#And explain my thought process behind my art at least

[pastelaspirations]

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO MY GOOD PAL, BUDDY, CHUM, FRIEND, @honeybubbletea33 It's actually over the latest chapter this time, so go read it, it's so good, I swear-

Okay, guys, I must confess something. I am the number one Silk enjoyer. I have loved her since the b e g i n n i n g (Silk is the beautiful queen on the right, you can't miss her ✧˖°.)

So, because I am her number one fan and the leader of her cult, I drew this "birthday drawing" solely as an excuse to spread my Silk propaganda. Join the cult, guys, we have spiders and brownies-

I took some liberties with her design, but I did incorporate details from chapter 9 and this chapter. Also, I s w e a r, I read somewhere that she had a scar over an eye, but I couldn't for the life of me find it when I looked again. If you can find it, like... Tell me where, man lmao

I gave her a design based on styles from the 1920s. Idk, man, I just thought that would really fit (Here's what I referenced if you guys wanna draw cute designs too!) But y e e. She's noticeably less "war-torn" than the fic described her, BUT MAAAN, LISTEN. I IMAGINE IT LIKE SHE GOT GLAMMED UP TO ATTRACT NEW CLIENTS. It's easier to swindle people out of their gold if you have a pretty face ;)

I am also on my knees begging. P l e a s e, we need more Error and Silk tea time gossiping. It's so amazing. I never knew I needed these two to gossip together until this chapter but I n e e d it (Seriously, a drama podcast between these two would go so incredibly hard)

I just thought it was hilarious that Error was willing to spill his entire life story for a single brownie. Yeah, he ate way more than that, but that doesn't change the fact he was ready to talk shit after being bribed with one brownie. Literal comedy gold

All in all, I need these two to become friends. Error needs a buddy he can shit talk with. Silk can be that buddy. I am objectively right guys, tell me you agree with me-

[itz-pandora]

Hahaha doodle I made for a stupid non canon fic I made for myself

Bonus of not shaded and lineart just for readability and idk. Novelty for the lineart

[cattnipt]

Hi!! I really love your art, it’s so lively and full of energy and color!! It’s like a perfect balance between organic and grounded but also magical and fluid!! I particularly love the way you do your lines, and I was hoping you could say a bit about the thought process behind why you chose a certain line to be colored/how you choose what color it should be/ how you manage to make it read clearly even though it’s blue on blue or tan on beige etc. I want to incorporate using colored lines in my own art but it always ends up killing the form or looking out of place. Some tips would be appreciated!! Thank you so much and I hope you keep creating forever!! ❤️🗣️

Hello!! Thank you so much ahh I'm so flattered! Lineart isn't something I've actually specifically paid much mind to in my process, so I had to rack my brain a bit for this but I hope this opens my thoughts a bit!

So my main points are

1. Trying to include lineart as a part of a whole within one render instead of a separate lineart layer concept so to say (I say this also because my actual draftsmanship is pretty poor! I usually go from a sketch to a rendering which ends with "lineart", instead of drawing a separate cleaned lineart from the start!)

2. Balancing local colours and how they interact with shadows! -> lineart is an extension of shadows

3. Contrast! While I try to match the colours of lineart to the current local colour, sometimes it's simply interesting to add brighter contrasting colours like blues to where they "don't belong" in small splotches. This is where the challenge of readability comes in, but it's mostly a balancing act of trial and error with saturation and how much you use this contrast within an area. This I must admit I don't have much advice for, it is mostly a gut thing but it's worth to keep in mind that if everything is contrasted, nothing in the larger picture truly is. Less is often more!

I don't know how well this explains anything, but I hope it helped at least a little!

[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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[theashop]

Kazuha is usually calm, yet we've seen him being capable of getting really angry and I feel like if he were to ever meet Wanderer he'd definitely snap for one reason or another

my original thought process was - while he accepted what happened to his clan, confronting the cause (/learning the full truth) could stir up previously abandoned feelings Kazuha assumed he already moved past - without Wanderer I don't believe he's reached that peace yet

I know Kazuha is willing to forgive but in Irodori he stated if the person responsible is still making trouble he won't turn a blind eye -> taking action meanwhile Wanderer did say he'd take even a blade to his chest as he feels it should've ended that way long ago

which could lead to clashing feelings as Kazuha wouldn't seek revenge yet Wanderer would be passive, expecting it Kazuha's ideals, his clan, the whole mentality of wanting the revenge to take place by Wanderer, mixed in with what went down in Sumeru recently -> it's messy

and despite provoking people, Wanderer is finally trying to live on his own terms so the self sabotage/reluctance to fully move past as he still wants to be punished is definitely challenging Kazuha who wants to live in the present - as who's he to take his present away?

I could see Kazuha getting angry both at Wanderer being stuck and wanting something to end him when his second chance is right here and he's proving himself people even care for him now my dialouge reflects this anger though I feel like there's many other ways this could go

anyway just explaining the thought behind the art BUT I admit, I do have trouble predicting/portraying Kazuha's reactions, so if I said something really inaccurate then treat this as a fun alternative? these two are complicated but I hope I did okayish at the very least

[crushedsweets]

I know this is more of a subjective question, but I really like your AU so I thought I'd ask!

Do you have any tips for making an AU? I've tried multiple times but always end up scrapping it due to one reason or another.

HONESTLY?! My answer probably won’t be helpful but I’ll try to explain HAHA

For starters I just have a RIDICULOUS amount of passion for this 💀 I think about it all the time and art/writing(sorta)/character development/etc is my biggest hobby so anytime I’m not busy, I wanna do this . Which ok I SWEAR I HAVE A LIFE LOL I PROMISE I HAVE FRIENDS IRL. I have a very good work/life/hobby balance

Plus a lot of the stuff is just kinda like… idk it’s just what I was thinking. I’ve been into creeptpasta since I was 9, and I wrote some shitty little fanfiction

But ACTUAL HELPFUL advice? (Or at least what helped ME personally…)

Ask questions the entire process

Create the main problem/antagonist first. Immediately helps create motivations and a reason behind every character, plus conflict typically drives a story so Yk…

Try not to overwhelm yourself with cool concepts. The only main powerful forces I keep in my Au are slenderman, operator, and zalgo. I rewrote jacks story where he was possessed by zalgo, not chernabog, simply because I didn’t wanna have too many huge entities… I KNOWWW it’s hard to restrain yourself cuz you just wanna add a bunch of stuff but it really helps to keep it concise

Create a very rough map. Like organize what the terrain looks like. That’ll immediately create questions: who lives where, is it a city or town or forest? Tons of cabins? Do they live in shitty apartments? Why do they live there? How do they afford it? Etc

Try to keep the cast small at first… I started with 12 and moved up to 16. It’s too overwhelming if you have 20+ characters, and it’s easy to lose motivation if you feel like you need to consider 20+ characters in every decision you make. Then try to choose who are like… A plot characters, B plot characters, C plot, etc. so you know who you actually wanna dive into. It’s okay if not everyone as fleshed out perfectly!

Keep it well organized and easily accessible !

I use MIRO to create a timeline. I gave everyone individual plot points, and I sorta let the “main” story evolve around that

I use google sites to keep the characters and rough details of their backstories written.

[the-anime-enthusiast]

today is Iida's birthday !!!! maybe some drabbles/headcannons about what it would be like to celebrate with him :3?

TENYAS BDAY‼️‼️

headcannons and drabbles 😜

for everyone else who has requested stuff and I haven't replied, I'm so sorry 😭 I just moved 4 states away from home by myself and I've been busy ASFFF but I'm finally starting to get some free time again so pls be patient with me, I appreciate it 🙏

GIFT IDEAS 🎁

Okay so this first one is oddly specific, but every time I go on my own personal Tenya Iida bend, I alwaaayyyss think of this. My fav "perfect gift for him" idea is a pair of glasses (stick with my now), but not just any pair, a pair with his hero name

"Ingenium"

engraved in the side‼️ It may seem kinda dumb cause hes got like, idk a bagillion pairs of glasses, but these are perfect for special occasions and we all know he prefers the finer things in life so I think he's love this 😌😌 (possibly sheds tears bc he loves his brother like it's nobody's business and he feels the weight of this gift in his soul, ong)

My favorite gag gift ideas all come down to one thing, oranges. (ifykyk but de I will still explain) So, as a lot of Tenya fans know, his quirk uses oranges/orange juice as the fuel for his engines (no I'm not lying, it's random ik, his family has so many random traditions and small details thrown into the show, I love them sm 💞)

Like many people, I love gag gifts, and I would have a field day with this. I'm talking sunglasses shaped like oranges, bottles upon bottles of assorted orange juice, Sunny D merch, the whole nine yards. While this HC is made to be a gag gift, I think he would actually lose his shit over this, like best gift he's ever received type shit. He'd keep a specific shelf on his bookshelf for all things orange you get him (like a shrine or sm shi 💀) It def weirds ppl out when they don't know the story behind the shelf, but he loves it 😌👍

Another gag gift idea I love 😋 (okay so rq)

fun fact Abt me: I'm in mechanics and I js know bro would eat up auto mechanics related gag gifts Soo much 😭😭

Like cleaner for his mufflers, car oil (strictly for shits and giggles) js dumb shit like that 😭 Again, definitely has a stash/shrine for all this stuff, everytime you tell him he can get rid of it

"it was just a joke tenya, you know you don't have to keep it right?"

"well dear, it could come in handy one day! You never know ☺️"

Spending the Day Together 💞

Bros prim and proper, if your lucky, you wake up before him. It's no secret that appreciates the finer things in life (and the small things, atp he appreciates literally everything. Tenya is an angel sent from heaven and don't you forget it ✋) But if you decide to wake this man up to some bomb ass breakfast, I'm talking bacon, eggs, possibly pancakes, and ofc a big ass glass of orange juice he WILL tear up. I know deep in my soul he's an emotional (or at least dramatic) gift reciever.

I feel like his birthday would actually be a pretty average day, other than the morning and night. He ofc wants to have breakfast with you, whether it's cooking or the two of you going out, but he makes a NIIGHT out of his birthday. Y'all are doing it all don't even play ✋ Anything he could think of that you would also enjoy, is going on the list. (ofc there's a list, this is Teny Iida were talking Abt 🙄🙄)

There happens to be a festival near by? ✅

Oh your in a town known for it's street foods? Take a wild guess where your going. ✅

Open Business Shack street strip? You're walking that thing about 50 times. ✅

Art Museums. Movies. Live Music. Wining and Dining. Walks in a Park. Walks on the beach. Hero conventions. Literally any event near or on his birthday y'all are going to. You can try to plan all you want for him but he's got things mapped out before you ever thought possible. Something to be grateful for though, he doesn't mind it. He doesn't mind planning all of these things for HIS birthday because making you happy in the process is more than enough for him to get by (selfless baddie).

At the End of the Day 🌆

As much as I'd like to think, and we'd all like to think, that Tenya gets in a good amount of alone time with you at the end of his birthday, it just doesn't happen (ikik trust the process 😔)

After a long day of walking around the town, eating great food, spending way to much money on entrance fees to museums, gift shops, and that great food I mentioned, bros pooped (sry guys I'm js a girl and idk how else to word that with equal humor to that phrase 😔)

The second you walk through that door bags are crashing into the ground, shoes are being thrown across the room (not rly tho cuz u leave ur shoes by the front door 👍), clothes are being scattered across the living and bedroom. All bro wants to do is crash into his bed. He barely has time to out his night cap on 😔😔

It's slightly mundane but sweet because trust me ✋ After a day like the one he has planned y'all's bed sounds like heaven. I mean you can swear you hear the angels themselves singing to you once y'all slink into bed together, and honestly he wouldn't have it any other way. Spending an amazing day with his amazing partner, then getting into an even more amazing bed with said partner at the end of his lil adventure 💞

this is kinda on the short side, but it's late ash where I'm at and I'm tired asff BUT I FINALLY WROTE SMT AGAIN 😍😍 (praise God life was getting so boring) I hope y'all enjoy! I haven't been an iida girlie for awhile now but y'all are bringing it back 😜 (not to mention that one scene from the anime where it's class 1-A vs Deku and bros looking extra yummy) (slay) (pls don't come for me I'm 18 and have been watching this show since I was 12)(I'm also asexual so I'm not being weird I swear)(ik some of my reposts say otherwise but guys good writing is good writing what can I say 😭🙏)

Hope y'all have a wonderful night!

Lots of love 💞

BYYYEE ‼️‼️

[allariablack]

NikoBran & JerLan - “Can I have your son for the rest of my life?”

Brandon was having an exceptional day, one of those rare stretches of uninterrupted peace and focus. His latest canvas, an impressionist vision of Nikolai with that usual mix of shadowed wild charm, was coming together perfectly. He smiled to himself, dabbing a bit more paint to capture the angle of Nikolai’s jaw, a touch of light for the smirk that, to him, was pure art. His muse. His Heathen Peasant. Really, if he were to be honest, Nikolai was as good as a prince himself—but it was fun, calling him his Peasant. After all, didn’t Niko call him his Prince Charming?

Lost in his work, he barely noticed the sound of footsteps until the door slammed open behind him. He turned just as his twin, Landon, stormed in, his phone clutched in his hand, looking like he was about to deliver some dire news. Brandon raised a brow, unfazed, and continued to blend colors on his palette. What now?

“Have you seen Jeremy and Nikolai’s story?” Landon asked, his voice sharp with barely-contained annoyance.

Brandon shook his head, shrugging as he wiped his hands off. “Not yet. What’s so urgent?” he asked casually, though he snatched the phone from Landon with practiced ease.

The screen lit up with an image of Jeremy and Nikolai mid-soccer game, both flexing their arms with ridiculous grins, muscles on full display, jerseys clinging from the sweat. It was practically designed to be a thirst trap, and Brandon felt his eye twitch at the sight of them looking like they were on the cover of a sports magazine. Soccer? His mind reeled for a second as he thought aloud, “Why soccer of all things?”

He barely had a moment to process before Eli sauntered in, phone in hand, looking far too amused. “Ah, so you saw it too?” he said with a chuckle, nodding towards the story as Brandon continued staring, his annoyance only growing. “Guess I should explain. Last time I visited Killian, Jeremy and Nikolai were tagging along, as usual. I might have mentioned that Uncle Levi, was a bit of a soccer star in his prime. Thought it would be funny if they used that fact to ‘charm’ the future in-law,” Eli grinned, shrugging. “Didn’t think they’d actually take it this far.”

Landon crossed his arms, shaking his head. “You’re telling me that you planted this insane idea in their heads, and they just ran with it?”

Eli’s grin only widened as he shrugged. “What can I say? They seemed… interested. They said they wanted to get Uncle Levi’s approval.”

Brandon groaned, rubbing his temples, but he couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, of course, they’re using my dad’s ancient soccer past as an excuse to post thirst traps. This is practically bait. As if Dad would be okay with anyone dating us..Dad thinks we are still kids.,” he muttered, exasperated but amused.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Ilya grumbled under his breath, feeling like he’d been assigned to the most ridiculous mission of his life. He was a hardened mafia guard, for heaven's sake, not some influencer’s cameraman! Yet here he was, jogging across a grassy field with his phone clutched tightly, running after two self-obsessed troublemakers as they posed and flexed in front of the camera. It was like watching a pair of overgrown children, except that these overgrown children were supposed to be the “fearsome” leaders of their respective places in Bartva.

Jeremy struck another dramatic pose, arms flexed, grinning with a perfect smile. Meanwhile, Nikolai kicked an imaginary ball, trying to make the whole thing look at least a little authentic. “Ilya, angle it from lower!” Nikolai barked, pointing downwards with an exaggerated motion. “You’re making us look short!”

Ilya rolled his eyes, adjusting the phone reluctantly. Making them look short? He thought to himself.—how much lower did they need him to go?

Jeremy and Nikolai reviewed the picture and immediately groaned in unison. “Ugh, no. We look ridiculous. Try it again!” Jeremy declared, putting his hands on his hips. “We need to look like the type of future sons-in-law who could make a retired soccer player proud. What would Levi think of that one?”

Ilya sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “Look, I can tell you what he’d think,” he muttered. “He’d think you’re both insane.”

But the two weren’t paying him any attention. Jeremy was too busy readjusting his hair, slicking back some stray strands that had come loose. Meanwhile, Nikolai tried a new pose, hands on his knees like he’d just scored a game-winning goal.

“Come on, Ilya! Capture the spirit, the intensity! Make it look like we’re professionals,” Jeremy insisted, gesturing with that trademark confidence of his that could either make a person feel like a million dollars or make them want to throttle him.

“Professional what?” Ilya muttered under his breath. “Professional pains in my—”

“Did you say something?” Nikolai asked, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing,” Ilya grumbled louder this time, raising the phone again. “Just hoping no one comes by to see this madness.”

The two posed dramatically, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, staring off into the distance as though contemplating their destiny. They were fully committed, completely unfazed by how utterly absurd they looked.

After a dozen more failed shots and several changes in angle, they finally settled on one they deemed acceptable. Ilya breathed a sigh of relief, ready to reclaim his dignity as a serious bodyguard—but, of course, his relief was short-lived.

“Alright, now off to the art studio,” Nikolai announced with a grin, completely unaware of the suffering he was causing. “If we’re gonna win over Brandon and Landon’s mom, we need her to know we’re more than just pretty faces and sports studs.” He winked at Jeremy, who smirked back.

Ilya groaned as the two trotted off toward the mansion’s art studio like it was some grand adventure. He trailed behind, reluctant but helpless, resigned to the fate that being their bodyguard—and, apparently, their personal photographer—was his life now.

When they got to the studio, Jeremy immediately went to the paint supplies and smeared a few colors on a palette. Nikolai changed to a spare hoodie like he was prepping for the biggest art show of his life, eyeing himself in the mirror and adjusting his hair.

“What are you doing?” Ilya finally asked, unable to hold back any longer. “This is getting embarrassing. No one’s going to take you seriously if word about this gets out, you know.”

Nikolai laughed, as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “No one will know, Ilya. That’s the point of having a loyal, trustworthy guard.” He winked, entirely too cheeky for someone who had just spent the last hour meticulously arranging his poses for Instagram stories.

Jeremy was even worse. He dipped a brush into a bucket of dark red paint, flicking it around on the canvas with the dramatic flair of a true artist, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Just a few more shots, Ilya,” he said, grinning as he smeared paint on his cheek with his thumb. “Make sure I look soulful, you know, like I’ve got depth.”

Depth? Ilya couldn’t help but wonder what depths these two had beyond the ridiculousness he’d been forced to endure all afternoon. Still, he raised the phone and clicked another photo, this time capturing Jeremy looking “deep and thoughtful” with his paint-smeared face and Nikolai gazing intensely at his “masterpiece” on the canvas.

The two reviewed the photo, nodding approvingly, clearly impressed with their own efforts. “Oh, this one is perfect,” Nikolai said with a proud smile, patting Ilya on the back as if he were some award-winning photographer.

Ilya muttered under his breath, casting a wary glance toward the studio entrance, just in case anyone came in. The last thing he needed was for someone else in the mafia to see him in this compromising position, photographing Jeremy and Nikolai pretending to be artists. He’d never hear the end of it.

Ilya clicked off the shot, shaking his head in disbelief. “This… this is a new low,” he said, but Nikolai just laughed, wrapping an arm around Jeremy’s shoulder as they reviewed the clip, fully satisfied.

“Well, we’re off to charm the in-laws,” Jeremy said with a grin, giving Ilya a thumbs up. “Thanks for all the hard work today, Ilya. You’re a real gem.”

Ilya groaned, fully intending to take the next two days off to recover from the utter humiliation of being their camera-wielding sidekick.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Levi sat at his desk, his phone in hand, scrolling through the barrage of photos and videos sent by those two hooligans, Jeremy and Nikolai. Each shot was more ridiculous than the last—images of Jeremy flexing and grinning like a wolf, Nikolai attempting to look “soulful” while smearing paint on a canvas, and, of course, the final pièce de résistance: a slow-motion video of them “playing” soccer, all dramatic lighting and ridiculous poses.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “What am I looking at? Did they… did they even kick the ball once?” He squinted at one of the pictures, which featured Jeremy with his arm around Nikolai, both gazing dramatically into the distance .

“Who do they think they’re fooling?” Levi mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. “They probably don’t know the first thing about soccer. They’re just trying to butter me up.” He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing as he came to grips with the fact that these two were very likely going to be his sons-in-law.

Astrid breezed by, catching a glimpse of the photos over his shoulder. She laughed, taking the phone from him to get a closer look. “Oh, that’s adorable! Look how hard they’re trying,” she said, scrolling to the picture where Jeremy was staring off into the horizon with paint smudged on his cheek. “They’re doing this to impress you, you know.”

“Impress me?” Levi huffed. “By making themselves look like fools? If they wanted to impress me, they’d stay out of trouble and keep their little mafia nonsense to themselves. But no, my sons have to fall for the most dangerous mafia boys.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “You’re just mad because they’re flaunting how much they adore our sons.”

Levi grumbled as she handed him back the phone. “I’m mad because they think this’ll win me over. Look at them—posing like a couple of overgrown schoolboys!.”

Astrid shook her head with a smile. “Oh, Levi. They’re in love. And those two hooligans will do whatever it takes to show you they’re serious about Brandon and Landon.”

Levi scrolled “What do Brandon and Landon even see in these idiots?” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

Astrid smiled, amused. “Oh, you know exactly what they see. What I saw in you. Love. Protection and a bit of madness .”

playing pretend rather than have a serious conversation with me.”

Astrid shook her head, still smiling, as she went to pour herself a cup of tea. Levi watched her for a moment, then turned his attention back to his phone, smirking despite himself at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

Levi let out a sigh of grudging acceptance. “Well, I suppose I could be stuck with worse. At least they’re entertaining.” He gave one last look at the ridiculous soccer photo, muttering with a half-smile, “But they’d better be ready to prove themselves, because winning over this father-in-law will take a hell of a lot more than paint and muscle flexing.”

......

Taglist:

@lanterns-and-daydreams

[good-beansdraws]

Massive Milgramsona art/info dump as a treat to myself!! Alas, my fatal flaw is being unable to shut up about anything even while simultaneously embarrassed/nervous to share, so here's literally all the info I have on her 😅

Profile:

Name: For the sake of posting online I’ll call her Rose!

Number: 012

Color: #E7355B

Age: She’d be 20 when Milgram started

Status: Milgram Staff, Machine Technician

Song genre: Pop/theater (a mix of Mahiru and Kazui's vibes)

Backstory: She is studying abroad in Japan to work on technology related to the mv machine when she stumbles into top secret info about the trials. Horrified at the lack of prior testing, she demands to be included in the experiment to make sure the brand new tech runs smoothly and doesn't harm anyone in the process. To prevent her leaking info to the public and deciding an extra participant wouldn't hurt, Milgram agrees.

Role: Rose performs routine maintenance and updates on the extraction machine, and checks in with prisoners' health to make sure it's not having any adverse effects. She listens in on the interrogations, ringing the bell to signal Es when the machine is ready for use (re: my theory on how it works >:3). She then watches the mvs after Es to make sure there are no glitches.

(Though she is a personal milgramsona, her role in the story is supposed to reflect the audience's experience overall when it comes to how much info we know, emotions we experiencing regarding guilt/responsibility, and how much power over events we actually have given the voting system and trial breaks.)

Trial 1

Jackalope's comments during trial commencement: Oh, I almost forgot participant 012, Rose. We've never had more than one staff member before, so we figured that sort of numbering would be fine. Hey, don't look at me, it's not like it was our idea to include her. She's not a prisoner -- the only crime she's committed is sticking her nose where it didn't belong... You can ask her for the details, but she's just here for maintenance on our extraction machine. It's not easy keeping that thing running smoothly, you know? As part of her duties, she'll be privy to all the same information as you, but don't let her be any more of a busybody than she already is -- she has absolutely no authority when it comes to your verdict decisions, got it?

MV: Mic Check - “Can anyone hear me?”

VD: Positive Feedback

Cover: Pathological Facade - Ghost

Her album would release last in line. The VDs aren't interrogations since there's been no crime -- Es asks about her duties and observations of the prison. In them, she admits her predictions that she and Es will eventually be on trial for their involvement in the prisoner's fates.

Thus, her mvs are focused on her emotions towards the prisoners, her pride in helping bring justice, and her guilt at providing Milgram a means to pass judgement on people she cared about. I'm going to Goncharov the actual mvs/songs, but Mic Check is generally an introduction to her job behind the scenes prepping the equipment that will allow the prisoners' songs to be heard, as well kick off symbolism of her as a performer herself. She'll make a comment about how the experiment is leading to tragedy, "as if someone said Macbeth" (then covers her mouth, as she's standing in a theater herself).

I kept getting tripped up looking for Deco*27 songs that worked and weren't already taken, so I decided to go with some favorites and vibe-matching songs from other artists!

Comments during trial closing: It's good to hear you weren't a pushover when Rose gave her thoughts on the verdicts -- you guys disagreed on quite a few of them, eh? Ah... so she's not the type to pick fights, is that it? I guess that explains how she's managed to get along with everyone. (sigh) Even you knew better than to get attached like that. Well, at least she's kept our machine up and running the whole time.

Trial 2

Commencement: Now I need to wake Rose. We're going to need some extra upgrades to our machine if we want to get the most out of this round of extractions. I've got a sneaking suspicion that she and her bleeding heart are going to try and sway you during this trial. Her duty is specifically to look out for the prisoners' safety, but yours is only to judge them. Don't forget that.

MV: Changement - “Don’t say ‘break a leg,’ if it might just break.”

VD: Control Variable

Cover: TOXY - Kujiragi

I did my best to write out the title pronunciation out in katakana since I wanted it as the name of the dance move, not a direct translation of meaning. I went with シャジェモ "sha-je-mo" as the closest I could get to the "shanj-mou" sound, but feel free to correct me if there's a better way to write it. The door is based off of various set designs for Clara's home in The Nutcracker. (There's no deep meaning that this is the only one not opening -- I realized too late all the others are cracked open and my art app doesn't have the tools to easily fix that so I'm sticking with it 😭)

A changement is a small jump in ballet -- I thought it was fun to combine that (which means "to change") with Control Variable (refering to the variable in an experiment that never changes). The video shows conflicting emotions as her decisions/inaction caused so much to happen between trials, yet at the same time she feels like there's so much she'll be unable to change even if she really wants to intervene. Her mvs show the prisoners pretty regularly (since they are her crime, she's realized), and the teaser line is paired with references to Mahiru's broken leg.

The thumbnail combines different areas of study -- mechanical, medical, musical, mathematical (theater spotlight, muscles, Weakness notes, motion formulas). I think it's super cool how many areas of expertise are passed around the fanbase when discussing the characters. I've picked up new facts about plants, food, anatomy, geography, music, animals language, (sigh. color theory.), hobbies, professions, mythology, etc from fans with different fields of knowledge. While that's one of my favorite aspects of the project from the outside, I think it would be super intimidating to someone on the inside trying to tackle so much information at once.

Closing: As for Rose... (laughs) I thought she was dooming herself before--! Not only has she gotten hopelessly attached to everyone over the course of this trial, she's even started a relationship with one of the prisoners! And of all the people she could have chosen... Eh? Oh no, we have no policies against that for our staff. I mean, the whole point of Milgram is to explore human nature, the power of emotions, the complexities of connections, all that crap. I'm just grateful she shows a bit more common sense when she's operating the machine...

Trial 3

MV: Showstopper - “There won’t be applause, but I’ll take a bow, okay?”

VD: Please Exit Left

Cover: Ironina - Nilfruits

I don't know the album theme yet, but this is the tentative sprite and thumbnail design. The T2 sprite was kind of an "innocent" one, since at the beginning she still has faith in her role in the prison, excited to work with everyone there. (Plus, I joined the fandom a little after t2 started so that's peak excitement time lol). The T3 sprite has much more of a "guitly" feel to it because, at the end of T2 and after this hiatus, she'd harbor a lot more guilt about her position and fear about the experiment's conclusion. As a fun little detail, her pencil has been replaced with a more permanent utensil as final verdicts are locked in.

Now listen. My artist brain was constantly fighting my science brain when doing sprite designs -- I know gloves like that and nothing else isn't proper PPE. I know none of those are safety shoes (god forbid wearing just socks??? to the lab???). There should be no jewellery at all. The whole point of a lab coat is that you don't roll up the sleeves and expose your bare skin. However. It's anime character design. There can be compromise.

Referencing Rose's personal life as a performance and comparing Milgram's trials to one, I wanted the mv to play on "showstopper" as both a great show and a literal attempt to stop the project before it reaches its finale. There would be creepy comparisons in the mv between operating stage equipment and prison executions: curtain/set ropes and nooses, heavy duty lightswitches and electric chairs, etc.

Misc.

And lightening things up again -- birthday art and minigrams :3

Birth flower: Camellias. Pink camellias symbolize love but also longing. The fact that they bloom in winter, and have a quick death (the entire flower wilts at once, instead of individual petals falling off), have inspired different meanings in different cultures -- overcoming hard times, facing death in battle, inseparable lovers, and so on

Three minigrams featuring my own annoyance that her design is a bit close to Shidou's coat/gloves look, a mandatory short joke, and a pun that works so perfectly for my Put-In-Situations guy

[doctorweebmd]

Hello! First of all you are insanely talented and your writing lives for free in my head and has probs rewired my brain on some level. Like it's that good tasty soul destroying gut wrenching all encompassing art that physically hurts that it's just concepts and not something you can like squeeze to pieces in your arms, how is it possible to feel all these emotions, ouch in the very best way art (I hope this makes sense lol) Secondly, I wanted to ask what your process is for ideating longer stories from start to finish? Cause they're always so layered and impressive like how do you keep track of everything. How do you weave it all together like that. It's so satisfying to see as a reader but what's it like inside your mind, can you give us a little peek (as a treat)? Thank you for your service❤️

Oh anon you are too kind i could cry seriously seriously seriously it means a lot to me. like, i dont even have words. thank you for taking the time to send this and make me feel like a human being that exists and that those words matter, even a little!

I've actually been thinking about how to answer this question for a hot minute, so apologies for how long this ends up being...

Anyway, click below for an exclusive look at ~*~my twisted mind~*~

I joke, of course. (ish.)

Regarding writing my longer fics... over the years, they HAVE become much more clean and organized and I have tried to at least keep to a central theme, so here is my sincere answer...

Think Yes, AND. All writing is improv. To me.

You come up with an idea. Think about how that idea can work, or how it can be possible within canon. Then explain that idea. Then explain THAT idea. A very bare-bones outline can help with predicting length and help you arrange ideas to assist with telling the story you want to tell.

For example:

First, we start with an idea. The overarching idea that you want to explore in a story. For Zero-Sum it was 'what if when Deku left UA and never came back and Katsuki went a little crazy looking for him?' For tptp it was 'what if Akutagawa got abducted and Atsushi went to rescue him?'

From there, extrapolate, extrapolate, extrapolate!

For me, I make incredibly vague outlines. It helps get an idea of what I want to accomplish in between 'core' parts or scenes. And when I say vague i mean, like, vague. Just put ideas down. Quotes you like. Potential events. Nothing is set in stone. Like, this is a copy of one of the earlier iterations of TPTP -

This part is where worldbuilding and thus the story really starts to develop. The nice part about writing fanfic is you're working in a defined framework, so there's many jumping off points. A particularly fun one is trying to explain canon and filling the plot-holes that are so so ardently bothering you. Researching anything and everything behind the canon itself, how it relates to the real world, how you can make sense of it always spurs ideas.

ANYWAY here are some thoughts that have kept me writing when I want to rip all my hair out and throw myself into a bottomless pit because, well, the only thing worse than writing is not writing. and also the horrors.

1.) If you build it, they will come - wow, it definitely feels super discouraging when you're writing a long fic and no one seems to be reading it. But, remember, you are writing the story YOU want to write. Many readers don't read incomplete works. Others only comment on last chapters. Others are just silent but love it anyway. Long-fics require a lot of internal motivation and love but it is always always worth it!

2.) Kill your darlings - oftentimes, if you're stuck making a chapter/passage work and you just can't, its the passage's fault. a lot of the times just deleting it can help gain some clarity of mind.

2.5.) Save your darlings - When I delete things, I usually either add them to the end of the fic or a whole new document. This is relatively new advice that I've started following and its definitely helpful!

3.) trust the process - goddamn it. you can't force it. you really can't. sometimes you have to sleep on it. think about things in your car. reread it and want to rip your hair out. the solution will come to you. IT ALWAYS DOES. trust yourself. this is your story. sometimes you just need to give it time.

4.) I will not explain my art to the stupidest people alive - there are always always ALWAYS going to be people that misunderstand you. no matter what you write, draw, create, how you speak, how you present yourself, there is someone who will misinterpret and shit all over it and there's nothing you can do about it. and when its something as vulnerable as writing, it might be compelling to overexplain yourself. DONT. do not dumb yourself down to appeal to people who dont give a shit about your art anyway. its not worth the effort.

5.) better done than perfect - one of the reasons i now post on ao3 as i'm writing. if you're a perfectionist like me, no matter how many times you edit something, it will never ever ever EVER meet ideal standards. it won't ever sound like you didn't write it. the nice thing is, this is fanfiction. you can write whatever the fuck you want, be it with too many adverbs and run on sentences or whatever. it doesn't NEED to be pristine. it doesn't NEED to be clean. this ain't the new york times bestseller or a world-wide tv show waiting to be critiqued. you will lose nothing by not making it an ideal. what it DOES need to be is DONE.

...

thank you again and i am sorry and hello :)

[jezebelgoldstone]

RRR (2022, dir S. S. Rajamouli)

things i am not now and likely never will get over from RRR

DRIFT COMPATIBLE BATTLE COUPLE DETECTED

queer? platonic? queerplatonic? who gives a shit no matter what it was it was AWESOME

Colonialism Is Bad Actually: The Musical

the symbolism. holy shit. every BIT of it was absolutely amazing.

wow all the mains in this movie are just, really hot? my poor lil pan heart had a rough time with this one ngl

the fact that someone (likely many someones) watched this movie about Colonialism Is Bad Actually and said 'you know what let's dub this whole thing into Hindi and English and then not give an option to watch it with the original Telugu dialogue' sure was,,,,,,,,, A Choice

THE MUSIC

by which i mean the actual song-and-dance numbers as well as the like story soundtrack all of it is going on my playlist asap

listen the spirk-behind-glass scene is awful. spock and kirk can't even touch. they can hear. they can see. but they cannot touch. and i in my sweet ignorant bliss thought that was as bad as it could get.

tonight i learned that holding someone in your arms through the bars of their cell is so much worse

I watched it on Netflix but i looked it up on a few other ahem websites and on EVERY SINGLE ONE Telugu audio wasn't even an option.

there was not one single chance to tie things together or make a connection or do a setup/payoff or callback that was not taken. not a single one.

everything about this movie is 100% Extra

in short: this movie is a masterclass

aaaaaand the rest below a cut because WOW i have a lot to say actually

which brings me to the dancing oh my gods. not sure i've ever seen such enthusiastic dancing in anything in my entire life. seriously by the final number i was exhausted just watching them

in general, this movie is: stunning

"RAM." "BHEEM." "SEETHA." IT'S ABOUT THE SYMBOLISM.

also this was kinda hilarious because i watched it in hindi [the least disorienting option] and they kept SAYING "ram" but in the subs it was always fuckin RAJU so like. again with the Choices. like seriously what was the thought process there. WAS there a thought process.

FIRE. WATER. STORY. I JUST. I. HELP ME.

i ADORED jenny. with my whole entire heart. she is one of the very BEST examples of Ignorance Is A Privilege and also At What Point Does Ignorance Become Malicious that i have ever ever seen. i loooooooooved it. i mean i hated it a whole lot while it was happening but also i am SO GLAD that now rather than trying to explain all of this to people i can just tell them to watch this movie and then sit them down and be like, so what are your thoughts on jenny's culpability in literally everything?

oh and how you can be a kind person and still do atrocities! like jenny is so sweet and so kind and you just like her so much and yet. and yet.

t h e s y m b o l i s m

i cannot remember the last time i saw a movie so visually stunning. the cinematography is breathtaking. pause on just about any random frame and it could be a movie poster or hanging in an art gallery or what have you.

they also dubbed all the lines that were actually in english? i mean i get it for the characters who spent most of the movie speaking Telugu because you'd need their voices to stay the same through the whole movie yeah fine whatever. but like. they dubbed all the ENGLISH characters, too? like literally dubbed them from english into english??? the dialogue matched their mouths except the timing was veeeery sliiiiiiiightly off but it SOUNDED really obviously dubbed??? Y THO???

HOLY SHIT THE FIGHT SCENES OH MY GODS

Malli. Malli honey i love you. i'm just realizing i don't know if that's your actual name gods damn it. but whatever your name is child i love you.

and did i mention that everyone in this movie is beautiful? like. seriously. Ram and Bheem especially holy SHIT.

Physics Does Not Work Like That And I Do Not Care Because That Was AWESOME: The Musical

oooohhhhh they re-recorded and dubbed the fucking SONGS too. i am so pissed about this y'all i can't even tell you.

oh i want to do a whole entire post that's even longer than this one about the symbolism. hell i could probably do a whole entire post just on the fire/water symbolism even without everything else. It was AMAZING.

okay ram is fire and bheem is water and ram's people go to a valley on the shores of a river and the river is in literally every shot of the village and just ram BEING fire but water being a place of HOME and SAFETY for ram

i'm not crying shut up

MALLI AND HER MOTHER TRY TO REACH EACH OTHER BUT THEY CANNOT TOUCH THROUGH THE GLASS

BHEEM AND MALLI HOLD EACH OTHER THROUGH THE BARS OF HER CONFINEMENT AND HE HAS TO LET GO AND LEAVE HER

BHEEM AND RAM HOLD EACH OTHER THROUGH THE BARS OF HIS CONFINEMENT AND BHEEM RIPS THE DOOR RIGHT OFF

ooooooohhhhhhh and people holding hands right before they part. oh that hurts. all of those hurt so bad.

how every single time people held hands when they parted they always held on till the last possible second EXCEPT FOR RAM'S MOM.

she lifts her hand away from him and then pulls back and it was devastating

Predators Do Not Work Like That But I Do Not Care Because That Was Awesome And Also They Ate A Bunch Of Colonizing Cops: Queercoded Edition (ACAB)

bheem with his arms spread and rope or chains around his wrists or in his hands. i just. the way it flipped back and forth from 'he has the power' to 'he is helpless' to 'he should be helpless and isn't' was just. breathtaking.

AND THEN. AND THEN RAM. CHAINED UP THE SAME WAY. DOING THE SAME GODDAMN THING AND USING THE FACT THAT HE'S CHAINED UP FOR HIS OWN FUCKING PURPOSES BECAUSE HE SAW BHEEM DO IT FIRST DON'T TOUCH ME

okay listen this movie would've been good no matter what but like. they really are just SO beautiful. and. when ram. with like the long hair. and. beard. and like. you know? like. his. his hair. his general. everything. um.

literally at the most emotionally inappropriate moment i literally thought about that whole 'i saw a man so beautiful i started crying' thing and like that almost literally happened literally

Why There Can't Be Any Such Thing As Good Cops: The Romance (ACAB)

and like here's the thing i'm not sure i would've even NOTICED this had it not been for the linguistic chauvinism with the audio and everything but like both of them were hindu and a lot of the symbolism though awesome was also really strongly hindu and i just i don't know nearly enough about hindutva to have any kind of opinion BUT i also feel like maaaaaaaybe there was something a little uncomfy about some of this

oh no wait the suspenders dance. that might've actually been the best part. yeah.

oh all the british actors did SUCH a good job being so eminently punchable

throw cheetahs at each other! and snakes! somehow have upper body strength greater than the force exerted by a 800+ lb tiger lunging! throw those motorcycles! punch through those walls without breaking your fingers! use herbal paste to heal broken bones in a matter of a minutes! break solid stone with nothing but the strength of your shoulders and gay love! i am so here for all of this!!!

Throw Rocks Marble Pillars Live Tigers Cops At Cops: The Movie (ACAB)

i love that jenny felt bad for the poor little girl who got kidnapped enslaved and imprisoned so she. bought her a dress and a toy.

you know, to make her feel better about the whole 'being kidnapped enslaved and imprisoned' thing.

instead of doing, i don't know know, literally anything else. like even just saying to her aunt 'hey this makes me sad' or something. #solidarity.

the violence was violent and the romance was sweet

okay so during the fight at the midpoint like i know that by the end of it ram and bheem are literal fire and water BUT ALSO. Ram enters the scene in a flaming carriage and from that point forward the fountain is in pretty much every shot of bheem. just sayin.

love that lachu (or whatever his name really is) told ram that there was no cure. like yes! you go man! ram may be so beautiful that in forty minutes i'm going to be in tears but that's no reason to tell a cop the truth about anything! you lie to that cop man!

A BRITISH SOLDIER HIT LOKI IN THE HEAD WITH A BRANCH AND THEN STOLE MALLI AWAY

BHEEM HIT RAM IN THE HEAD WITH A BRANCH AND THEN STOLE MALLI AWAY

i know other people got hit in the head with tree branches too but STILL

honestly i really like that ram and bheem were, well, ram and bheem. but i mean im glad they weren't like ram and lakshman or bheem and arjun or something. not even just because that would've been brotherly like i'm glad they weren't arjun and krishna or something either. i liked that their names weren't from the same story. i liked it better this way and i can't even articulate why.

i am never ever ever going to get over the progression of part of bheem's introduction being something going wrong and him holding two ropes (he has all the power) with his arms spread and that being used to show us how incredibly strong he is -> something going wrong and bheem with ropes around his wrists (he shouldn't have any power at all) holding his arms spread and that being used to show how incredibly strong he is in a completely different way

like every time there were ropes or chains in bheem's hands or around his wrists it meant something, and it was a beat in the rhythm of a discernable arc, but now i can't remember all of them gdi

oooohhhhh there was SO much more symbolism i wanted to talk about but it's so late that i have a headache and this post is so long my computer's lagging like two sentences behind so i should stop and go to bed. sigh.

just go watch this movie, okay? pleae? I cannot IMAGINE who would've read this whole thing,m but if you did, just watch it, all rigth? (and if you happen to know of any site - ANY site - where i can watch it in FUKIN TELUGU kindly drop a link please and thank)

[sporesgalaxy]

I know this is something u were probably asked before but as the guy that has a good relationship with art....how do you do that??? I mean I get that this question is vague but how do you not care if it looks bad? Do you just?? Keep on going till it looks like you want it to look? Despite the agonies? You seem like you enjoy talking abt this thats why im asking, dont feel the need to answer if u dont wanna

hmmmm. You know, I don't think about the agonies much these days. But it's not that I don't care. I guess I've become a freak who sees beauty in the agonies, sorta? It's kind of complicated! I will do my best to explain!

First of all, I know that I have the unfair advantage of having no ambition. I don't have a goal for my art besides making art when I feel like it. That makes it easy to be less judgemental-- I remember having a rockier relationship to my own art during the time when I thought I would make it my career.

This is why I like talking about my perspective, though!! I think it's important to try not to let yourself be consumed by self-criticism as an artist, even if self-criticism is necessary for you, and hopefully my carefree way of looking at things can help balance things out haha.

Anyways, ambition or not-- and I know how this sounds but bear with me-- art doesn't ever look bad.

(Barring ethically harmful art, ugh, I don't want to get into ethics so just-- surely you know what I mean!!!)

Art gets a lot less stressful if you can tell yourself that no art is bad, and remember the reasoning behind that until you really believe it. It isn't a fast process, but it's very worth the work.

The truth is that art either looks how you want it to look, or it looks different from the way you want it to look, but both are ultimately neutral. You CAN make art that looks different from what you wanted, that you still feel pleased with.

When art looks different from how you wanted, the gut reaction you have is often to call it bad or get frustrated. And of course it's frustrating! Maybe you feel it's not as effective at communicating something as you'd hoped, or you feel it's not as visually impactful as you imagined...but it's important to remember those things are only your perception. Not an objective fact. And art is a two-way street! A communication between creator and observer! And communication is really weird and complicated.

•••

Other people's perception of your work won't ever be exactly the same as yours. Sometimes this is desireable and sometimes it isn't! Maybe your art will communicate the thing better to someone than anything they've ever seen-- even if a more effective version could theoretically exist, the "imperfect" version that actually exists and communicates is all that matters to the observer. Or, maybe a feature that turned out exactly how you wanted it to will fly completely over an observer's head, and not have the effect you wanted at all. A lot of the time, you'll never even know.

An artist can NEVER fully control an observer's perspective, so at a certain point you have to live with what you have. You already do this, to some degree, if you have ever EVER decided to stop working on a piece of art and share it. You can always keep adding to something. You can always keep editing. But sometimes, you stop. And perfection doesn't exist, so when you stop it must be because the art is good enough for now. And nothing about "good enough" is objective!

And is that really so bad? Surely people who grow fruit understand that a fruit which is smaller than they imagined can still feed somebody-- that at the very least it will feed bugs and microorganisms and be useful as fertilizer to grow more apples. Your art still means something, still accomplishes something, is still worth making whether it turns out how you imagined or not.

A lot of art is learning when to quit and move on. As a habitual perfectionist, this was something I had to learn early, to stop myself from erasing holes into every piece of paper I drew on.

There's this rule I was taught in middle school drama class: if you fuck up, act like you didn't fuck up. The audience doesn't have your script memorized, so odds are they won't have any idea you fucked up unless you tell them. Other art works the same way. No one knows what you wanted to make but you. And more importantly, a "perfect" version of your art doesn't exist (no "perfect" version of anyone's art exists, or ever will).

The version you made exists, so you have to find what's worth loving about that version. You have found what's worth loving in the imperfect art of others many times. Many observers will treat your art the same way you treat others' art. Why not treat your own art that way, too?

It sounds really REALLY corny, but I try not to think of this as embracing "mistakes." I think of it as celebrating coincidences.

I really really like coincidences. I like that every circumstance wasn't guaranteed to happen, that everything comes down to chance. I think all the little random things are beautiful because they turned out however they did, and not any of the millions of other ways things might have turned out. It's a coincidence that my genes expressed the way they did. It's a coincidence that my parents met in college. It's a coincidence that my oldest friend and I both got to middle school early every day, and stayed close even when we didn't share any classes.

Art is full of coincidences! I try to draw a straight line. The line does not turn out straight, because of the way my hand is shaped and the way my muscles contracted, because my body is not exactly like anyone else's in the world. No one else would have drawn that slightly not-straight line just exactly how I did. It's mine, and it's crookedness is what makes my art mine. Okay, maybe it's a little too crooked for what I want this time-- I'll erase it and draw a new crooked line at a bit of a different angle. There we go, I like that! Now it's my beautiful, irreplaceable crooked line! And the ghost of its predecessor guides the eye just so, and no one else's two crooked lines would guide your eye the same way, only mine! Isn't that nice on its own? Just to have made something that can't ever be replicated? To have made something no one else has ever made before?

You can also apply this in a bit less dreamy and more practical ways, I promise haha.

For example...I've never been a canvas flipper, as a digital character artist. I don't mirror my canvases to see if they still look preportional to me from either direction. I also don't usually draw visual novel character sprites that need to look good mirrored in either direction to serve their function, so it's never been a practical concern of mine.

I consider many kinds of distortion on a character I've drawn to be a good part of the visual flow of the image. Like a smear frame in animation, distoriton in the right places can make character art look dynamic and energized because it can lead the eye through a certain visual flow over the form of the character. If I were to flip the canvas, that eye-leading effect might hit differently because my American eye is used to reading from left to right-- perhaps it doesn't feel as "smooth" going in the opposite direction. This doesn't mean I need to change the distortion necessarily, it just means I prefer not to flip the canvas.

Often, these distortions aren't intentional. They're a coincidence of how my muscles move as I draw, and the areas my left-to-right American eyeballs instinctively pay more attention to. But the effect is still desireable to me. So, happy coincidence!

I think...that's the best I've got for now? Feel free to ask for clarification. I hope it's not total nonsense!

[abbysreal-wife]

part 2 of part 1. lol

Then you began to take your shirt off pulling it over your head. Abby clutched her invisible pearls, gasping at your action “miss, I don’t think you should try it on just this instant can’t you wait” she pleaded. You looked at her concerned “what? It’s not like I’ll tell anyone, chill out, you’re fine.” you teased. You knew what you were doing to her. Cause she was watching your every move like a hawk. She began hesitating to turn around, or maybe run away, or close her eyes. She didn’t know, something felt wrong. Then Abby turned around her back facing you, revealing her undercut and a tattoo looked faded away,  it looked liked the tattoo was probably older than you. Eh, who cares. “Why’d you turn around” you asked, slowly sliding  your shorts down your legs till they dropped down to your ankles and hit the floor. Abby played with her belt buckle, her nails, anything that was in sight to keep her distracted from the fact that her bosses daughter was half naked behind her “just to uhm, respect you, im sure you don’t want me looking” that sparked something inside you “maybe I want you to look” you slid behind her resting your hands on her shoulders. She took a sharp breath smelling the aroma of your perfume. Abby turned around slowly processing what was in front of her. The dress fit you perfectly, in her eyes at least. For you, it was practically suffocating you, this definitely didn’t fit you. “Wow you look.. beautiful” Abby admitted, admiring your beauty like you were a work of art. You giggled at her face, she looked so hypnotized. “You think?” You stepped awfully close to her, the smell of her outdoorsy aura gave comfort to your nose. Abby chuckled “like always” you ran your fingers down the hemline of her tank top.  “Can you uhm.. help me with somethin’ else.?” You asked sweetly.  She gulped “uh, maybe? What is it” fuck, you didn’t know what you needed help with. You leaned into her tilting your head slightly before giving her a peck in her lips, she pulled away fast “woah, ma’am what was that?” She exclaimed clearly baffled from your sudden action. “A kiss?” You say concerned, she smiled softly  and blinked “no,no  I know what it was, just.. why?” You swallowed as you started to feel bad for doing that so randomly. Abby could clearly see that you were upset “I’m sorry, I just—“ you stated to plead before Abby silenced you “I’m not mad or anything it’s just well you’re just as sweet as a pie and I don’t wanna take advantage of that.” You batted your eyelashes. “Me?” Abby looked down at her feet in embarrassment, “ uhm, I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say it like that, it’s just your so young and kind so I didn’t wanna-“ you cut her off “Abby. Calm down. You’re not hurtin’ my feelings in anyway shape or form, trust me” she was baffled. Abby started to back up towards the door slightly twisting the door knob “well, uhm.. i better get goin’ now. I’ve got work to do” “Wait— you pulled her free hand towards your waist “stay.. please” God, she really wanted to. Really, really fucking bad. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t possibly do this to her bosses daughter, it was just so dead wrong. Her thoughts were interrupted by your soft lips against hers. Yeah, her lips were kinda chapped and dry but that didn’t change the fact that she was leaning into the kiss, grabbing your face in with her calloused hands, then started to shake her head, indicating a ‘we shouldn’t be doing this’ type of gesture. You were really enjoying this moment right now. Until she suddenly pulled you away after realizing what she was doing just now, you two were now inches apart “we really, should be doing this ma’am you’re way to young. And I’m.. me” she spoke “and I’m sure you can find someone much much better than me, ya’ know?” She explained. You laughed at her stupidity “what dont you understand Abby, I want you. And only you” her lips parted in defeat, there’s nothing she could now, she couldn’t back down from this now. She won’t let herself do it.

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #27 jealousy

Chapters 1 to 3 here on AO3

If you like the tattoo AU give it some love on my AO3, please. It would mean a lot to me. TYSM!

+++++

White Pony Tattoo - Part Seven (jealousy)

When both of them had calmed down from all the laughter, Sherlock clapped his hands on his thighs and leant forward in his chair.

“Let’s talk about your cover-up.”

“Please, do.” John fixed all of his attention on Sherlock.

“First of all, whose idea was it to get a tattoo?”

“Oh, that was me. I wanted something of her to last. Something to show how serious it was for me, our marriage. You know, til death do us part, kind of.”

Sherlock hummed but was clearly not impressed by this reason.

“And whose idea was it to put her face on a Virgin Mary image? She has not actually been a virgin when you’ve met, right?”

“Well, no.” John blushed. “It was her idea. Because, you know, her first name was Mary and she thought it was a great...” John trailed off, sighing then looking at Sherlock who thankfully kept his mouth shut but was slowly turning his head in an unmistakable “no”.

Defensively, John added, “It wasn’t, in hindsight, okay?”

“It’s never been right from the start.”

John rolled his eyes. “You just needed to say it out loud, didn’t you?”

“She proposed that you tattoo her face on your arm to make a statement. A clear mark that you’ve been taken, by her. She wanted that the other women and men,” Sherlock winked knowingly at John who merely snorted, “become jealous of her. Look at my prize! It’s mine and mine alone! Possessive behaviour at its best.”

Again, in hindsight, that makes so much sense. John thought ruefully.

Sherlock continued, ignoring the distressed expression on John’s face.

“At least, your tattooist has done quite a good job, technically. No blurring, no wonky lines, no blotchy shading. Good placement of the design, too. Matching the natural contours of your upper arm. Which makes a cover-up much easier.”

“Good. I really want to get rid of this.”

Sherlock stood up. “Come on, John. I’ll explain my process to you.” He opened the purple curtain, holding it open for John to pass through into the room behind.

It housed the actual tattoo studio. The first thing John noticed was that everything in this room was high-end.

The recliner seat for the clients, the worktable with Sherlock’s tools, shelves with bottles of ink, needles and at least five different tattoo guns. Everything was also clinically clean. One corner of the room was occupied by a tiny but professional photo studio, including spotlights and an expensive looking camera on a tripod. There was another worktable with a state-of-the-art computer setup.

“Take off your jumper and stand in front of the camera. This is a special camera with a 3D software. It’ll scan your arm and every line of the tattoo in high-res and send the data to an image generating software on my computer. This way, I can design the perfect phoenix for you, one that will match and cover or even use the lines you already have without any optical distortion.”

“Wow, that’s, Jesus, that is quite elaborate.” John gaped. “All this for a cover-up?”

“No, it’s what I do with all of my clients. It’s the only way to achieve the perfection I desire.”

“Brilliant.” John looked at Sherlock, full of awe. “Extraordinary.”

Sherlock blinked. “Really?”

“Of course, all the effort you put into this!”

Sherlock ruffled his curls, obviously abashed. He turned his head to hide the pinkish blush that had started to spread on his sharp cheekbones and mumbled something unintelligible while he rummaged uselessly around in a drawer.

But John had already seen it.

For all of his aggressive seductive behaviour, could it be that he gets shy when someone genuinely praises and appreciates his process? John mused. A bit ‘all bark but no bite’ under this self-assured demeanour and abrasive personality? I’d really like to to have a photo of this blushing Sherlock, it’s adorable.

The next ten minutes went by in silence, only interrupted when Sherlock told John how to turn and place his arm in front of the camera.

“How long will it take until you’ve got the final design?”

“At least a week. The next days are packed with clients. Also, there’s something else to my process, about creating the perfect ink which takes some time as well.”

John was struck by another question. One that John had not yet thought to ask which might possibly come across as pretty stupid now.

“Erm, we haven’t talked about what you charge for all of this.” Can I even afford this? Him?

“Oh, silly me!” Sherlock exclaimed theatrically. “I forgot to mention that you have to sign a contract in blood and sell your soul.”

“Dork!” John playfully punched Sherlock against the shoulder. “Don’t pull my leg.”

“Ah, don’t look so frightened, John. You can afford my services. I charge my clients depending on their wealth, you know? I helped a disfigured young man for the price of a bottle of ink and I had a rich investment banker pay me 600 pounds an hour. I’m not going to rob you blind.”

“Ta.” Relief flooded John, then he remembered Sherlock’s last remark. “What’s that about the ink?”

“Yes, right.” Sherlock’s voice got excited. “Do you want to see something really special? A secret?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

++++++

tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at  @calaisreno

[midnightshard06]

STH Rarepair Week Day 2: Flowers / Love Letter

You can check it out on ao3 here if you prefer.

Summary: Sonic decides to stick around after the events of Sonic and the Black Knight. Partly to help the people effected by everything and partly to get closer to a certain knight. He's confident he can at the very least get Lancelot to loosen up around him, and perhaps his attempts at flirting won't be as lost on the other hedgehog as he thought.

Pairing: Sonic/Lancelot (SatBK)

Warnings: None to be had here

Word Count: ~2400 words

AN: Anxiety trying to get the best of me here cause this one feels... well potentially a controversial pick for this. I do very much consider this ship separate from sonadow (though still like, related of course), even if Lancelot is technically just that world's version of Shadow. Idk their dynamic just seems much different to me, and the ship on ao3 has less than 100 fics so *shrug*. Anyway this exists, and these two have taken up residence in my head rent free now.

“King Sonic.” Lancelot bowed his head respectfully as he approached.

Sonic grinned. Well if it wasn’t his favorite knight approaching. Not that he’d admit that to the others. “I told you that you don’t have to be so formal with me Lance. At least not when we’re alone.”

"I- of course." Lancelot cleared his throat. "I've come to inform you that your presence has been requested."

Sonic sighed. "Ah of course. Never a moment of peace huh?"

"There is much to do after all that's happened." Lancelot nodded.

"Yeah. Just wish I could kick back a bit more. Especially if I get to spend time with certain people." Sonic winked at Lancelot before quickly tucking a red flower behind the other hedgehog's ear.

"Sire!?" Lancelot was clearly flustered, something that Sonic found endless amusement in. It was pretty easy to fluster the knight afterall, and he took plenty of advantage of that.

"It matches your eyes." Sonic explained before walking over to retrieve Caliburn. The sentient sword had thankfully stayed quiet throughout the exchange. "Now come along. You said someone needed me?"

Lancelot composed himself and, much to Sonic's continued amusement, left the flower in its place. "Ah yes. Allow me to escort you back to the castle." He turned and began to walk.

Before Lancelot could get too far Sonic rushed to meet him, grabbing his arm in the process. "Well if you're going to escort me do it properly." He grinned.

"If that's what you command." Lancelot nodded stiffly. Sonic would get him to come around. It would just take some time.

Sonic internally sighed as he did his best to listen to the concerns of the people that had come to his court. It’s not that he didn’t want to help the people, it’s just it could be pretty boring at times. At least he had faith that his knights would help fill him in later if needed. Something which seemed to annoy them at first, but they’d quickly grown used to.

Still, he did his best to listen or at least make it appear so. Not to brag, but he’d mastered the art of nodding when appropriate even if he had no idea what was going on. Finally though the day came to a close. He stretched as he got up from the throne, eyes quickly finding Lancelot in the room. The other hedgehog was already making his way towards Sonic, and he couldn’t help the smile that found its way onto his muzzle.

“Come to give me a summary of everything?” Sonic asked once Lancelot stopped in front of him.

“So long as that’s what you require.” Lancelot nodded.

“That would be wonderful, but let’s talk somewhere else. Already been cooped up in here way too long. Care to join me for a walk?” Sonic held out a hand. 

Lancelot hesitated and, much to Sonic’s internal disappointment, didn’t take his hand. Instead the knight of the round simply nodded. “If that’s what you prefer sire.”

Sonic kept his disappointment off his face as he did pay attention to Lancelot’s summary of what he felt were the most pressing issues. At least the walk was nice and now Sonic had a better idea of what needed to be addressed next. He selfishly made sure getting Lancelot to open up to him more was high on that list. Not that anyone but him needed to know that.

Sonic stared at the letter that sat innocently on his desk. It had just been there when he'd woken up that morning, so he had no idea where it had come from. Or perhaps more importantly who it was from.

"Well? Are you going to open it?" Caliburn spoke up from his position in the corner of the room. "It will not open itself."

Sonic didn't bother to hide his annoyed look, Caliburn was used to him by now anyway. "I was going to open it." He crossed his arms.

"Then why do you continue to stare at it? Much more of this and your absence will be felt." Caliburn retorted, sending Sonic an annoyed look of his own.

With a sigh Sonic picked up the letter, briefly admiring the nice wax seal that was used, and opened it. Inside was a letter, in small, neat handwriting. He skimmed it and felt himself freeze. He forced himself to slow down and read it properly. A love letter? He flipped the parchment over, disappointed to not find a single hint as to who had sent it. All he had to go off was the writing and the fact that whoever this was could get the letter directly to his room. After one last read he carefully placed the letter into his quills. Ok, he could think about this later. Even if the mystery of who'd sent such an elegantly written letter would bug him all day. It only took a bit more light prodding from Caliburn to get him moving after that.

There had been no more letters since the first, but Sonic had yet to figure out who sent it. Which was frustrating but he had plenty of distractions. Although he'd been skeptical of his new role at first he found himself settling into it. Well some aspects anyway. He still fought, typically verbally but not always, with his knights for his ability to come and go as he pleased. That particular conversation usually ended with Sonic bolting from the castle and Lancelot being sent to retrieve him. It wasn't so bad though, at least he got some alone time with the other hedgehog that way. Speaking of…

"You'd like me to what?" Sonic stared blankly at Lancelot, still trying to process what he'd just been asked.

Lancelot averted his face. "I'd… like you to accompany me when I go to visit my mother tomorrow. If you find it agreeable."

Slowly a smile spread across Sonic's muzzle. "Oh!" He ignored Caliburn's mild complaints about brushing off his duties. "I'd love to. It's been a while since I saw her." 

"Thank you for indulging me sire. I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you." Lancelot nodded.

"Will you be bringing Galahad with you too?" Sonic tilted his head. He honestly really liked the younger hedgehog, even if him and Lancelot's familial ties still threw Sonic off. Though it warmed his heart to see the two of them together and see how much they clearly cared for each other.

"I planned to yes. He's told me recently he'd like to see her again soon." Lancelot stiffened. "That is… alright yes?"

"More than alright Lance." Sonic's grin widened. "He's a good kid."

Lancelot subtly puffed his chest out in pride, and Sonic barely held back a laugh. It was certainly something to see Lancelot play the part of proud father, but he liked to see it. "He will make a fine knight once he is old enough."

"You know I would be happy to knight him now. He's shown he's able to handle himself." Sonic put a hand on Lancelot's arm.

Lancelot shook his head. "He would not appreciate the shortcut. He wishes to earn his knighthood as I did before him."

"Alright." Sonic held up his hands. "In that case I look forward to doing it properly once he's ready."

"Thank you sire. I have no doubt he would be delighted to hear that." Lancelot seemed to relax a little after Sonic pulled his hand away.

"Well." Sonic clapped his hands together. "Until tomorrow then my knight?"

"Until then my king." Lancelot bowed before hurrying away. Sonic frowned at his retreating back. Well that could have gone better, but it also could have gone worse. He sighed and let a smile slip back onto his face. Tomorrow should be good at least. He decidedly ignored the metaphorical hole the love letter was burning in his quills.

"Ah Sir Sonic. How lovely it is to see you again." Nimue went for a hug, one which Sonic returned with only mild hesitation. It was hard to mentally separate her from Amy sometimes.

"Good to see you too." Sonic chuckled as the two broke apart. 

"Mother." Lancelot hissed. "He is the king, you cannot just embrace him like that."

Her sharp gaze turned to her son. "Well, if it isn't my family. Finally deemed me worthy of your presence?" Nimue shot Lancelot and Galahad a sly smile. Sonic hid his amusement behind his hand.

Lancelot flushed, far easier to tell right now since the knight had his visor up. "I've been busy mother. You know this." Galahad simply looked between the two, a nervous frown on his face.

"I jest Lancelot." Nimue laughed. "Come and greet me properly as the king has already done." Lancelot somewhat reluctantly moved forward and gave his mother a hug. Sonic couldn't help the brief laugh that escaped him. Galahad joining him a moment after. "Don't think you will escape the same fate. Come here Galahad." She held her arms out once she released a now very flustered Lancelot, who's visor was now flipped down. Weird.

Unlike his father Galahad happily fell into the embrace of his grandma. By the time they let go of each other Lancelot had flipped his visor back up. "It's good to see you." Galahad smiled.

Nimue's smile widened. "Any day I get to see you or your father is a pleasant one. Now." She looked out over the group. "Shall we head inside? I've prepared tea."

"Lead the way, oh lady of the lake." Sonic grinned and gestured for her to go ahead of him.

With a smile she began to lead them back to her home. "Lancelot? Care to walk with me?" 

Said hedgehog glanced between his mother and Sonic before nodding. "Of course mother."

The two hurried ahead some and Sonic let them be. They were family after all and she saw Lancelot a lot less often than he did. "So." Galahad spoke up. It made Sonic happy to know the younger hedgehog wasn't worried about talking to him casually. "When are you and my father going to…" He gestured widely. "You know…"

Sonic rose a brow. He did not know actually. "I'm not sure what you're talking about kid."

"Oh. Really?" Galahad looked confused. "Father told me he'd finally managed to say something to you. I thought… well I don't mean to assume of course…" Suddenly the younger hedgehog was rather nervous.

As the two walked, and Galahad endured a mild breakdown of some sort, Sonic thought and slowly put pieces together. The letter stuffed in his quills felt heavy with the weight of his own realization. That's why the handwriting had seemed so familiar. He stopped in his tracks and carefully pulled the letter out. "Oh." Was all he could manage as he looked between the letter and its previously unknown author.

"Are you alright?" Galahad had stopped too. 

"I'm good yeah." Sonic slowly nodded. "I just put some things together is all." He pat Galahad on the head, careful to avoid his helmet. "I think I need to go have a chat with Lancelot. Keep your grandma company for me ok?"

"Yes sir!" Galahad nodded, smiling.

"Yo Lance!" Sonic called ahead, letter still gripped in one hand. The black hedgehog turned around, confused before an odd look fell over his face. That was probably due to Sonic waving the letter. "Can we have a quick chat?"

With a quick excuse to his mother he rushed to Sonic's side. Galahad was next to his grandma in the next moment. Nimue gave them a knowing smile and waved them off. "What did you wish to discuss sire?" Lancelot had flipped down his visor again, but Sonic could tell the other wasn't looking at him.

"I think you know." Sonic let a relaxed smile settle onto his face. The last thing he wanted Lancelot to believe was that he was in trouble. Unfortunately the other hedgehog remained quiet. That was fine, he could talk for a bit. "I didn't know who this was from when I first got it. Not until just now actually, when me and Galahad were talking."

"He told you?" Lancelot seemed upset, fists clenching at his sides.

Sonic held up a hand and cut off whatever that was. Lancelot turned away. "He only implied. Which helped me figure it out." He carefully unfolded the letter between them. "You should have signed it you know."

"I'm afraid my cowardice got the best of me after finishing it." Lancelot looked away. "To pour my heart out for the king and then ascribe that to myself felt far too daunting at the time."

"But you still gave it to me. Gave me a headache trying to figure out who wrote it." Sonic teased, tucking the letter away. It felt far more precious now that he knew who'd written it.

"I apologize for any agony I caused you sire." Lancelot dipped his head low.

Sonic sighed before gently pushing the other hedgehog's head back up to look at him. With his other hand he flipped up the visor. "You're fine Lance. Honest." He smiled, something softer and more genuine than he typically plastered on his face. "I'm just glad to know my flirting hasn't been completely lost on you."

Lancelot hesitantly linked their hands together. "And this is… alright? I'm allowed to show my loyalty to you in more ways than one?"

Sonic pulled the hedgehog into a tight hug. He was glad he'd decided to leave Caliburn behind today. No doubt he'd ruin the moment. "What I am doesn't matter. There's no way I'm going to let what other people think dictate how I live my life."

As the two broke apart Sonic was pleased to see a small smile on Lancelot's face. "Then allow me make myself clear. I love you si- Sonic."

Sonic squeezed Lancelot's hand. "I love you too Lancelot. Now as much as I'd like to spend some more alone time together we shouldn't keep your mom waiting."

"A wise course of action." Lancelot's face was grave. Though his attention was drawn elsewhere for a moment and he let go of Sonic's hand to grab something on the side of the road. Before Sonic could properly register it Lancelot was tucking something behind Sonic's ear. "It… matches your eyes." 

Sonic grinned as he reached up and felt the flower Lancelot had tucked behind his ear. He grabbed his hand again and started walking. Maybe this whole king business wouldn't be so bad with Lancelot at his side.

[pidgeon-queen]

Now that i have actually slept and didn't need to run errands anymore, I am finally watching season 2 of Arcane. For anyone who didn't see my last post on season 1, just a bit of inforalmation.

This is my thoughts and opinions on the characters, questions that seem unanswered, and looking at reasons behind characters actions, but not excusing them.

Season 2

Episode 1

It works well for the scene, but the static in the opening made me think my computer was busted. What a way to start off a season.

Point again on why I blame Jayce for everything. Victor knew he was dying, and explained they had to get rid of the hexcore because it was too dangerous. Victor always knew he was dying and Jayce decided to not grant him the mercy of death. I know this has consequences later on.

That little girl leaving the flowers is supposed to be Marcus's daughter, right? That is the only reason I could think or for her to have color why everything else is a charcoal sketch. The first 5 minutes has such beautiful art.

Salo seemed like the kind of person to be completely uninterested in anything but the perks of his job. Even with the death of the other council members, this argument doesn't sound like his words. I think Amvessa got in his head first

I am curious about Caitlyns father and why he acts as he does in both seasons. I feel like their could be more development as to who he is outside of her father and the husband of a former council member.

It took Vi all season to finally accept what others were saying. And even then, I think she is still wrong. It's not the Powder she remembers. Powder matured in a different environment than Vi and that is who she became. It just added a name change.

Who's this homeless enforcer? He sounds vaguely like Vander, and if i squint while exhausted, could almost look like Vander and Benzo combined.

Jayce put Victor in a chrysalis and it looks kind of creepy. Also, the fact that it reached out to Mel, i wonder if it would have eaten her like it did Sky. If things were different, I could see Jayce, Mel, and Victor working together in a different way that probably wouldn't have included Victor becoming part of the hexcore.

I'm glad Heimerdinger was kicked off the council because i am worried he wouldn't have survived.

Maddie Nolan is really suspicious. I wonder if Caitlyn actually said all of that. I am more interested in this fake drunkard than what Mel has to say. He has a story, and I worry I won't get to know what it is.

I've seen images of the counselors statue, but i thought it was only two of them.

There is a distinct lack of blood when it comes to more serious injuries. Someone got ripped by a chainsaw and there was nothing, but a bloody nose is fine.

They really left Jayce to die. He didn't even pick a good weapon, or go for the other nose tube. That had an affect Her.

The enforcers with Maddie, they didn't get an name, but definitely deserved one before this fighting. Same with Homeless.

Once again, Vi and Jayce working together to fuck up one shot.

I can see why Vi joined the enforcers, Caitlyn is losing it and doesn't know how to stop what is happening. Vi has been fighting her whole life and learned how to cope and plan. Fuck her for turning on her people the way she does, and what method she uses, but I understand the thought process of joining.

Caitlyn really chose to break the genevia convention laws using her mother's creation that was meant to save children of the undercity from the same fate as Victor.

What is with the special task force and their weapon choices. I get the sniper as Caitlyn is good with it, but Maddie has what looks like a toy gun from the arcade in season 1, and Homeless has a shield. Give him a brass knuckle as least so he has some way to fight back. It doesn't even need to be hextech. This specialized force has 2 unnamed characters still.

Why did Singed need to gas wolves? I know there is a reveal later on, but seriously, what did they ever do to you? The scars came from the explosion that killed Milo and Calgger. Animals did nothing to you.

Episode 2

This beginning is a reminder of the shape of water ending. This is another scene where they are leaning away from a father-daughter relationship and towards something else. I am pretty sure that's not what they wanted. Is it weird to hope the monsters in the bottom of the water ate Silco?

Good on Isha biting hard enough to cut through skin. I love her design. She also took Jinx up on the offer of a family and I never saw someone talk about that. Please other people talk about it.

The gray is so interesting. I can't wait to learn more.

Sevika is the middle ground between Vander and Silco. She just doesn't have the same kind of charisma they did. She also didn't have to be so terrible with the screwdriver. Angle your hand and body a little more and it would have been fine. She might have needed more help if the bolt was in too tight, but she chose not to hold it at a better angle.

Jinx comment about the eye shot is definitely from her perspective of Silco having her help, but i do still wonder if he wouldn't do it alone because he added shimmer to it and caused a physical reaction compared to before in season one when he had no problem in the room with Singed.

The sign of a bad leader is seeing everything collapse immediately after you disappear or die. Things could have continued if Vander left and Benzo took over, but Silco took charge and left an unstable legacy to collapse in his absence.

Victor hearing Sky's voice just proves to me the hexcore ate her. Jayce really couldn't let go, and it broke Victor. He doesn't look human anymore, and i can see the resemblance people make to him being Jesus. Jayce hasn't been given time to process and he is going to regret what he's done. Shame he can't see it sooner.

Ekko should have only been worried about capacity issues, then someone came and fucked with the tree. He needs a break.

I love Heimerdinger. He is 300 flyers old, but he is acting like a teen sneaking through his place. I needed this laugh after the previous episode. Where is Heimerdinger's pet? I miss him.

The offensive Ekko takes to tea.

This is the first time Vi has probably thought about Claggor in years. I wished we heard her or saw her facial reaction to it. I mentioned in my last post, but Vi is a shitty person when I comes to comforting others and how she reacts to loss without someone to comfort her.

I love Sevika's new arm and how it so clearly was made by Jinx, proving they will still work together, and how it is just an trade toy as well. That is some insane violence for someone who has never fought with the arm before. Why is Isha poking him? Leave the rat alone.

I'm starting to suspect Victor going to the undercity is what cause the arcane to affect Ekko's tree. That is definitely not Victor anymore. Why would he think to do something like that. How could he have know to heal others when Sky was killed by the same thing. The symbolism is a little on the nose.

Episode 3

Destroying you mother's legacy is not how you cope with loss Caitlyn. You ruined her memory like this and I know she is disappointed in you. This task force definitely had those hung and mutilated dolls coming. Who sacrifices the city just to maybe catch one person. It's the opposite affect you guys wanted.

The idea the gray gives him allergies.

The black rose has some interesting powers. The hissing, second voice is something I live for in storytelling. It's a shame I don't know how to write it in a way people pick up on.

Again, everyone doesn't seem to believe 2 identities can exist in one person. Vi also begged Caitlyn to not change when she herself changed. Whay a hypocrite.

Of course Salo is using shimmer.

Mel using her influence and is slowly losing it because Ambessa suddenly showed up. If Ambessa wasn't here, she might have more control over the situation in piltover.

I theorized that the arcane was living, by my comments of it eating Sky, I hope you understood that, but to see the story going in that direction kind of makes me smile. I suck at theories, but I guessed something right.

I love Jinx loving art but not being a protege.

Again, Jayce is at fault for deciding to not care about the undercity. Kiramman's sponsored Jayce and I would be surprised of Caitlyn's mother didn't warn him if she was the one to insisted the undercity deserved to breathe. I wonder if he either didn't listen to her, or she didn't get an say in how it was constructed. Either way, Jayce indirectly chose to sacrifice the undercity because he didn't care to think.

Heimerdinger, why would you risk touching that spot on the ground. Just tell everyone what you found first.

Vi chose this moment to not blame herself for the one thing she is definitely to blame. Caitlyn had to tell her they were using the Gray and Vi said yes, gas my people. Let me become what I hated and justify it by blaming Jinx.

Jayce really messed up with not understanding the arcane before trying to control it. And he is fucking up a fight. He felt it do something to his hammer, and still touches it.

Caitlyn doesn't seem to notice her gun breaking the laws of reality outside of being electrocuted. That is interesting.

Jinx is laying on the alter table about to be sacrificed in front of the undercities goddess. The goddess eyes look like they are glowing. I think that is why Caitlyn, who is known to be a great shot, couldn't shoot shit in that moment.

Piltover did need a makeover, and outside of it possibly releasing the gray into Piltover, I aprove of the method.it looks fun.

Vi still cares about the young people of the undercity, and it is proven in that scene where she stopped Caitlyn and let Jinx go to protect the child. The one thing I don't understand is how Caitlyn could be so willing to shoot a child when the only thing she successfully shot off was Jinx's finger. That is a big difference between her and Jayce. Isha would have just been collateral, while the boy Jayce killed was a complete accident. It does bring up, however, that Vi was fine with the kids in the shimmer factory ending up in the crossfire, but not Isha. Isha knew what she was doing jumping in the middle of the fight just like the kid who pulled the alarm. But Vi had a different reaction.

More evidence that Vi and Caitlyn are a very unhealthy and toxic relationship. Vi is in a similar position to Powder, and this time, nobody tried to come back for her. While not death, she again has nk comfort and is slowly breaking.

The artistic way the black rose is used is wonderful. I hate we only had a couple of minutes at best of that scene with Mel.

Please stop showing me Homeless and give me his name and backstory.

Ambessa chose Caitlyn because itbis the best way for the people to trust Noxian soldiers, and i think the people needed trust in someone who wasn't part of the council. Why does Maddie join in so quickly? Who is she really? And Homeless knows something. I want his lore in Arcane. I should mention I don't play league of legends, so there is a good chance a lot of lore and Easter eggs go over my head.

Singed will die long before Warwick is given enough blood.

Episode 4

Caitlyn sucks at her job. All of these people joined a cause Junx unintentionally created and she doesn't really hide herself. I basic cloth that sometimes doesn't cover her braids, making noise in the old arcade and fighting with extreme violence and enforcers keep arresting the wrong people.

Time has definitely passed based on the opening so this isn't like the next day, but I'm suspicious of Caitlyn and Maddie's relationship. Part of me thinks Maddie is a little obsessed with Vi and how she looked up to her, or it is Caitlyn she looked up to, and managed to get into a relationship with her in a moment of vulnerability, or caitlyn was looking for a rebound from a toxic relationship and Maddie was the girl who was there. Calling out Ambessa's words from Caitlyn is interesting. There is a certain look in her eyes that makes me wonder what Maddie is thinking.

I like how Isha is non verbal. Jinx knows how to communicate with her and shows Jinx is in her right mind.

If Jinx believes her name is dead, then what is her new name? You need to have something.

Ambessa doesn't know what Jayce did, and i think it is his fault nothing is working anymore.

Scar being there. That's it. Him seeing and being there.

"Why is peace always there justification for violence?" That's a good quote. We need more leaders to thank and answer this question.

How much time has passed? Ekko, Jayce, Mel, and Heimerdinger are all missing and time has passed enough for Mel be considered dead by some.

How did Sevika get in contact with the Firelights? Scar seems supportive of Jinx as he called for the people to fight at the checkpoint, but how did it come to that? Ekko is on the wall, but the firelights survived, so it is a sign he was a good leader. I wonder if he ever told Scar he still cared about Powder and if she ever gave him the chance, he would still save her.

Isha's fist do nothing, but she did her best and I am proud of her. Question, does Isha not get a name until 23 minutes into episode 4? I know her name from spoilers, but i think that's the first time she is given a name in the show.

Singed knowing they won't stay long but i doubt he knows how safe the Zaunites really are when Warwick arrives.

I love Sivika and Jinx being more buddy buddy this season. She's really really pissed that someone hated her pants. Then some creepy actually hitting on her.

She barely interacted and went into hiding, but they all somehow knew not to call out cheers or speak, just acknowledge her as a thanks. And the Woman who flirted with Claggor added Her aunt status to Jinx as well.

Do you see Jinx as an older sister to Isha, or a mom? I thought older sister based on some spoilers, but i can see a mom figure as well.

Going back to the chainsaw with no blood. Why was Warwick able to cause so much damage and spray blood like that?

Did Isha say Mama?

Warwick still has Vanders facial structure. And it proves to me Homeless looks like Vander.

Episode 5

Look, I was just thinking about Homeless.this guy still hasn't learned how to take a punch or at least protect his jaw as it's the weakest part on him.

Vi, how do you fuck up bad enough Homeless gives up on you?

Look at Jinx following her sister's footsteps. Fake tattoos and name written under her eye.

Ambessa survived, but i wouldn't be surprised if she faked her death so Warwick would leave her alone.

Caitlyn is still making the same mistakes as before. Going places she really shouldn't alone.

I don't know what to say about Signed so we are skipping over it.

Poor Mel seeing someone she cared for killed by the black rose. Imprisonment Socks. I wonder if she might change the way the prisons are run if she gets the chance. I do not believe she couldn't see him before he stepped i to the light. If that was supposed to be true, then the lighting should have been different.

Why would Jinx eat something you have to claim to get glowing

Vi really doesn't know what is going on. "Bitch mitten" are something I love. As well as that slap. Vi really hurt the kid she protected from Caitlyn.

Caitlyn can't even make a dungeon to hold people. She doesn't know what she is doing.

Mel's brother has a couple of close up to his eyes, and for a moment to, it looked like there was something in the pupil. Arcane doesn't show reflections in others eyes often.

"No mention of his crime." Caitlyn, can you guess based on his lab? Or do you really need an answer?

Isn't it implied that Singed removed his daughters heart for one reason or another?

Rose Mel's eyes looked so beautiful. Does Mel possess magic and that is subconsciously what drew her to Jayce and his research.

The memory of Vander with Silco and The girls mother. the casual replacement of alcohol with juice. Good Job Vander. Also, why did she suddenly decide Vander and Silco would raise her kid. She has a husband. Make him raise Vi first.

Both deserve the chance to heal. Isha and Vander are a part of that.

Salo, stop being creepy and dead. Bodies don't get to keep moving after you stop breathing. He sounds like Victor even before his mind took over Salo's body.

Jayce finally learner. And Heimerdinger was right. I wish we got to see a different angle your Salo's death. It looked pretty cool.

Another point to why this is all Jayce's fault. He chose to keep Vicgor alive, and look what that has done. You now have to physically kill Victor. Should have listened the first time. Should have never brought magic to piltover.

Episode 6

How does Victor say it's not Jayce and there is something else when He isn't even himself and keeps talking to the disembodied voice of Sky, who was eaten by the hexcore.

Vi really left hextech on the ground for anyone to take. Place of peace or not, I could sell that stuff

Grandpa Vander. I love him so.

Warwick knows there is something wrong with Victor. But he is trying to his kids.

I love Jinx and her comments and throwing shade.

Another beautiful artstyle showing their past. Jinx did deserve to have more time with her mom.

Vi talks about staying in Victor's place, but completely ignored that Ekko had the firelights trying to do the same thing. The difference, however, is Victor removes their desire and individual agency, creating more of a hive mind. Ekko has more freedom and the people don't see him has a Harold, but equal to each other.

There are 2 groups trying to fuck over Vander and his chances at a family again. Jayce unknowing because he is trying to fix his mistake, finally, and Ambessa who just wants war.

Caitlyn really wiped that spit into her mouth. Madam, you are in a relationship with Maddie. Stop that.

It took not being with Jayce for Vi to not fuck up. Let's see if not being around Vi helps Jayce, or still fucks everything up.

So far, he didn't kill a child. So maybe that's good.

Yes Vander! Protect your daughter.

Jayce didn't either. Vi and Jayce just need to not work together if they want to do anything in life.

This is what happens when you kill the leader of the hive mind. And unfortunately, Jayce is the reason Vander lost all humanity he had left. He's crying and suffering.

Victor didn't need to speak such truth.

Isha, sweetheart. No.

In a more serious note, I heard somewhere the reason tour life flashes before you life before you die is because your brain is looking for a memory to help deal with the event and save you, but since it has never experienced death, there is no immediate memory to help. I will sob silently for Isha, but every happy memory she had was with Jinx, do I believe, are the only memories she has. Trauma pushed away the bad ones so all her brain can do is show her the happy ones before her death.

Episode 7

Starting off with the record. It's not Vi and Jinx.

Ekko without face paint is a shock. But him actually seeing Benzo again. This might be the first time he thinks about what happened that day. Oh it hurts. I still see Homeless in Benzo's face, but i think it's more the sideburns.

This does explain why Jayce is the only one to escape in act 2. And proves Jayce did NOT eat Ekko and Heimerdinger like some people theorized.

I actually yelled seing Milo. I wasn't ready to see him with a posh accent and a mustache. I didn't yelled, but wtf! Heimerdinger with a guitar? Ekko is losing it.

So the answer to the time they were missing was 3 years. I thought it was weeks or a few months.

Jayce left his hammer in a place he doesn't know to chace a stranger who could hurt him. And he finds the remainds of a destroyed Piltover.

See! It's all Jayce's fault. Granted, Vi died, but she isn't that great of a person anyways.

Is this Heimerdinger singing at 13 minutes? That would be pretty funny. Watching...... it is!

So hextech almost existed, but Vi died in the explosion and Jayce lost everything because nothing got stolen. Still doesn't change the fact it was his fault for bringing the crystals to Piltover. It's a good thing that is where Ekko and Heimerdinger landed or we really wouldn't see them again.

Where did Jayce end up? How did he hang on with those things

I really don't think i could have done it. They look terrifying.

Ekko has his time skill! I do think the time in this reality is what gives Ekko the chance later on to try again with Jinx. His chances to tell Benzo the truth and actually say goodbye.

Seconds later, Ekko forgets this isn't his universe and makes the same mistakes as asking Powder if it's her fault this Vi was killed.

There is a screenshot worthy point around the 30 minute mark of Milo and Clagger. I hope someone has do that. It needs to be memorialized.

Powders dress reminds me of the moonflower for some reason when she spins.

Finally, Timebomb fans! Be fed!

If Heimerdinger dies....

Powder better get her Ekko back...

She does! Now what happened to Heimerdinger

Oh an episode almost solely for Ekko, finally making up for lost time.

Episode 8

We return to Mel and her magic i forgot about with everything else that was going in. She was controlling the other counselors throught their corruption. I guessed that right. Yay.

What is Mel going to do now?

It is interesting how they bury the people.

Vander needs to be left alone. He's been through enough.

I knew it was a hive mind.

Homeless is Back! When was his name Lois? I was close at least. (I'm not watching with subtitles so unless the speak the names, I have no idea who people are).

"We can't erase our mistakes." Yeah, like you gassing the innocent?

Jinx has lost everything, her family has been lost 4 different times. She finally gave up after losing Vander again, and losing Isha.

Mel and Jayce meeting again after their separate imprisonments. Mel finally being called out on her control. And being blamed for something she could t control.

Where did Victor's new body come from. This fight scene reminds me of the I, Robot based on Victor's movements.

It is nice to see an actual conversation between Silco and Jinx without it pushing her towards his goal of Zaun.

Break the cycle with broken knuckles. Nice on Vi.

This creature. The fact Jayce still sees it as living. Should have been labeled thing.

Heimerdinger's pet! I missed it.

Caitlyn. What about Maddie? ..... vie doesn't care, but that doesn't make Caitlyn a shitty person for cheating.

Even with the arcane, Victor never love Sky the way she did. How dare he take everything from Vander. He has died enough, why take the memories away too?

Episode 9

Oh boy, here we go.

Jinx has beautiful hair. Long and short.

Ekko is back and he is trying. I am so proud of him.bittersweet(X) as long as their alive in the end, I think i can accept the ending of the series. But I just got through the intro so good so we will see.

Maddie has to be working with Ambessa.

Maddie put the nail in, didn't she? Maybe she deserved to be cheated on. I didn't think she really loved Caitlyn in the beginning. I was just wrong about it being obsessive... death works too.

Jinx and Ekko working on the same side as it should be. Welcome Zaunites to the party. Thanks for bringing it.

Victor looks so gross.

Not Sevika! She grew on me.

Do you think Vi finally understood it wasn't just her and Jinx left? Do you think she will finally remember Ekko and continue to care about him in the future?

Mel's story so so much more complex than season 2 had time to delve into. I do. Ot understand the black rose as much i they probably wanted us to.

They still leave Ekko alone and assumed dead. Even after he did so much to save them both.

Ekko is the only one. Jayce is gone too. How will he try?

Yes ekko!!!!!! Some risks must be made.

That is an interesting callback to what Jayce saw in the alternate universe and explains what he meant.

I may have to ammend my statement a bit. Not by much though. Victor is the instigator for the use of hextech. But I thought that's where it started. Is it more accurate to blame this on Victor?

We once again see Vi not coping with dead and lacking a comfort. Her failure to listen and move resulted in Jinx having to jump down. It is a shame Vi couldn't learn better ways of coping outside of self destruction and lashing out immediately.

I hate we don't see Ekko actually go back to the firelights or see him step as a leader for Zaun we all know he easily could have been.

Now that everything is over, I will go back to my question 3 paragraphs above. Should Victor now be the blame for all of this? As he gave the rune to Jayce knowing he was the only one who could show something good from emotion and resistance. This goes against my firm belief that, as adults, you are responsible for your actions, and your actions alone. Your actions have an affect on others as seen in life and Arcane. Victor planted the seed of thought and useless chip in Jayce as a young boy. Jayce, however chose illegal research and storing dangerous and illegal contraband in his room unsecured.

This answer can only be found by looking into another question. How important were Jayce and his mother's lives? His mother would have died without arcane magic, and as he was a child, Jayce may have too. Allowing him to die young would have meant Jayce could bring the crystals to Piltover, and his house wouldn't have been robbed. Nothing in Arcane would have gone the same way. Say young Jayce would have survived and made it to Piltover, he still wouldn't have interacted with magic and see it can be harnessed by someone without being born with it, and his research probably wouldn't have been different. Who knows if he would have gone to the undercity then, but it grunted his house wouldn't have exploded because of the crystals. If all characters must be alive and Victor's past self needed to save Jayce, then it is my same argument. Jayce shouldn't have brought contraband to Piltover and not secure it and hide it.

There is a note to add that if Victor didn't give the chip to Jayce after saving his mother, then maybe Jayce wouldn't have found the crystals, but I disagree. He would have been searching still. I don't doubt he wouldn't have found them on his own without a shards with an engraved rune as a reference piece.

Thanks everyone who actually read this far. I can now continue my doom scrolling here without worry of spoiling anything now.