The semantics don’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re back in the field, back popping pills for your headaches and blinking fresh horrors from your eyes. All that matters is that the memory of Hannibal Lecter begins to fade away in the face of work— so much so that keeping busy helps you forget the pain. 

_______

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, a veterinarian walks into a stable under a farmer’s guidance. The two stand over a dead horse and the veterinarian frowns. The farmer explains the horse’s death before stepping aside, letting the professional work. 

The farmer quickly becomes lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t expected the horse to die in the middle of her pregnancy. The farmer swallows past the tightness in their throat and tears their eyes away from the horse. They were looking forward to the birth of the foal, looking forward to helping the mother raise her offspring. The stable air suddenly feels suffocating and they take a look at the veterinarian’s turned back before stepping outside to get some fresh air. 

Moments later, the veterinarian rejoins them. The doctor’s lips are drawn in a tight line and there’s a troubled expression on their face. The farmer feels any remaining composure promptly seep out of them, as the veterinarian suggests they come back into the stable. 

“It feels like there’s something here,” the veterinarian says, their expression conflicted. They touch the horse’s womb with a gloved hand and frown. 

“She was pregnant,” the farmer chokes out, their throat feeling tight again. It hurts to utter the words aloud.

“With twins?” the veterinarian asks, turning around to look at them. 

“No, just one baby,” the farmer shakes their head. Why would they ask about twins? Surely, they don’t feel another baby in the womb. The thought of two deaths is morbid and distressing enough, but three? The farmer inhales shakily. 

“There’s… something else here,” the veterinarian remarks, their face contorting as they feel the horse’s womb once more. They turn back to look at the farmer for assistance. The farmer feels a horrible, inexplicable sense of foreboding crawling up their skin. Despite that feeling, they nod to the veterinarian. The doctor nods in response and turns to the horse’s womb, before making an incision.

The veterinarian unearths the dead foal and places it on the nearby hay with infinite gentleness. The farmer’s chest begins to hurt as they come to terms with the sight before them. Their pain doesn’t end there, however. The veterinarian continues slicing along the skin before stopping and glancing back at them inexplicably. It’s as if they’re waiting for permission to continue. The farmer appreciates the gesture and they nod in affirmation. This mystery needs to be put to rest. 

The veterinarian inhales sharply, sending the farmer’s heart racing. The farmer prompts them to step aside, revealing the horse’s womb. There’s… something there. The farmer squints at it, a gasp ripping its way from their lips as they realize just what they’re looking at. A human corpse lies on the stable floor, a stark shock of muted crimson against the golden strands of hay. The farmer brings a shaking hand to their pocket and calls the police. 

_______

Unaware of these occurrences, you slowly exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. You busy yourself with grading your students’ papers, and you don’t learn of the corpse until a few hours later, when the medicine begins to kick in and you’re foolishly convinced that you’ll be fine. Before you can leave for the day, Jack is walking up to you and beckoning you to the lab. The two of you grab Beverly along the way, which leaves the three of you to enter the laboratory that Price and Zeller are currently situated in. When you walk in, you’re immediately assaulted with the scent of formaldehyde. Price explains the situation behind the corpse, how a veterinarian found the body within the womb of a horse. The notion is strikingly similar to the other deaths by suffocation that have been eluding the BAU for several weeks. Jack seems to think the same thing, as he rattles off what he knows so far about the killer. You add things here and there—small things you can deduce from the state of the corpse itself—before Price gets the group back on track. 

“I called you here because…” Price trails off, frowning before readjusting his stethoscope and placing it on the victim’s chest once more. The room is deathly silent as he concentrates. “...There’s a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t come with the onset of rigor mortis—we all know that,” Zeller continues, looking down at the corpse with a somewhat puzzled expression. He seems to sense you staring and looks up, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze meets yours. “She’s dead,” he announces with complete certainty. 

“She was found in the womb of the horse?” Beverly asks. Everyone else nods and she pauses for a moment. “Make an incision and check the chest cavity.” There’s an unshakeable certainty in her voice and it throws you off for a moment, before you realize what she’s getting at. It’s not unfathomable that something was buried within the victim’s chest cavity. Suffocation seems to be a common theme with this killer. Did they put some sort of dead animal in the corpse? The thought makes your stomach turn. 

“Alright,” Price acquiesces, after glancing at Jack for approval. Crawford nods, evidently attributing value to Beverly’s suggestion. The four of you—Crawford, Beverly, Zeller, and you—watch as Price leans in and makes a careful incision in the chest. For several moments, there’s nothing but a tense silence in the air as Jimmy works. The quiet is broken a few seconds later when Price takes a sharp breath. “I saw something.” 

“Keep going,” Jack demands, bringing Jimmy’s attention back to the task at hand. Price nods and makes the incision a little bigger. All of you are watching in anticipation, waiting for something you’re not quite sure will appear. 

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of motion. A yellow blur flits about the cavity, before reaching upwards and extending its wings to fly out. You watch in disbelief as the bloodstained bird stretches its wings and flies about the lab, colliding with the sheen of the fluorescent lighting and sending shadows flickering along the floor.

Jack is the first one to respond. He quickly paces over to the small window located near the ceiling and opens it, allowing the bird an escape. For a few moments, the bird doesn’t seem to notice: it’s too overwhelmed with the sudden change in environment to comprehend that it has just been granted an escape. It has a chance at true freedom, but it’s too busy taking in the laboratory’s flimsy promises to notice. The bird eventually notices the open window and flies out of it, before Jack closes the laboratory off from the outside world once more. 

The group begins discussing what just occurred, but your mind is elsewhere. You feel a strange sort of kinship with the bird: suffocated beneath rows of ribs and walls of tissue and skin; banished to the space between; too taken with the small allowances to notice freedom within reach. You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your headache is returning, as pressure builds up in your temples and constricts your very skin. It’s significantly harder to breathe. Every time you blink, you’re greeted with the memory of that bright yellow bird bursting from its confines, greeting the stale laboratory air with beating wings. You step outside the lab to get some fresh air, trading your smaller prison for a bigger one—just as the bird did mere moments ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find you. After all, you’re not hidden—you’re simply leaning against the wall in the hallway that leads to the laboratory. Jack strides up to you, his hands in his pockets and that familiar tight line drawn across his face. You suspect he’ll get wrinkles a lot sooner than everyone else his age—sheerly because of all the responsibility he holds and the pressure he’s forced to perform under. It must be exhausting to be the one calling the shots in these horrible situations. You had always assumed Jack had the easy job, but looking at him now, you think that assumption must be incorrect. He is suffering, just as you are. Perhaps… Jack has just grown better at hiding it. 

The thought makes Jack’s remark slip in one ear and right out the other. You ask him to repeat himself and he sighs. “We need to go to the stable where the corpse was found. There are several police officers there already, but…” But we need to do a more thorough investigation, he doesn’t say. You hear him anyway and nod. Jack walks past you and paces purposefully down the hall, not even bothering to look and see if you’re following him. Perhaps he already knows you will follow him. 

What follows is an awkward car ride. Neither of the two of you attempt to break the tense silence, leaving a suffocating air of uncertainty and indecision. You don’t know what to say to Jack, so you instead busy yourself with looking out the window. You resolutely pretend not to notice your boss’s gaze repeatedly flitting over to you and, after a painful amount of time, Jack is driving up the gravel path that leads to a modest farmhouse and a beautiful wooden stable. 

The place is already crawling with police officers and FBI agents. Unfortunately, the police were the first ones to be informed of the case, which means the FBI is forced to share jurisdiction with them. You know Jack isn’t too happy about that, especially once you see the frown on his face as he watches the police officers clumsily investigate. They don’t have the right training for a situation like this and Jack is delighted to inform them of that fact—albeit with much more careful wording than you would have utilized. A few minutes later, the cops are gone, leaving Jack, you, and the set of agents that Jack requested to follow after your car on the drive over. The other agents are quick to secure the crime scene, while Jack and you decide to explore the premises a little first. 

The property features a small, rather unremarkable house with slightly dirty bricks and a well-loved bench swing on the porch. The front door is agape, revealing hardwood flooring and items strewn about. Jack and you exchange a glance before walking into the home. You don’t see any sign of life until you reach the kitchen and come across an older woman sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea. You’re quick to show your badge and explain the situation to her. She doesn’t seem to have a great idea of what’s going on, so you eventually decide to leave her be and keep looking about the property. 

Next to the house is a rather large stable, complete with several different stalls and a wide variety of tools. You have no idea what half of the tools could possibly be used for, but the majority of them look as if they’ve been used at least once. There are bales of hay in the corner of the room and various accessories hanging near the post of each horse’s stall. There are only a few horses in the stable—you think you could’ve seen a few in the pastures out back earlier. There’s a horrible stench pervading the air, and it’s not the typical odor that comes from a farm. It’s the smell of death. You look at Jack and he nods, inclining his head and gesturing for you to continue exploring the stable. It isn’t until you reach the last stall—one that is inexplicably larger than the rest—that you find the source of the stench. The rotted corpse of the horse rests at the back of the stall, the womb flayed open. The organs have been removed, but the smell of decay remains. Surprisingly enough, you’re not alone in this stall. A brown-haired man sits cross-legged on the floor next to the horse, a blank expression on his face. 

“...Hello?” you decide to try. There’s no response. “Excuse me?” Still no response. 

You glance at Jack and he raises his eyebrows, before turning to the stranger. “You must be Peter Bernardone,” Jack remarks. The mention of the man’s name seems to be enough to get his attention. On second thought, you remember Jack offhandedly mentioning that there may be a stablehand on site. It seems you’ve found him. 

“That’s me,” the man replies flatly, staring ahead with glassy eyes. He looks as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence, as he looks at the wall ahead of him with enough intensity to melt it.

“Jack Crawford, FBI,” Jack answers with an introduction of his own. He flashes his badge for a moment before putting it away. You can’t tell if Peter is even paying attention, but you do the same to make him more comfortable. “We’re just here to ask you some questions.”

“I want to talk,” Peter murmurs quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard. He pulls his knees up to his chest; his eyes haven’t strayed from the corpse of the animal in front of him. You feel your chest constrict a little at the sight. 

“Good,” Jack responds with a nod. 

“...To you,” Peter finishes with a gesture. To your complete surprise, he doesn’t point at Jack—he’s pointing at you. Jack blinks in equal surprise, looking at you for answers. You send him a helpless look. At first, you’re not sure why you seem more trustworthy than Jack. Then you remember Jack’s position and the intimidating aura he tends to give off. You think you’d want to talk to someone like yourself too, were you in Peter’s situation. 

“Alright,” you agree. You don’t see the harm in having a conversation. You need information and, more importantly, answers. Jack stares at you for a long few seconds, before exhaling in evident exasperation. 

“I’ll be outside,” Jack promises, before walking away. You wait until Jack is out of sight before you take a step closer to Peter, placing your hands in your pockets. 

“What do you do here, Peter?” you hear yourself ask. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears. 

“I volunteer here,” Peter responds, still facing the corpse. His voice sounds hollow, empty. “Sometimes.” 

“Did you… know this horse?” you ask hesitantly, looking down at the corpse.

“Yes,” Peter answers without hesitation. There’s a hint of emotion in his voice now.  

“Ridden her before?”

“I don’t ride the horses,” Peter replies, “I just like to brush them.” 

“Okay,” you acknowledge. You begin pacing around the stall in an attempt to calm your restless nerves. “Peter, were you here on the day that the veterinarian visited?” Jack had briefed you on the circumstances of the horse’s death, how a veterinarian had been called to investigate before the corpse was found in the womb. 

“I don’t remember a veterinarian,” he stares ahead with a frown. 

“That’s fine,” you answer. He may not have been there that day. “The veterinarian was the one who cut open the womb and found the corpse… Did you know this horse was pregnant?”

At that question, Peter turns around and stares at you. His hollow gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. For a moment, he just stares at you, before huffing in amusement. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” you echo. You suppose that was a rather dumb question on your part. “Were you… sad about the foal?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs again. “Why do you think I’m sitting here?” This discussion isn’t getting you very far. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You take a deep breath. “This doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’m going to give you my extension, and if you ever feel like talking about what happened, you can call me, okay?” Thankfully, you know for certain that Peter isn’t the killer—the psychological profile you built on this murderer tells you that much. Jack clearly doesn’t think Peter is the killer either, and those two facts are enough for you to rule him out as a suspect. However, you’re still contemplating the possibility of him tampering with the crime scene. 

Peter clears his throat pointedly and you remember what you were supposed to be doing. You grab a notepad from your jacket pocket and quickly scrawl down the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s phone number, followed by the extension to your office phone. You take a step closer and hold it out to Peter. For a fraction of a moment, you think he won’t take it. Just before you can pull your hand back, he takes the paper and slips it into his pocket. 

You turn on your heel and take a step towards the door of the stall, fully intent on leaving, when the door falls open of its own accord. Jack Crawford stands in the doorway, staring at you. 

“Good; Agent,” Jack remarks. This must be important. “We have a lead,” he says vaguely, his eyes falling to Peter. You can’t discuss confidential information here—the details will have to wait until you’re both in the car.

“Excellent,” you remark in relief. “I’ll meet you at the car?” You can sense that Peter’s attention is piqued. Maybe you can still get something out of him. Jack nods and walks away once more. You then turn to Peter, who has turned his body away from the horse to face you. Somehow, he’s intrigued now. Something has caught his eye. “Sorry, Peter,” you apologize, taking a step backwards and emphasizing that you’re a moment away from leaving, “I have to go.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, “Did you find him?”

“It’s classified, I’m sorry,” you respond, ignoring the inexplicable sound of alarm bells blaring in your head. Peter isn’t the killer. “But we’re tracking down this killer. I promise he’ll be put away.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, a dangerous conviction in his eyes. 

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. You don’t have the authority to make that kind of promise, but you do anyway. The sincerity in your expression must convince Peter, because he takes a slow breath and the tension seems to fade from his form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Peter. It was nice to meet you.” Peter says the same and you turn to leave the stable. 

“Price and Zeller found soil in the corpse’s throat,” Jack recounts to you as he drives along the highway, moving at a comfortable speed. His eyes are fixed on the road, but he recalls his conversation with Price with perfect consistency. “We traced it to a burial site about thirty minutes from here.”

“Great,” you remark, relief coursing through you. To your surprise, Jack doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply nods ever so slightly and continues staring ahead. Now, it seems as if he’s avoiding something. “What is it?” you ask. Something seems off about him. 

“You may want to brace yourself,” Jack warns vaguely. 

“Why?” you hear yourself question. Jack doesn’t answer, and he’s quiet for the rest of the car ride. When the two of you pull up to the supposed burial site, you’re filled with trepidation. This job always comes with the knowledge that blood and gore could be waiting at every corner. That’s the normal day for an agent. So… why does Jack feel the need to warn you? You grapple with the prospect as the two of you leave the car and join the group of agents circled around something. 

It isn’t until you get closer that you recognize the familiar stench of rotting death. Sure enough, the group of agents is clustered around a hole in the ground—one that houses a woman’s corpse. You stare at the marks around her neck, the dirt caked under her nails and staining her fingertips. She was on the brink of death when she was buried. She was trying to escape. You stare down at the body for another moment, searching for any more abnormalities, before taking a step back to let the other agents resume their investigation. You exchange glances with Jack. 

“She’s not the only one,” Jack says. You stare at the field around you—the grassy, open expanse. It seems to stretch on for miles now. You feel your heart steadily thudding in your chest, at a rate slightly faster than normal. Your head begins to ache. 

“How many of them are there?” uou murmur. The question is quiet, as you practically whisper it against the wind. For a moment, you think Jack doesn’t hear it. You then realize that he has comprehended it, but is simply declining to answer. Indeed, your boss stares out at the field with a conflicted expression. “Jack?”

“Sixteen,” Jack responds, turning his attention back to you. You feel something in your stomach twist and pull. 

“That can’t be right,” you remark. It sounds as if the wind is picking up. It takes you several seconds to realize the sound is being conjured by your own mind, and that the air is damp and still around you. You swallow hard and take another look around at the field, suddenly understanding why the agents are now evenly dispersed across the space. They all have shovels and each sound of metal hitting dirt is enough to send a bolt of pain down your temple and through your cheekbones. Your teeth hurt as you watch the unearthing of sixteen different victims. They’re uniformly dispersed across the field. This is no happy accident—the killer meticulously planned for their graves to be close (but not too close). The thought brings a burning feeling to your throat and you feel your knees suddenly buckle. You place a hand on the ground, feeling the familiar horrible feeling of nausea climbing past your throat until you’re vomiting on the killer’s ground. It takes you a few minutes to stop, and even longer for you to fully recover. Your eyes sting and you can’t tell if you’re going to cry or pass out. There’s an overwhelming clarity in your vision and a rhythmic pounding at your temple.

This graveyard is a gruesome display, even to someone who has spent their entire career surrounded by carnage. You’ve seen your fair share of murder victims. You’ve never seen sixteen of them lined up in two neat rows of eight, buried in a nondescript field under layers of muddy soil. Moreover, you can sense the killer’s feelings—and it makes you sick. This was not a gesture born out of respect for the victims. The murderer did not dig up these graves to give these women a final resting place; he buried them to trap them, so that even in death, they would never truly be free. Their existences would be tied to him forever. They would never be allowed to breathe again. It’s nothing short of sickening. There’s nausea stewing in your stomach again, revulsion prickling across your skin, and sweat trickling down your neck.

You can’t seem to push yourself up to your feet. You’re grounded to the damp soil, to the wrong side of the earth. What deems you worthy of living? What deemed these women worthy of dying? Your hands are twitching at your sides. A deep breath causes your chest to hitch and you nearly vomit again. You look down on your body as you claw at the grass and tear it up, shakily pulling at the dirt and plants and grass and rot and death and injustice and horrible, terrible guilt and indescribable anger and vengeance—

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You instinctually tense, your movements beginning to slow. It feels as if you’re suddenly catapulted back into your body, forced to inhabit the itchy, dirt-stained skin and the endless remorse that wants to eat you alive from the inside. 

“They’re dead; there is nothing left for them here,” Jack says. It’s his strange way of comforting you. It sort of works. After a moment, he takes a step forward and extends a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to pull you up. Jack seems to be fighting against the urge to say or do something, because his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pulled taut in a thin line. There’s dirt all over you, yet you are still privileged with life. 

You don’t remember how you get back to the Bureau. All you remember is staring blankly ahead as you’re half-led through the halls by Jack himself, his hand on your shoulder providing equal support and increased pressure. All you remember is the worry on Alana’s face as you walk past, the way she gets up from her desk and walks over to you, how she leads you towards the far restroom with a gentle hand. It ends up being the same restroom where Zeller accused you of killing Franklyn. The memory of that encounter is far fresher than you want it to be. 

Alana leads you to a sink and guides your hands towards the water. 

“Allow me,” she remarks, turning on the sink. She steps away for a moment and you stare at the water dripping from the faucet. Alana returns moments later with a washcloth. She pumps some soap on your hands and helps you wash them clean. Your head aches. You don’t know what to think, what to say. All you can think about is the graveyard. It haunts your vision every time you blink, forcing you to think of suffocating under piles of dirt and debris. You inhale sharply, gasping. Regaining your breath is a chore. “I’m worried about you,” Alana soon admits. You hate that her concern makes you feel appreciated. Your relationship with Alana ended years ago. You don’t want to be hers again, but this very moment reminds you of the intimacy you no longer get to see.

“You shouldn’t be,” you remark. Alana laughs under her breath. You both know that’s not how it works. Emotions don’t bend to logic. 

“What did you see?” Her hand on your forearm keeps you tethered to reality. You shake your head, unable to begin describing the scene that will most certainly haunt your nightmares. The two of you are silent for the remainder of your time together under the flickering fluorescent lights, as you try to come to terms with the terrible regret, revulsion, and rage threatening to spill over your frame and inhabit your every waking moment.

next chapter

endnotes: thanks for reading! i'm very excited to continue this story, mwahhahahha

here's a lil sneak peek for the next chapter: “Peter,” Clark practically coos. You hate him, more than you’ve ever hated anyone before. He is a bundle of contradictions: a fine-dressed man with a fine-dressed smile and fine-dressed lies and cruelty and violence and— “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

hannibal taglist <3: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

[buckcluckhater]

New video game hot take: Halo, the whole series.

It's weird, but I'm one of a number of fans who seem to just be unable to put down this series despite constantly criticizing the games and frequently feeling either disappointment or nuisance at its mechanics, and the community is generally quite awful, always has been tbh.

That said, I cannot stand how much hate Infinite gets from casual audiences. The Halo Cycle is real, and you see it firsthand when people start going back to what was previously considered the black sheep, 5, and start dropping compliments. I have seen people claim it has better weapons, a better art direction, better multiplayer release, even better campaign experience. When you apply this even further back, it starts to make sense why there're so many zealots of the original trilogy who will desperately try to convince you that those games are near flawless and surpass anything released today. One need only play 30 minutes of multiplayer or the first two missions on Legendary for any of these games to see that just isn't true. It is 100% nostalgia, and I bought into the hype around Halo 3 for a while myself, despite not growing up with it (I actually played it third to last).

Back to Infinite, this game did not launch well, there were a lot of bugs in multiplayer, playlists were scarce, major expected features were missing for a year or longer, the campaign was bundled as a $60 dlc, and there still has not been, and appears to be no continuation planned, despite the game's ending. The disappointment was so extreme that many were calling for a complete company makeover and/or complete series reboot. While the first slowly but surely did happen, it mercifully looks like the second won't, which is good because randomly rebooting to boost sales is a terrible idea (New 52 lol), and it stems almost entirely from dead franchises like God of War suddenly coming back to the mainstream.

I played this game a lot on my own time, especially because the social features being so barren made it hard to get anyone else to play it with me, so my experience has been solo campaign and Randoms or bots in multiplayer. In the game's current state, it's a lot of fun. I play as my disabled spartan and sometimes take Sativa before running Legendary Firefight or running a couple missions.

I do wish it released at a later date with less news before it dropped so that there would be less hype, fewer demands, and less comparison. But if I had to guess it was a moment of poorly calculated "brand synergy" to tie in with the release of the Halo TV show, whose reputation can only be described as apocalyptic.

I genuinely wish they keep this game updated, because the mechanics and presentation are just that good in my opinion. Also, Halo 4 isn't as bad as I thought.

[comatosebunny09]

Maybe I’m not fully understanding what the complaint here is but if as you said you’re writing for yourself what’s the point of seeking validation from strangers and as far as I know part 2 is a compliment because it’s someone saying they liked it so much they want more

I’ve discussed this ad naseum, anon.

It’s not solely about seeking validation. Art is literally a discussion. What I consider good may not be your definition of good. How do you expect your favorite writer to grow or remain motivated enough to keep posting stories if you’re not letting them know why?

To some, yes, “Part 2” is a compliment. To me, it’s a passive-aggressive way of demanding that I churn out updates solely for someone else to consume without taking the time to appreciate it. It makes me feel like because I write as a hobby, I am expected to do it all the time like it’s a job.

If I take the time to share 1000+ words of prose, someone can take the time to comment keyboard smash, a string of emojis, or a simple “Beautiful.” To me, that provides more insight on how someone feels versus simply demanding more.

Perhaps I haven’t been articulating this well, so I’ll break it down how I explained it to my husband.

Imagine baking cookies as a hobby. You don’t ask for anything in return. Baking is just your vice. It helps you detox after a long day, keeps you focused, is your stim, or however you choose to define it.

With that, imagine being invited into a room each day to bake cookies. The room has everything you need, from the materials and ingredients, an oven, a place to rest while your cookies bake, an inviting atmosphere, and even little baggies to put them in once you’re done.

Imagine this room also has a one-way window. You can’t see outside of it, but anyone outside can see what you’re doing. You don’t let that bother you, so you get to baking.

You play your favorite playlist while you get to work. And you’re happy because it’s what you love to do. You’re in this room for however many hours, doing what you enjoy with minimal complaints. All you care about is the process that goes into baking and the result.

You’ve finally finished. The cookies smell delightful and taste amazing, and you even took the time to dress them up with icing and intricate designs.

Let’s say the earlier window has a slot for you to put your cookies out in the hallway so people can stop by and sample them. Again, you don’t know what’s out there, but there’s at least a table for you to showcase your cookies.

You put out about three dozen of them, tidy up the room, and leave for the day, confident that you’ve made some bomb-ass cookies that others will enjoy.

You come back a couple of days later. This time, you’re allowed to enter the building you bake in through the main entrance. You walk into the hallway where you’d placed your cookies, and maybe, like, four cookies are left over. Holy shit! Someone liked your cookies! You have no idea who took them, if they were eaten, if people liked them, or if someone chucked most of them in the trash.

Regardless, you don’t let that notion deter you from continuing your cookie-baking cycle all over again. But let’s say you’ve been coming to this room, baking these cookies without question for weeks. You’re starting to lose motivation, so you leave a suggestion box or a link to your socials for people to leave feedback the next time you finish.

You return a few days later with a few notes in that suggestion box.

“Hey, great cookies! 10/10!”

“Omg! These were so good! My kids love them!”

“Make my cookies all the time, please!”

The feedback is good, and it has you smiling like an idiot. You’re even more motivated to make more cookies. But let’s say later down the road, you’re no longer receiving similar suggestions or constructive Google reviews or DMs. Imagine that, suddenly, you were getting requests for “more.”

No idea what they’re asking for more of. More of one type of cookie? More of a specific flavor? More cookies in general? You receive even more suggestions and comments like this as time passes, so much so that they outweigh any positive (or constructive) feedback you used to get.

Pretty soon, you say fuck baking cookies for everyone else. They’re asking for more but not telling you why they want more. So you go back to baking cookies in your own kitchen, content with eating them yourself or sharing them with friends and family you know will appreciate them.

Yes, that was a long, arbitrary story. But that’s the best way I can explain my view of this epidemic.

[leonenjoyer69]

how do you write. (specifically fics)

i have like some ideas currently but i havent brought myself to write anything yet at all 😭

also any tips/advice you find helpful would be cool too

Vjejfiejkf ty for this ask, I'm actually so honored--

First of all, I tend to write everything on my phone in a writing app, bc I'm not about that Laptop life, but otherwise, uh, I'll throw this into two categories--

Oneshots: generally for one shots I get beamed with an idea and immediately go Yap about it, either on my server or with one or two specific people that I know will help me develop it via feedback :3

then, I generally jot down a synopsis of what I have so far and random little ideas of what I want to include, usually so I can return later and know wtf I was thinking to do next. I have a good few WIPs where I didn't end up doing that, and guess who doesn't know how to continue them now, so yeah, always do AT LEAST a brief little synopsis. Also goes for multi chapter fics, ofc. They also don't have to be serious or anything, like, this was the thing up top for my mind jekyon fic:

Very silly, but it gets the whole idea and big points across.

Multichapter fics: okay, this one's,,, a decent bit different, mainly bc I have my girlfriend (who also edits my stuff) plotting things for A Little Identity bc I'm actually really bad at plotting and pacing longer stuff.

I usually go to her with ideas and future plans and she'll dive deeper into the ideas I have for the next chapter I need to write so I have more guidance, makes things much easier for me, bc I get stuck less.

But, this could also probably be substituted once more by must talking with someone you think could help you develop it. Feedback and extra ideas are a writer's best friend! Go yap about your ideas! Especially with someone you know will bounce ideas back with you!

Motivation to write tho,,,, I have a few things.

-listening to a playlist or songs that remind you of a character or certain scenario you wanna write about. I have a character playlist for each of my tgs OCs, and then one for A Little Identity in general, and there are a few songs I straight up associate with future chapters that I can't even talk about yet. They form a whole little scene in my head, and having that makes it much easier to write it. Additionally, when I maybe get stuck with characterization, I'll go listen to that specific characters playlist. Music is your best friend! I've gotten beamed MANY ideas from songs, at random sometimes too.

-do a sprint with sprinto! It's a discord bot that gives you a 15 minute timer and takes your starting and ending word count and calculates it, ranking it against anyone else who did the sprint with you. It's very good for more competitive people, and it's a very nice thing to have on a server. I've seen it get people out of a writer's block on my server, so it's certainly nice to use.

-let the writing drive come to you. I won't lie, most days just aren't writing days for me. The English language will allude me, I'll get stuck on where I want to go next, dialogue will destroy me, etc.

I think writing is just kinda like that sometimes, so just write what you can when you can! If you have a main fic you feel you need to update but also a bunch of little oneshots, then work on whatever you feel the drive to! There's no point in trying to force yourself to work on one thing when you have a bunch of ideas for another thing-- the most important thing is that you wrote in general.

The time will come when you get the motivation and ideas for that other thing, so just do what you can when you can, writing is writing :3

-reread what you've already written, or if it's a fanfic, reread/watch the source material. I can't tell you the number of times rereading all of Lanyon's lore pages has given me new ideas with Elias, as well as just reading through old stuff or incomplete oneshots that have my OCs and such. Sometimes you just need a refresher!

-read other fics. This generally helps see how other people format things, which can sometimes help when you're struggling. Sometimes I'll also search for stuff that has specific things that I don't know how to describe very well.

Andddddd I think that's all I've got? Hopefully this helps people, so go out and write! There's never enough fan fics 🙏thank you again for the ask :3

[m0onberry222]

GET TO KNOW ME POST ‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚ ⋅

this one might be an eensy weensy, little bit, ever so slightly, super duper crazily long…but i figured, why not. soooo, here is my take on an intro post if anyone feels like reading it!! :)))

ᯓ★ if i’m being so honest, this will probably continue to get longer as i grow and also think of more things, haha.

MY NAME IS…

m0ony! of course, i do have a real name, but this is what i prefer to go by online :). i picked this nickname for two main reasons — 1) it’s the nickname of one of my childhood comfort characters, and 2) i just love the vibe it gives!

CURRENT OBSESSIONS…

ᯓᡣ𐭩 supernatural

ᯓᡣ𐭩 gilmore girls

ᯓᡣ𐭩 the umbrella academy

ᯓᡣ𐭩 the grishaverse (particularly the books)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 harry potter (marauders and golden trio)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 the umbrella academy

ᯓᡣ𐭩 brooklyn 99

ᯓᡣ𐭩 the mcu

ᯓᡣ𐭩 the hunger games

ᯓᡣ𐭩 the folk of the air

FAVORITE BANDS/ARTISTS/SONGS…

꩜ .ᐟ jeff buckley

- nightmares by the sea, if you knew, morning theft, forget her, yard of blonde girls, lover, you should’ve come over, i want someone badly, lilac wine, last goodbye, haven’t you heard?, je n’en connais pas la fin, all i ask (yes, a few of these are covers but his versions are SCRUMPTIOUS)

꩜ .ᐟ deftones

- diamond eyes, swerve city, digital bath, 7 words, rosemary, be quiet and drive (far away), minerva, cherry waves, xerces, my own summer (shove it)

꩜ .ᐟ the cure

- the lovecats, a forest, fire in cairo, the perfect girl, lovesong, bloodflowers, charlotte sometimes

꩜ .ᐟ the neighbourhood

- sweater weather, fallen star, pretty boy, daddy issues, devil’s advocate, baby came home 2/valentines, cry baby

꩜ .ᐟ depeche mode

- blasphemous rumors, people are people, policy of truth, walking in my shoes, personal jesus, enjoy the silence

꩜ .ᐟ radiohead

- karma police, idioteque, everything in its right place, lotus flower, kid a, all i need, lift, how to disappear completely

꩜ .ᐟ the smiths

- how soon is now, bigmouth strikes again, heaven knows i’m miserable now, there is a light that never goes out, please, please, please let me get what i want, hand in glove, girl afraid

꩜ .ᐟ arctic monkeys

- stop the world i wanna get off with you, arabella, snap out of it, why’d you only call me when you’re high, baby i’m yours, do i wanna know, 505

꩜ .ᐟ michael jackson

- they don’t care about us, chicago, say say say, billie jean, beat it, man in the mirror

꩜ .ᐟ hozier

- arsonists lullaby, work song, someone new, would that i, take me to church, in the woods somewhere, jackie and wilson, wasteland, baby!

꩜ .ᐟ david bowie

- lazarus, as the world falls down, moonage daydream, rebel rebel, life on mars?, space oddity, magic dance

HOBBIES…

࣪𖤐.ᐟ reading

- if anyone would like to know/discuss favorite books please 100% lmk!!

࣪𖤐.ᐟ writing

- mostly original works these days

࣪𖤐.ᐟ theatre

- both performance and technical!

࣪𖤐.ᐟ photography

- my mother is a photographer, so i have always been around it — and i greatly enjoy it myself!! ofc i am most definitely an amateur but i love to take photos of all kinds :))

࣪𖤐.ᐟ gaming

- WOW, minecraft, the sims, skyrim, oblivion, stardew valley, fortnite

࣪𖤐.ᐟ making playlists

- i believe i have nearly 100 public playlists at present on my personal account🫣

- here is the link to my fandom spotify!!

࣪𖤐.ᐟ journalling

࣪𖤐.ᐟ spending time with loved ones & pets

࣪𖤐.ᐟ researching topics

FAVORITE AUTHORS/SOME FAV BOOKS…

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ leigh bardugo

- SAB trilogy, SOC duology, KOS duology, HB duology

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ rick riordan

- entire riordanverse more or less lmao

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ j.r.r tolkein

- LOTR, the hobbit, etc

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ suzanne collins

- THG

(there are MANY more favs that belong here, but i am quite frankly utterly exhausted, so i shall update this shortly)

CURRENTLY READING…

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ american gods BY neil gaiman

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ the familiar BY leigh bardugo

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 1984 BY george orwell (can you sense my nationality, lol)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ the wicked king BY holly black

if you made it this far…thank you so much for reading and getting to know me a little better! i would love to get to know any of you better as well, and if you relate to anything here or would like to discuss anything, please don’t hesitate to comment or anything!! i LOVE talking to people, especially about special interests, tehe.

[cinderflower]

👄🤔🦗☕⏳

👄 Your OTP are having their first kiss. What song do you imagine is playing?

MalMiq clearly are kissing to the beautiful sounds of the envoy horns of course lol

This question did stump me because I think pretty much all of my ships are non-modern and I struggle to imagine them in situations with modern music. So I'll just pick one of my go-to songs I listen to for setting the vibes when I write soft scenes of confessions, with lyrics that I think represent the ships well.

Princes: Skin - Marika Hackman (there's literally So Many I have for princes but this is the one I listened to most when writing Stay)

MalMiq: Unconditionally - Roniit (there's also so many for MalMiq but this is the first song on my FoR playlist for a reason)

🤔What are some words or phrases you find yourself overusing?

Oh there's so many, I think right now my biggest nemesis is the word "as" purely because of how I write in past tense. I've been trying to use it less to make my sentences more dynamic and interesting but ough it's hard.

Not necessarily a specific word or phrase but if I write for the same ship enough I will reuse the same gestures of intimacy between them repeatedly and even certain phrases they say to each other unconsciously. This is what kills me in the editing process is I'll be reading a scene and realize 'oh this sounds exactly like the scene from X fic'. It happened with Princes, it's currently happening with MalMiq (how many times will there be a focus on Malenia's thighs? So many and with no plans to stop), and I'm just trying to tell myself it's fine, people who read multiple of my fics probably don't mind it and people who only read one will be reading it for the first time. I always try and make it unique though as best I can by either the situation or emotional crux driving it so even if the actions are the same the underlying motives and meanings are different.

🦗Do you write in sequence or jump around?

I very rarely write out of sequence, it's partially why I don't feel too uncomfortable posting long fics chapter by chapter, but it does mean I don't get the opportunity to go back and make minor adjustments to prior chapters to better foreshadow certain things. For example in RM because I posted it all after I finished writing I went back and added small references to Knight General Godwyn in the first few chapters so his appearance was else jarring when I did introduce him. I'd do the same thing for FoR if I wasn't posting it chapter by chapter, like including a mention of Siluria's lessons instead of introducing her presence so late, but usually it's minor things like that.

Otherwise I either have a very strong vision of what I intend to write in terms of major plot beats (even if my outlines and notes are uh frighteningly sparse and vague) and/or I trust myself to be cohesive as I write. Usually this means going back and re-reading previous chapters while writing the next one, which is why updates take longer and longer the deeper I get into a long fic.

☕Coffee or tea while you write?

Coffee for sure, I'm not a tea person at all. I also basically only drink water, coffee, and energy drinks though I'm trying to cut energy drinks back out. I'm a terrible host because all I ever have for guests is water or coffee lol.

⏳If you could go back in time and tell your younger writer self something, what would it be?

Oh I'd absolutely tell my younger self not to take a 10 year break from writing and that as busy as I am, it's worth it to continue doing something I love and not to let work/life trample on my hobbies. It's still one of my biggest regrets honestly, and I think of how much I could have accomplished in those years, but it's fine now I'm just glad I'm back to doing a hobby I love. 😊

[v1nsmoke]

𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑲𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑹 // 𝑺𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑹!𝒁𝑶𝑹𝑶 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 2

Attending a house party won't be a bad choice, at least that's what you think until something changes the course of the night, and everything turns into chaos.

Not to mention the after effects...

this is a multi-chapter work, with consistent updates on wattpad and ao3. i'd recommend checking those out since i tend to neglect tumblr lmao, or visit the masterlist to find all already published chapters here on tumblr.

tw: blood, fire, car crash, description of wounds/injuries, murder, graphic violence, alcohol

pairing: roronoa zoro x reader

genre: horror, thriller, drama

chapter: 2/? (visit the masterlist for other chapters!)

word count: 4.5k

a/n: okayy, so here's a longer chapter, i usually don't make these lol but i wish i had the patience for it... first appearance of cop shanks (i already have a oneshot for it, which i might continue after finishing party killer) and also of firefighter ace who has my heart ♡

PLAYLIST (click on this, it'll lead you to spotify!!)

The loud music with the same, repetitive beat keeps playing from the speakers installed by Usopp earlier today, maybe an hour ago. You didn't expect everybody from the cafeteria to actually pull up, but it seems like you weren't the only one who thought it would be nice to attend a party just this one time. Everybody was there, even those smart students whose daily routine was entirely made up of studying and the quiet kids nobody knew anything about, and they all seemed to have fun. Except you.

You stood alone in the corner of the living room, awkwardly holding the red plastic cup filled with alcohol that you won't drink anyway. Maybe coming here was a bad idea after all.

"Uh, hey,” You hear voice behind you, though it was faint since the music was being blasted in the background. You turn around to see the guy from your fencing classes, the same guy that you invited here because Zoro wouldn't do it.

"Hi," You say, your fingers fiddling with the cup as you force a smile onto your face.

"I see you're alone. Zoro didn't come with you? I was sure he would," he starts.

"Uhhh I haven't seen him yet, but the party only started not so long ago, he said some days ago that he'll show up. He's bad with directions and navigation, maybe he just got lost," You explain.

"Oh, alright, if you say so. My name's Kaku. Nice to meet you, I've been watching you during fencing classes."

-○-

Zoro's face expressed disgust. Was it worth coming here? He stands still near the doorway of the living room, silently observing the scene currently unfolding on the other side of the room. When he entered, you were the first thing he saw amidst the crowd, but his happiness quickly dissapeared after a guy approaches you. Zoro could recognise him as Kaku from fencing classes, the guy who would always be paired with Zoro (and inevitably lose to him).

He couldn't hear what your conversation was about, the other guests and the music overpowering his hearing. Oh how he hated Kaku. He annoyed Zoro so much, his voice, gestures, everything. And now this man he hated was talking to you. It was supposed to be him. Maybe if he didn't take twenty-two wrong turns, get stuck in a traffic jam AND park his car in front of the wrong house, it could be him. But that wasn't the case right now, because instead of enjoying your company, he stood still on the other side of the room.

It bothered him how you had to force a smile, he could see it across the crowded room, but Kaku standing next to you couldn't. He just kept talking and talking, not noticing the way you were looking in all directions but at Kaku, who didn't seem to care.

"Heyyy, you wanna join me on the dance floor?" An unknown girl comes up to Zoro, pointing at the middle of the living room.

"No,” He coldly turned her down, not even bothering to look at this girl. He couldn't take his eyes off you and Kaku, and knew that if the guy tries to do anything, whether it be a romantic or hurtful action towards you, he's going to be there between the two of you in the blink of an eye.

Just then, he notices as Kaku takes your hand into his, the movement making you seemingly uncomfortable. Seeing this, Zoro takes rapid steps trough the living room, squishing himself trough the crowd, his katanas colliding into each other. As he gets closer, he starts to hear you voice.

"No, uh, thanks, I-" you stutter, politely turning him down, trying to pull yourself back to the corner you were standing in.

"Come on, you're supposed to have fun, right? Zoro's not coming anyway, that asshole doesn't care," Kaku chuckles. Zoro deeply inhales. It took his all not to launch at the guy and gut him right then and there.

"No, sorry. I'm not going anywhere with you," You insist, pulling back your hand in hopes of freeing it from his grasp. Your heart was beating faster, and it was definitely not because Kaku's charms. You've already considered all possible outcomes of this. You called it “ready-for anything mindset,” although others called it simply overthinking. Lucky for you there was a small cupboard with a vase on it next to you just in case of an emergency.

"No way, I'm a nice guy, you know me! I-"

"She said no."

"Zoro!" You smile upon hearing your friend's deep voice, one that you could recognise anywhere. Kaku seems to lose some of his self confidence after Zoro's voice hits his ears, but he still didn't let go of your hand.

"Hey, buddy!" He gives the green haired man a fake smile. This was off to a bad start. Zoro could swear that if this guy called him 'buddy' again, he'll lose it.

"Let her go," he snaps back, not even greeting Kaku. Instead, he stared into his soul, and if looks could kill, Kaku would be gone by now.

"Alright, fine!" Kaku gets defensive, letting go of you and raising both his hands up like he was being arrested. It looked like he was waiting for a 'thank you', but you sure weren't going to thank him for the bare minimum. Feeling the tension, the guy tries to lighten the mood before Zoro accidentally stares too strongly at him.

"Zoro, buddy, can I invite you for a drink?" He asks.

Zoro nods, knowing that Kaku had no idea of what he just got himself into.

"I'll be back soon," Zoro faintly smiles your way, which is not a rare phenomenon with you, then leaves wirh Kaku following closely behind him, leaving you alone yet again.

~○~

Zoro pours another drink into the cup, Kaku letting out a sigh of satisfaction as he downs it again. Both of them sat at the kitchen counter, drinking up everything they could find. They both consumed the same amount of alcohol, but one of them was definitely drunker than the other. Zoro was an expert at alcohol drinks, and could still stay sober even after an insane amount of drinks. Unlike Kaku. He was deeply drunk by now, just as Zoro expected it.

"Zoro, hi! You're actually here, cool! Though I would be happier if you left your katanas at home," Nami appears, greeting her friend.

"I always take them with me everywhere."

"Yeah, that's exactly why you are banned from so many places."

"Zoro, pour me and yourself another!" Kaku chuckles, his shaky hands holding the cup towards the green haired. Zoro agrees, but when he tries to grab another drink, he notices that it's all gone.

"Strange. I thought you were prepared, Nami," he says.

"I WAS! But you two idiots drank it all!" She shouts at the two, mad that they didn't leave any for the rest of the guests.

"So no more drinks?" Zoro looks over to Nami, earning a sigh from her.

"There is. Go to the garage, I have a few crates of it stored there. Bring those up, but leave some for the others."

"Why do I have to get them? You're the host, do it yourself," Kaku whines, clearly drunk.

"MAYBE BECAUSE I WASN'T THE ONE WHO DRANK IT ALL. NOW GO," she pushes Kaku out of the room, Zoro walking behind them.

He would be lying if he said this wasn't what he was planning all along. The crates in the garage? He knew about it. And he also knew that nobody will be there, all the guests in the living room or one of the guest rooms. He felt a bit bad for leaving you alone, but there were things that had to be done. And it was for your own good.

"Man, I'm telling ya, I would be long gone with that girl if you didn't interfere. Damn bro, I even had some aphrodisiac with me, I-"

Zoro didn't need to hear the rest. His steps slowed down, mind going in multiple directions. Did he just mean you when saying 'that girl'? Did he really want to give you that shit? Kaku may be drunk, but drunk words are sober thoughts, and Zoro knew that. He hated Kaku, but now he snapped. This guy was going too far, and Zoro didn't like the way this crazy dude talked and thought about you.

He opens the garage's door, holding it open for Kaku to enter, and he does so, skipping his way down the few stairs. Unbeknownst to him, he just walked into a trap, one that Zoro has been planning ever since Kaku started making flirty comments towards you during fencing classes, not noticing how you were internally cringing and creeped out by him, but neither of you ever said a word about this. And tonight really did it for Zoro. He didn't invite Kaku for a drink because he wanted to get closer to him. He did it to get him into this drunken state, and made him drink up every drink until there was none left. He didn't need Nami to ask them to get more, he would've done it anyways.

Kaku looks trough the shelves, searching for even more drinks.

"Zoro, you helping me or nah?" He inquires, still looking at the metal shelf.

"Sure. I think I already found one of the crates," he says, carrying a crate filled with whiskey over to Kaku. He tries to hand it to him, but drops it in the process. The glasses break, the alcohol spilling on the floor and Kaku, who is now soaked from head to toe, given that he was crouching when this happened.

"Sorry." There was no remorse in Zoro's tone, but the guy believed him anyways, the drinks doing their thing.

"It's okay buddy, mistakes happen," he smiles, going back to searching the shelf again in case he missed something.

He doesn't notice as Zoro quietly locks the garage's door, trapping the two alone together. He starts searching in his pocket, until he finally gets his hands on the keys to Nami's car, the keys that he stole from the hanger in the hallway. Zoro opens the car's door, sitting down on the leather seat of it, then inserts the key and the engine comes to life with a buzzing sound.

"Ey man, be careful or you'll hit me!" Kaku shouts, still crouching just a few meters away from the car.

"Don't worry. Stay there, and you'll be safe. I just want to test something," he lies, and steps on the gas pedal. The tires of the car squealed on the concrete floor of the garage, which had just enough space for the green haired to roll the car back a bit.

"Buddy, Zoro, no, no, let me just go back, you can try the car when I'm not here," Kaku stands up, ready to leave in this instant.

"Stay put. I'm here to crush your skull, not the car."

And with that, Zoro pushes the car's gear, feet forcefully pressing the gas pedal.

A loud thud echoes in the garage as Zoro crashes into the wall, the breaking of bones and coughs ringing with it. Kaku tries to take deep breaths, but now that he was squished between the wall and the car, it seemed impossible. His head was spinning, eyesight hazy, the only thing he tried to focus his eyes on was the man in the driver's seat, staring at him with an emotionless gaze.

Zoro backs up a bit with the car, Kaku falling to the floor with broken ribs. He coughs, clawing at the floor in hopes of being able to crawl away. Zoro opens the car's door, slowly stepping out. Kaku was almost at the few steps leading to the door, when he looks back over his shoulders at the sound of footsteps, the green haired man approaching him.

"No, please, I-" he crawls a bit faster, but Zoro grabs him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him back with force, then dragging him along the cold concrete floor, back towards the car.

Zoro lifts him up, then places him in the drivers seat while he stands at the car's door.

"You're gonna be in big trouble when I tell the others about this," he manages to whisper between coughs, his own blood filling his mouth.

"They won't know." And with that, Zoro steps on the gas pedal, quickly pulling his leg back after doing so. A deafening scream pierces trough the air, the car running into the wall yet again, the metal shelf between the two objects breaking right trough the windshield, the end of it sliding trough Kaku's head.

The car sparks at the impact, the alcohol spilled there by Zoro previously catching fire. Was the crate drop a few minutes ago intentional? Yes. Yes, it was. Now the car was in flames, the already dead Kaku stiff in the drivers seat.

Zoro calmly grabs a crate filled with beer from the other side of the room, and makes his way towards the door like nothing happened. He doesn't look back, letting the car burn with Kaku inside it. The whole garage was made up of concrete walls, which cannot catch or spread fire, meaning that Nami's house won't burn down if he leaves the fire to be.

He leaves the room, striding back to the kitchen. Just as he was about to leave the hallway and enter the living room, Nami comes rushing to him.

"Zoro! What took you so long?! We heard loud noises, I was getting worried that something happened to you!" She scolds him.

"I didn't know you could do that," he coldly replies, earning an eyeroll from the ginger girl, who noticed something.

"Wait, where's the guy who went with you?" She asks.

"Oh, Kaku? He told me to feel free to come back, said he wanted to try something. He should be here soon," he lies straight to Nami's face.

Nami shrugs, about to go back to the middle of the party, when she suddenly stops in her tracks. Her nose picks up an unkonwn scent, or more like smell.

"Zoro, can you smell it too?" She asks worriedly, turning back to the swordsman. "Smoke." Realisation dawns on her, eyes going wide. She rushes out the room, a curious Usopp and you behind her. "You're coming too!" She shouts back, clearly meaning Zoro. So, he follows them.

The grey smoke filled the hallway as they got closer to the garage, Nami already suspecting what happened. Usopp bursts trough the garage's door, letting out a few coughs along with Nami and you. The room was filled with smoke, the orange haired girl's car still in flames, it was only a matter of time before it gets worse and the car explodes.

"SOMEBODY HELP! WE NEED WATER! CALL THE POLICE AND FIREFIGHTERS!" Usopp screams. Nami and you nod, running back to warn the others and call for help.

Now Zoro was left alone with Usopp, who was panicking, taking fast and deep breaths to calm himself down.

"You, Zoro? D-don't you feel l-like doing something about this?" He shakily asks, eyes on the green haired man.

"I already did," he answers. Usopp slightly scrunches his eyebrows, not quite understanding what he meant.

"What are y-you trying to say? You're creeping me out a bit, you know." He takes a tiny step back, Zoro looking at him with a colder, more menacing stare than usual.

Usopp swallows hard, feeling uneasy after Zoro doesn't give him an answer.

"Zoro, you... you didn't, right?" He nervously chuckles, but Zoro still doesn't move or say anything. Usopp realises that he's in grave danger here, and it's time for him to run. But just as he turns around, ready to sprint back to the living room, he hears as Zoro unsheats one of his katanas. Usopp grabs a vase, throwing it right towards Zoro, who simply cuts trough it.

"This can't be real, this can't be real, this can't be real!" Usopp murmurs to himself, shutting his eyes for a few seconds. But when he opens them again, Zoro's gone. Or at least that's what he thought, standing up, letting out a deep sigh at the fact that he won't die.

"Sorry. No witnesses," he hears the deep voice from behind, the blade making contact with his upper body. Usopp looks down, and is met with the sight of Zoro's katana going trough right his heart. He sees as Zoro pulls out the blade from his flesh, a hole left in its place. He coughs, blood spilling from his mouth before landing on the flooring beneath him with a thud.

Zoro's hands were now stained with his friend's blood, the crimson liquid staining Nami's floor and his katana's shiny blade. He had to get rid of the body quickly, before you, Nami and all the others return with the cops. So, he grabs Usopp's dead body by the legs, dragging him to the burning car in the garage a few steps away.

You panic, dialing 911 as fast as possible while Nami ushered everybody out the house before something else catches on fire too, or the flames reach the wrong spot of the car and it explodes. But Usopp was down there, trying to put it out with the buckets from the storage room. Or at least that's what you thought was happening.

"911, what's your emergency?" A female voice chimes in from the other side of the line, one that you could recognise.

"Stussy, Nami's car got caught on fire in her garage, and she said somebody was there too, it can explode any minute, Usopp is trying to put it out but I'm worried for him, I-" you dump all the information on her, but she calmly cuts you off.

"Alright. I'll ask Shanks to go, he'll bring some of his colleagues too, so him and some firefighters will be there in a few minutes."

"Thank you. Bye." You shake, worried for Usopp and Zoro at the garage. Stussy puts down the phone, and you do the same as you rush back to the garage to get the two out of the house.

You cough as you get closer, Usopp and Zoro nowhere to be seen.

"ZORO! USOPP! COME ON, WE NEED TO GET OUT!" You shout, hoping they will hear you. You slow in your track when you notice the splatters of blood on the floor and wall a few meters away from the entrance of the garage. Did something happen to them? You think for a second. Maybe the fire wasn't caused by accident. Maybe somebody set it on fire intentionally, killing the person Nami said was there. And now he maybe got one of your friends too.

"USOPP! ZOR-" you call out their names, when suddenly the green haired man appears in the garage's doorway.

"Oh god, you're alright! Look, we need to get out of here, the police, firefighters and ambulance are already on their way, there's nothing we can do about the fire now. And I might sound stupid right now, but there might be even a killer, and-"

"There is. Now come with me and get out of here," he cuts you off and grabs your hand, heading to where you just came from.

"But Usopp-" you try to stop yourself, but Zoro keeps dragging you behind him.

"He'll be fine," he replies, not even looking at you.

"You know what he's like, we can't just leave him here!" You argue back, slightly raising your voice.

"There's no time for him, we need to leave, now."

"No!" You tear your hand away from his. "He will panic that he's alone, or worse, he can die too! Don't you think about that?!"

"I do, but I don't care. I don't care if that fool dies, but if I don't get you out of here and you die because of me, I'll never forgive myself." He lifts you, throwing you over his shoulder, firm hands keeping you in place. You squirm, trying to get out of his touch, but it seems impossible.

He bursts trough the door, then places you down at the front yard. The other guests were either gone the moment they heard there was a fire, or watched in horror as the smoke flowed out the house. Just as you step on the sidewalk in front of the house, the sound of cop cars hit your ears, that same deafening sound as all the other times. Firefighters and ambulance arrive at the scene too, jumping out of the vehicles in an instant. You rush towards one firefighter, the black haired, freckled guy you were friends with.

"Ace! Ace, one of my friends is still inside, please, try to find him and get him out," you beg, tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

"That's my job, sweetheart. Don't worry!" He reassuringly winks, running toward's Nami's house.

You knew Ace since childhood, you both went to the same school and your moms were good friends, so you got to hang out with him a lot. He loved going on adventures, and was a good company. He always dreamt of being a firefighter, and it was like a dream come true for him when he got the job. You knew that he will be great at this job, and you trusted him. When he told you not to worry, you believed him, there was something about your friend saying this that calmed you down a bit.

"Hey, you alright?" Another familiar voice sounds from behind you, his hands placed on your shoulders. You turn around and see the red haired man with scars over one of his eyes, worry displaying in his eyes. You couldn't hold your tears anymore, this was it. You wrap your arms around him, face buried into his chest, sobs escaping your lips.

"It's okay, it's okay. You'll be fine." He hugs back, bringing a sense of comfort to you. Shanks was the usual friendly cop, the one who would always be there when an old lady called the police because her cat got stuck on a tree, the man who would knock into your home just because he was bored and wanted company. You knew him, his little secrets, and he knew yours.

~○~

The rest of the night you sat in Shanks' cop car, a blanket over you after a doctor checked up on you and it was all okay. You were devastated. Ace and the doctors did everything they could to save Usopp, who was found dead in the garage, stabbed. The other victim was Kaku, who died under mysterious circumstances. There was definitely a killer, but nobody knew who it was. Though you did have your suspect. And you could only wish you were wrong.

The last time you and Nami saw Kaku was when he was with Zoro, but Nami said that the two went to fetch drinks and Kaku stayed behind, so maybe that wasn't Zoro's fault. But it was also him who stayed with Usopp, he was last seen with him. And the fact that Zoro carries his katanas everywhere, including this party, and Usopp getting killed by a blade just fit together. Why would he kill Usopp? You had no idea.

Everyone got questioned one by one, and sadly all clues lead to Zoro according to Benn, who was Shanks' colleague. You didn't know him like you knew Shanks, but you would meet him often. He was smart, and knew what he was doing. And that's why you were so worried. Because he is likely right this time too, and that means Zoro, your best friend is a murderer.

You see as Shanks approaches his car where you were sitting, a serious look on his face.

"Is something wrong?" You quietly ask, worried that something happened, something wrong.

"I'm sorry. I really am." He says as he sits down in the back next to you, looking in a direction. You follow where his eyes are focused, and see what you didn't want to. Zoro in handcuffs, escorted to a police car. A tear escapes you, it hurts to think that your friend is a killer. You didn't know his motives, why he did what he did, but he probably had a good reason.

Shanks was worried that you will be targeted after this, so he offered to take care of you and live with him if you want. You have been living alone ever since you were 15, and you knew Shanks well, so, you moved in with him. He has been acting as your father figure ever since, and you totally don't mind it.

You would sometimes still wonder: why did you do it, Zoro?

[panelshowsource]

masterpost update... 🥹

hi guys it's been a minute 🥹 as i mentioned, i was working on updating the masterpost this past week, moving a large bulk of content onto my panelshowsource googledrive account, because i think everything stored there will be easily accessible and safe long term :)

the masterpost is the same original link it's been since it was established over 5 years ago! always bookmark the original post, not a reblog and not this post, so you have access to the most updated version & its links!

—

i had to do some reorganising of the post because of tumblr's latest round of post restrictions:

i'm not able to provide many alternative links because i'm nearly at the link limit as it is, but i think what's provided is reliable and you can always send an ask if a link needs updating!

since i can no longer give every series its own photo header, everything is organised by bolded text and bullet points, which will look and read best on desktop opposed to mobile (mobile seems to despise indentation)

—

a few notes regarding specific titles:

i did add all of taskmaster to my drive due to overwhelming requests, but only s1–4+15 are in 1080p, so i will begin updating the 720p files to 1080p over the next couple of weeks. thanks for your patience! in the meantime, you can watch them in hd on youtube ofc! i'll also update hypothetical as i get those locked down

i...i wanna say something so honest... i really don't care about a league of their own and most of you don't seem to either. it's a huge hassle organising the episodes because — not to say this for the third time in two sentences — but most people don't care much about it and haven't made the effort to keep it archived. we haven't seen a source for a complete series 6 in, like, 8 years. i'm not going to be making an effort to log that title for the time being. sorry if that's an inconvenience, but feel free to use the resources linked in my faq for your own research!

i added all of travel man (720p) and bridget christie's the change (1080p) to the misc watch links post (link below). i'll work on finishing upstart crow and then adding the rest of as yet untitled, game face, man down, and the cleaner!

i will continue uploading as-hd-as-possible versions of cats does countdown to my youtube channel and will eventually get them all on drive, but that's a slow process; i don't spend much time on youtube because half the commenters are tossers and deleting their negativity to keep it a fun space doesn't always leave me in a good mood 😡😡😡

i know a ton of celeb juice is on youtube but i haven't gotten around to organising it into a playlist (at least), but it's on my to-do list!

—

if you want to contribute to the post, i'm currently seeking these!

ask rhod gilbert

breaking the news (mostly looking for the tv version)

the news quiz (s97–current...i might have a source but it's a slow wip...)

there's something about movies

mel giedroyc unforgivable s03

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➭ PANEL SHOW MASTERPOST

woooooooo

➭ ADDITIONAL WATCH LINKS

more wooooooooo

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i'm going to tentatively open my requests (for watch links & gifs) so feel free to send a polite ask for something you may be seeking. it's much easier for me to keep track of asks than dms, if you don't mind sending there :)

okay friends enjoy! ヽ(゜∇゜)ノ

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WATCH LINKS MASTERPOST / FAQ / TAGS / ASK