#an old story but still pertinent today...

[chilled-ice-cubes]

caravan magazine's series of articles on justice loya's death really drives in the sheer hopelessness of our justice system

Other questions, too, remain unanswered. Why was the family not informed when Loya was taken to hospital? Why were they not informed as soon as he died? Why were they not asked for approval of a post-mortem, or informed that one was to be performed, before the procedure was carried out? Who recommended the post-mortem, and why? What was suspicious about Loya’s death to cause a post-mortem to be recommended? What medication was administered to him at Dande Hospital? Was there not a single vehicle in Ravi Bhavan—which regularly hosts VIPs, including ministers, IAS and IPS officers and judges—available to ferry Loya to hospital?

According to Biyani, “My brother was offered a bribe of 100 crore in return for a favourable judgment. Mohit Shah, the chief justice, made the offer himself.” She added that Mohit Shah told her brother that if “the judgment is delivered before 30 December, it won’t be under focus at all because at the same time, there was going to be another explosive story which would ensure that people would not take notice of this.”

[...]

On 30 December, around one month after Loya’s death, Gosavi upheld the defence’s argument that the CBI had political motives for implicating the accused. With that, he discharged Amit Shah. The same day, news of MS Dhoni’s retirement from test cricket dominated television screens across the country. As Biyani recounted, “There was just a ticker at the bottom which said, ‘Amit Shah not guilty. Amit Shah not guilty.’”

It is unlikely that the frenzied activity the judges described in their statements was a quiet affair. The deterioration of Loya’s health, the call Kulkarni placed to Barde, the subsequent arrival of Barde and Rathi in the car, the conversation between the judges when Loya came “down,” and the eventual departure of the judges with the ailing Loya for Dande hospital—all would have likely caused a significant amount of noise, if not a downright commotion.

Yet, according to the 17 current and former employees of Ravi Bhawan, none of the staff members who were on duty that night—from reception, to room service and miscellaneous duties—realised that a guest had been taken to the hospital early in the morning on 1 December 2014. “We didn’t even know that one of the judges staying at our premises at that time had died. We only found out when the papers started writing about it [in 2017] and the inquiry began,” the third employee I met told me. Fifteen of the 17 current and former employees told me that they learned of Loya’s death the same way. The remaining two were not even aware that a guest had died until I interviewed them.

[...]

The question of Loya’s personal belongings is key: The Caravan reported earlier that according to Loya’s sister, Anuradha Biyani, the family was handed the judge’s phone three days after his death. Who took out Loya’s personal belongings from Ravi Bhawan—and whether he was in fact staying there—remains unclear. That 17 current and former employees of Ravi Bhawan had no knowledge of his death until three years later, and could not recall any details regarding the chain of events the judges described, reiterates the troubling nature of the circumstances surrounding Loya’s death.

other articles:

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 11 (Part 1 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; mutual pining; crying + feelings of sadness; arguing; heart issues addressed (POTs); use of heart monitors; revisited, vivid memories of sexual encounters; JEALOUSYYY; body changes as a result of pregnancy; negative self-talk (that, off and on, turns positive); talks of baby + pregnancy; pregnancy hormones (+ acting on them hehe); reader and jake are both STUBBORN (as always); cheating; heavy petting; oral sex m!receiving; forgetfulness; vivid imaginings of sex; talks of EMDR + the possibility of revisiting dark places; jake being the best, most helpful baby daddy there ever was (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 11 (Part 1) Word Count: 23.3k+

a/n: sorry for the looooong ass wait. same old, same old. life is busy. (also, @joshym and i did go to our first three greta shows on THIS leg and almost died, too - soooo that got in the way lmao.)

as always, big thank you to @joshym for being the best sister there ever was and supporting me in my writings + pursuits <3

and biiiigg thank you to @gretavangroupie for being the dopest proofreader + catching my little, dumb mistakes lmao <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

-🌼🌼🌼-

"...covetousness, looking more at what we would have than at what we have..."

-Joseph Hall

-🌼🌼🌼-

Chapter 11:

Monday

December 5th, 2022

Staring at the ceiling seemed like the best possible option. No rush to your morning or day. Class had been canceled due to a pipe bursting in the building it was held in. And after seeing that in your notifications, you’d also had a text from Gia – telling you she had to cancel your therapy session again, still recovering from the after-effects of Covid. You couldn’t be mad at her, but admittedly, it’d made your heart fall. 

And to make your morning even better, when you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the sound of Jake and Maya. The most lovely way to wake up. 

All you could hear through your door were two little fucking lovebirds out in the living room and kitchen area. . . The sound from the box fan you’d decided to keep next to your bed was your best companion in your bubble of endless sulking at Jake and Maya. 

The ceiling fan above you was great entertainment as it rotated on a perfect pattern, seemingly in slow motion. And the box fan was hitting your face with the coolest, most refreshing air flow. Offered some sort of relief, at least. 

In a moment that threatened to make you feel real sad, you felt the slightest bit free by the fans and their fresh air and consistent patterns. The serenity that rolled from them was your only saving grace. 

Today was going to be a long day. There was nothing to do. 

But, on a wild hair (and after a particularly grating laugh from Maya), you decided to text Theo and ask if he wanted to make up for yesterday's missed study session today. You didn’t know why you did it, but you did. And his text agreeing to it was instantaneous. 

Theo, 8:34 a.m.: I would love that! Does 4:00 work for you? I have to work until 3:00 :(

You took your time responding and texted back lazily, not really wanting to do anything with him, but desperately wanting to get Jake out of your mind. 

You, 8:37 a.m.: Sure! Sounds good. 

This lovely day had already started with a drag. On top of Jake and Maya talking and giggling like teenagers through your door, the sky was gray outside your window, rain having poured all night long. A light drizzle was still hitting your window. 

Your stomach rolled at the new smells of breakfast coming from the kitchen, Jake and Maya eating breakfast at your house after their fun night you’d been privy to through the walls. 

The dreary cloudiness of the December day was offset by Maya’s squeaky laughs. It kept happening – she kept laughing her ass off at him. The Jake you knew could be funny from time to time, yes, but he wasn’t a comedic genius by any means. He really wasn’t that funny. 

But, you’d learned she was adamant at being a good little textbook girlfriend. And it had become absolutely exhausting for you to experience — especially while you continued to carry her boyfriend’s baby.

Your mind got stuck in a thought when you came back to that. . . One little thing that had been bugging you, coming to your mind everyday since Maya had found out.

How in the fuck was she so okay with it? Her boyfriend living in the same house as a girl who was pregnant with his baby? How was she being so damn cool about it? 

You grumbled much louder than necessary as you yanked the charger from your phone to check your Ovia app. The photo of what the baby looked like this week was the first thing you saw. You imagined what it looked like right this second. . . . You also wondered when you’d start to feel him or her move – to your surprise you weren’t really stressed that you hadn’t felt it yet. Based on your last doctor visit, you knew the baby was completely healthy and you were feeling much better than you had been a couple weeks ago. You were trying to be logical. 

What you did let your mind wander to was what the baby was bound to look like. It was a normal thought process. Would it be a boy or girl? You didn’t even want to guess. Would it have Jake’s eyes and bright smile? You still hoped so – those continued to be the features you desired most of all. 

Even though he was not at the top of your happy list right now, you wanted him to share in this with you. It was a conundrum. And, you couldn’t deny that his gesture last night had been so incredibly sweet—the personalized cup he’d left for you, full of iced water. 

But, as soon as you went that route, your mind flicked to what hadn’t been so sweet. The not-so-sweet things your ears had been witness to right after he’d dropped the cup off at your door. 

Your moment in the kitchen, nothing but an afterthought as soon as he’d gotten to his bedroom to find his goddess of a girlfriend waiting for him. He’d claimed to want you so badly in the kitchen, only to move right on from you to her.

But you weren’t an idiot. You knew he wasn’t yours like he was Maya’s. Although, it didn’t stop your heart from tearing in your chest as you listened to him fuck the girl he truly belonged to through the walls. 

Simply put: you were just done witnessing their sex life. Done with it. 

It was disheartening and made you feel insecure and sad in ways you really didn’t need to feel. 

Your hand found your belly as you tried to get onto a happier train of thought. You read through all of your baby’s fun facts for Week 15. And, rubbing at the bare skin under your giant sleep shirt, you briefly wondered what Jake’s hands would feel like on your bare belly. Your belly, rounder every day with the baby you shared. 

You felt your hormones hype up, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes at how much of a jumbled mess your life was. 

And, while the predicament could’ve been blamed on you for breaking things off. . . You’d known, way back in August, that he was most likely bound to leave you for her. That day you’d picked him up from her house, their seamless connection had been obvious. 

What was strange was every now and then, you heard these faint words from a memory in the back of your mind. His voice. His words. And it was always him arguing it – arguing the validity of him and Maya. 

But the entire situation wouldn’t come back to you. So, you’d resolved that the words had been in a dream. They felt more like a dream. . . One you couldn’t reach back to. His stern voice telling you how wrong your assumptions were, a wavy non-memory. . . .

Though you still believed that no matter the case, whether you’d broken it off in August or waited until later, things would have turned out the same. Everything that happened was meant to happen. You’d still be pregnant and Maya would still be around. 

There was no escaping the fact that Maya was going to be around. One way or another. Around and taking away the possibility for you and Jake to ever be together again. Not that he needed that. You weren’t good for him. You’d had your solid reasons for cutting things off. 

But. . . why did those reasons seem to get hazier everyday? They were harder to place as the days went by.

You sighed deeply, deciding to focus on what else was real. . . The other things in the now that made you feel good. There was no reason to have any of that clouding your mind, to make you feel even worse than you already did. 

Getting up, you made the bed and afterwards went to undress. Get ready for the day. But, as soon as you’d stripped your shirt and were standing naked in your panties, your heart sank. You heard something through the door that you really didn’t want to fucking hear.  

“Your body looks so perfect in that, My,” Jake’s voice came through the door, sounding astonished. The cat call he made at her right after made a weight fall to the tresses of your tummy. “You are so beautiful. So damn pretty.”

And when your eyes caught sight of your bigger body— reflecting back at you through the mirror. . . . 

The tears that leaked from your eyes were expected, your heart hung so heavy in your hollow chest. Words he’d just spoken to you not so long ago as you’d worked to rid yourself of stretch marks (your creams and oils working wonders, by the way, thank god). 

“Beautiful,” he’d firmly stated while his eyes locked with yours in the mirror, just as he’d said the word. “This is beautiful. You are beautiful.”

You’d felt reassured by his words and pep talk that evening. . . It was stupid how his words had helped your mind to clear some darkness. It was stupid because obviously those words weren’t special for you. He’d say the same words to her in a heartbeat. You weren’t special.

And, no matter what he said about it not being because of the baby, it was true that he’d started being (more) attentive after finding out. The attentiveness had started almost as soon as he’d known about the baby. So, surely the words he’d said were just to perk your sad, pregnant feelings. 

He was great at being attentive. You’d learned from past experience that he was like that if you were in any sort of relationship with him, too. And Maya was in more of a relationship with him than you fucking were right now, so . . . . of course he was bound to say that shit to her.

Her obvious, natural beauty being highlighted by him any chance he got was the opposite of what you needed to hear. You knew how pretty she was. Anyone with two eyes could tell; she was built so perfectly, her face was symmetrical as could be. . . And her smile, wide and shining, with the straightest teeth. He was dating Aphrodite herself (with more voluptuous curves than Aphrodite, even) and he’d be a fool to not state the truth. 

And you. . . well, you were not built as well at the present time. And you were aware you’d hadn’t been built as well as her before the baby either. Her appearance had filled you with insecurities even then — and would continue to do so. 

Jake could talk you up as much as he wanted. But you knew it wasn’t completely genuine and was just because he felt obligated. 

You looked back to the mirror, watching to see the way your body looked as you turned to see the plump curve of your ass. Turning fully around, your hair flowed behind your shoulder as you eyed your backside. The world would never know if you were pregnant if they saw you from the back. . . You hadn’t even realized how normal the back of you still looked. All that had changed was your ass was slightly more plush with the baby weight. But, that wasn’t a bad thing. 

The longer you looked at your backside, looking like your normal, used-to-be body. . . You realized how empty you felt to look at a version of you without your baby. 

You kept your eyes trained on your body in the mirror as you spun back around on your heel to observe your front. Placing both hands on the tummy you had, your baby tucked safe as could be inside of you, you observed yourself. 

There was no denying you were bloated while Maya was perfectly fit — her boobs and ass perky while yours weren’t as much so . . .

No, your whole body was changing to accommodate the little life you were growing. But. . . as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you were finding you were really okay with it. You rubbed your hands smoothly over your ever-growing stomach, tracing shapes on the smooth skin of your (now) stretch-mark-less tummy. 

Your belly was growing. . . constantly. You knew that over time, it would continue to crowd you tighter and tighter in every space you occupied. 

But. . . You were okay with that. All it meant was that the baby continued to grow and that was what mattered. . . It didn’t matter that you didn’t look like Maya. 

But, it didn’t change one thing you knew you couldn’t grow to appreciate like you had your body. You weren’t sure you’d ever be okay that Jake was with Maya. . . And that made it all feel so much worse. Because, no matter how hard you tried, you knew you’d still subconsciously compare yourself to her because of his relationship with her. 

And the sounds through the walls, both cutesy conversation and sex. . . The displays at the kitchen counter. . . It got you in your head. Because Jake. Jake was in your head. Always.

It made perfect sense that he wanted to constantly be intimate with her. They were dating. She was hot. He was more than hot. 

You grumbled, squeezing your eyelids shut to ignore the image of them fucking — it mocked you behind your eyes. Then, there they were again at the kitchen island. Jake with his head thrown back in pleasure, with Maya on her knees in front of him. . . her perfectly manicured, white pearl acrylics clutching his shirt. 

You didn’t even want to think about the scratches those nails had made on the tanned skin of his back. How she probably marked his back with her pristine, almond-shaped nails. . . 

Crazy. You were going to go crazy.

Because while you could fully understand why she’d wanted to fuck him constantly (you’d been there – still were there), you hated witnessing it in any way. Why did it have to be right next to you? Or in front of you at the kitchen counter? How in the fuck could you rid yourself of that?

Then, it dawned on you as you changed into a comfier bra. . . 

There were rules. There were apartment rules. There’d been no conversation about taking those away. Whatever happened during those months in the summer between you two was exempt. You’d been involved with each other. But now things were back to the way they’d started. No romance (just confusing, minor incidents, really). You were back to being two roommates. . . with a baby.

Those rules you’d rambled off to him in the living room all those months ago hadn’t just evaporated. And Maya. . . she wasn’t the one blatantly disrespecting the rules that had been set for so long. Jake was doing that – not Maya. She didn’t know about them. But Jake sure as hell did. You were sure they were still posted on the kitchen fridge, under schedules and shit. Right under his nose and he didn’t even fucking care. And he wasn’t following them worth shit. 

Technically, those still stood. . . right? Had to. A baby made between you two didn’t eliminate them. It actually made you feel more validated since you carried his baby now. You were the one literally living everyday as a pregnant woman for his baby. . . The least he could do was not fuck his stupid ass girlfriend on the kitchen counter. Or right next door. 

And, in no time, Maya was sitting at the back of your mind. Didn’t care about her. She didn’t matter right now. No, it was Jake who was making you so mad you couldn’t see straight. . . What the fuck was his problem?

-🌼🌼🌼-

Later in the day, after allowing yourself a little nap after a nice long shower, you got ready for your study sesh with Theo.

You took extra time on your hair and makeup — decided you wanted to look good. Focus on something – someone else. You were desperate to get your mind off of Jake.

Truth be told, you’d accelerated at hyperspeed to a raging emotion since you’d undressed and stood in your room, being forced to listen to him go on about how beautiful his girlfriend was. 

And, it just got worse as you had to wait far too long to hear little giggles and goodbyes fade out of the apartment. Finally, at Maya’s departure around 9:30, Jake’s door had closed . . . 

By that point, you’d had plenty of time to stew and ponder. You’d pondered multiple ways Jake was pissing you the fuck off. . . Some, very valid. . . others, not even close (you were hormonal, okay?!). You’d piled on more reasons in the shower to be irate with him, too, aggressively shampooing your scalp. 

You had to admit, riding a wave of emotion over Jake that didn’t leave you in a mess of tears was actually pretty fun. . . 

You’d let your mind wander down aimless paths. By the time you were getting dressed and ready for studying, you were fuming. So much frustration with him. And right now? Jake’s selfish, crude behavior had your full attention. . . 

Admittedly, you knew nearly everything you were feeling was thanks to a surge in pregnancy hormones. Those super-human hormones were making you see only red at the thought of him. And, ridiculously, you didn’t try to tame your thoughts. No, you decided to just ride. Wanted to ride the winding rollercoaster of emotion for as long as you could. It felt good to just be angry with him. 

Was that a pregnant woman thing? Did it make you a bad person? 

. . . Because, well, even if it did make you a bad person, you didn’t care.

But. . . As you finished your light mauve lipliner, layering on chapstick, you realized maybe you should care. Not for Jake’s sake. For the baby’s sake, you didn’t want to put any unnecessary stress on the sweet love growing in your tummy. 

So, you’d devised your plan. A plan to get your mind off Jake. Something to maybe piss him off a little. God only knew how he’d pissed you off time and again. He needed a taste.

You just needed a solid distraction. And what better distraction than another man to prove to Jake that you could play at a game. 

Just because you were pregnant didn’t mean you couldn’t do as he did. . . You know. . . .mess around like him. How he performed his little stunts for God and everybody to see and hear. . . Would he be okay with it if you did the same? It seemed like an interesting experiment.

The spiral of negative emotion towards him had started with how selfish he was being with the apartment rules. Because, yes you were just sick and tired of Jake and Maya flaunting their shit. That was the root of it. And when your mind had wandered just far enough to retaliate. . . you’d decided to push in to the urge. 

You wanted your own thing to show off. . . Your own person to be obnoxious and publicly affectionate with you. And you had the perfect person in mind. . . someone who’d shown interest time after time. . . Going all the way back to sophomore year of high school. The very same person who was about to spend the next few hours with you to study.

Though, you couldn’t help but wonder. . . Even with how interested he’d been before, would he mind your pregnancy? 

You figured to test it; there was no use in trying to hide your round belly from your (admittedly cute) study buddy. Hopefully he’d find you, as a pregnant woman, just as appealing as he did before he knew you were pregnant. 

You’d decided on your dark brown jumpsuit, which complimented your body just right. With the weather being chillier, you decided on a tight white mock neck underneath. The jumpsuit was your new favorite piece of clothing. You hadn’t worn it out yet, but it actually fit your changing body well. You’d ordered a few failed attempts at a jumper like Gia’s, and you’d finally found one that fit your rapidly transforming body. The material of the suit was soft and stretchy, meaning it would be a go-to for the next several months. 

It wasn’t even maternity – that was your favorite part! Outfits like the one you were eyeing yourself in kept you from having to wear clothes made exclusively for pregnant women. In fact, due to its incredibly flexible nature, you already had a few other colors by the same brand in your Amazon cart. . . Cute, comfy, and not made for pregnant ladies only.

The idea of wearing maternity clothing was still something you were warming up to. . .  You’d discovered on BabyTok that a lot of expecting mothers hated wearing maternity clothes. The general consensus (that you agreed with) was that it made them feel even more ostracized when they already felt like your body wasn’t your own. 

After having the full ensemble put together, you turned to glimpse at your ass in the suit, adjusting your gold jewelry as you turned back around to face the front. 

You were beyond happy with what you saw. 

Adorable and sexy all in one outfit. Your curves were being hugged in all of the right places: boobs, belly, butt. And, even then, the jumper still left some mystery with its looser parts. . . You felt confident. 

The white sneakers and white mini crew socks added the ideal final touch, helping you to feel even more comfortable and excited by your outfit with the other trendy addition. (Thank you, blessed Target and your off-brand tennis shoes.)

The thought made you momentarily think about making a Target baby registry when the time came. Would Jake want to be involved in that? You wanted him to be. . . Ugh. You actually hated how badly you wanted him to be in the middle of all of it with you. 

You were supposed to be mad at him!

As you slung your belt bag over your chest, you huffed at the thought, tightening your bag a little to balance just right over your bigger breasts. And, as you did so, your mind started drifting. Drifting to the same eyes you always had waiting for you at the back of your mind. The eyes you wanted looking at you, admiring you. . . They weren’t Theo’s. Not at all. These eyes were Amber-brown and darkened naturally when they took you in (rather, they used to darken at you).

Then, there were the calloused hands you wanted to meet you at the end of the day, in your bedroom, to help you take off this outfit. Piece. By. Piece.

You growled to yourself, readjusting the belt bag once more to not be so tight over your boobs. 

Damn that fucker. Jake was like a thorn in your side—making his way into thoughts of yours without giving you a chance to combat it.

God, you just needed to focus on another man. Jake had Maya. You needed someone, too. Right? It was going to help. It would be an attempt, at the very least, to get your mind off of your baby’s (smoking hot) daddy. 

Once more, you eyed your outfit – your little round belly, in particular. You loved how it stretched the material at your waist just enough to see there was a baby in there. . . your baby. How could you be so proud of a life that you hadn’t even held in your arms yet?

Your phone dinged from where it laid on your comforter. You walked to check it, finding a quick text from Theo to ask if you wanted him to pick you up. And. . . you agreed . . . It was the perfect start to your plan.  

As soon as you sent it, though, you suddenly felt a solid moment of pause at the idea of dating another man while being pregnant with Jake’s baby. 

You didn’t want anyone else. Really. You knew it. Your body grew instantly uncomfortable at the idea of someone else. You craved one person in particular and it was not Theo. . . but who’s to say it couldn’t be Theo? Or any other man, for that matter? It could be. It could. . .

If Jake was able to move on from you, you could move the fuck on from him, too. 

So, with that thought, you ignored the pull towards Jake. Didn’t need him infiltrating your fresh state of mind.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once Theo had texted that he was about ten minutes away, you decided you’d make your way out to the living room. 

But, of course, the other occupant of the living room at that moment was someone you did not intend on seeing. Didn’t want to see him. Jake, sitting on the couch watching some documentary. 

He wasn’t wearing PJ’s on this gloomy, rainy Sunday afternoon, but rather a sexy ass outfit (What was he dressed up for? Could you not catch a fucking break?!). 

Looking at him, all you could imagine was being held close enough to feel him hard, against your ass, hand cupping your breast just like you’d needed so badly. . . 

Last night, he’d made you feel so many emotions. Two of which being seriously intense longing and lust. And he’d seemed to feel the exact same way. . . 

. . .Only to go back to his room and make it no secret that he was fucking Maya into his mattress and not you. 

He offered to come to you, y/n. . . a voice whispered, sounding like Elsie. It was something she would say. But, you already knew what you’d tell her. It was what you’d told him and what you’d been telling yourself. 

It wasn’t right. Last night had been enough to make that apparent to you. . . and hopefully him, too. It would be a mistake and it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all to do that shit–even if the other person in the equation was someone you despised as much as you were growing to despise Maya.

But, alas, you had no ground to stand on. . . He wasn’t your boyf—. 

Well, yeah, actually. You did have some ground. You would pull the motherfucking Baby Mama card if you had to.

You yanked a Canada Dry from the fridge before going to wait in the doorway for Theo. 

Back to square one of being pissed with Jake.  Hearing Maya outright crying and moaning his name repeatedly felt blasphemous (dramatic, but whatever). . . You were even more tired of hearing him – the same moans and groans that had once been your favorite sound. . . . You were just damn tired of it.

As you popped the can open to take a decent swig, you worked to convince yourself that it mostly annoyed you. Just because it kept you from getting enough sleep for you and a baby. But you knew, quite frankly, it was because you cared more than you should have about it. 

What you didn’t care for was hearing said baby’s father fuck another woman any and every way she wanted. 

Not when there was a time it had been you instead. 

You let your eyes travel to him, sitting on the couch. The profile of his face was all you could see. The sharp outline of his jaw. . . The straight bridge of his nose, begging to be traced by your finger. His pretty mouth, lips slightly open before he licked them in anticipation at the screen in front of him. 

Had he not noticed you? Or was he purposefully ignoring you? Whatever. It didn’t matter.

Even though it was wrong, you weren’t able to help the way your brain spiraled at the thoughts of endless summer days as you surveyed him. You thought of those blissful days where it had been you he was fucking so well you saw stars over and over again. . . leaving you with a dull ache between your legs from how fucking good he’d given it. . .

Ugh! No. You rubbed your thighs together, working to alleviate the thoughts that had your panties getting slightly damp. Motherfucker. 

Because, again, everything you’d had to witness between him and Maya and he hadn’t even cared. . . . fucking jackass. Acted like he cared so much that day in the kitchen. Didn’t want to let go of what you’d had. But then he’d moved on to what had been patiently waiting for him. . . So fucking soon after. You hadn’t had time to catch your breath.

Truly. Fuck Jake Kiszka. The butterflies that jittered in your belly at your inappropriate thoughts were simply confused as hell. . . 

“How you feeling today?” He asked, not looking away from the television, definitely sensing your presence behind him. 

God. . . stop acting like you care.

“Fine,” you plainly stated, tone clipped, rubbing your belly briefly.

You looked away as soon as he turned his head in your direction, avoiding eye contact with him. But you could feel his eyes piercing burning holes in you from the couch. You busied yourself on your phone, ignoring him. You checked your Ovia app for the second time today. 

“You sure about that?” He asked, his voice getting buried in the back of your mind as your eyes traced the new baby facts again. 

Size of an avocado. Legs were officially longer than arms. . . could bend his or her knees and elbows now. . . Baby might be growing hair (would it be his color? Or yours?). . . Baby’s heart is still under construction but capable of pumping 25 quarts of blood a day. . .

You realized then and there that, in spite of how pissed you were with him, you wanted him to live all of this in real time with you – wanted to tell him all of these new things about the baby.

“Baby is the size of an avocado today,” you meekly stated, not wanting to get all mushy when you could have slapped him and felt fine with it. 

“What?” 

“What do you mean, what? I just told you what,” you snapped your eyes over to him on the couch, but realized he was standing and gathering his bag of almonds and glass of water to head over your way. 

You moved closer to the door, not caring to smell hints of sandalwood or vanilla or citrus or amber . . . whatever the fuck he’d chosen to use to smell sexy today. 

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head on his way to the kitchen. 

You followed every one of his movements; watched him put the almonds in the pantry, then eyed his firm grip on the glass cup as he finished the drink off in one final sip. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he closed his eyes to savor it. You saw as a few drops from the drink slipped from the glass, down his chin, and all the way to his chest. Damn. Right down the middle of his perfectly toned and tanned pectoral muscles. When he went to wash it in the sink, you observed closely as he swiped under his plump bottom lip with his thumb to catch the remnants of water. 

In no time, he was done washing the cup and facing you again. A tiny grin quirked on his lips and you realized it was probably because you still had your mouth open watching him. Quickly, you shut it and raised a brow at him. 

“Don’t smile at me.” You sounded ridiculous, but you were trying to cover up your moment of staring at him. Didn’t want to seem weak.

“I apologize for smiling,” he responded, his eyes rolling with the words the slightest bit. “What were you saying before?”

“You seriously already forgot?”

“No. God,” he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was trying to spark the conversation to life again.”

“By acting like you forgot what I said?” Damn it all to hell – what was wrong with you?

“Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not,” you retorted, knowing better. You were upset. . . not about this, in particular. Just him. Just upset with him. 

“Yes you are.”

“Stop,” you bit back, not wanting him to see through you. “If you would have just listened the first time and not asked me ‘what’, then we would already be done talki–,” growling with a huff, you frustratedly tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “I blatantly said that it was about the baby. You knew what I was talking about,” you looked down at your phone, doom scrolling on the app – looking at past and future weeks in your pregnancy. “Just listen better next time and you won’t have to talk to me for so long.”

Okay, now you were letting off that you were weak. You sounded pathetic. Were you really feeling insecure about that at the root of it all? Did you feel like he didn’t want to talk to you? 

If you were being honest, you did feel like a burden and the tears accumulating in the back of your throat were proof of it. Part of you felt completely inadequate and like he couldn’t care. But. . . if logic was to speak and remind of what was real, you would realize he was the one that initiated the conversation in the first place. Of course he wanted to talk to you. . . 

Or was he just being nice?

“Goddamn, yes ma’am. Sorry for my lack of rapt attention and preparedness. I’ll pay better attention next time,” he grit back. “Jesus Christ.”

You couldn’t blame his frustration. There was no denying you sounded crazy. This was becoming something it didn’t need to because you were grumpy with him and just generally hormonal. 

Looking down, you thought you’d offer some sort of apology. There was no use in being completely unreasonable. “I’m sorry I’m being so moody and grumpy. These hormones are all over the place,” you reasoned, not wanting to divulge your complete irritation with him you’d sat on all afternoon. 

You saw him move from your peripheral. Quickly, you came to terms with the fact that he was coming close enough for you to smell him, despite your efforts to avoid him. And if he didn’t smell more incredible than any other man to ever exist. . . fuck.

You looked up from where you’d started checking your nails, not able to deny his closeness. It spiked your heart rate. He was leaning his back against the counter, right next to where you stood by the door. Personal space was a foreign concept, apparently.

His eyes drifted over you, your skin flaming at the attention from him. His gaze skated over your figure – no doubt he was taking in the outfit. You felt pretty fuckin’ hot. This was the first time you’d felt genuinely pretty in a long time. You could only hope he saw you and thought so, too. 

“You look fucking—wow,” he commented, his voice low enough for you to feel his words. “I can’t put it into words. But, damn, this outfit,” he smirked, nodding his head at you before letting his eyes land on your round belly with a soft smile before he looked at you. “I like how the baby looks in it, too.”

You blushed. That was sweet as hell. 

“Thanks,” you sunk your eyes into his before letting your eyes rake his figure. If he could do it, you would, too. 

He looked fine as hell in his all black outfit with that damn mustache coming in again. . . You could think of a few things that could settle an argument or two. You thought of him exposing your bare breast last night, his dick hard and pressing into your ass. . . . Wanted to feel him grind against you right now. Quite frankly, looking at him, all you wanted to do was lay across the kitchen counter and let him –. 

No. 

That was the same counter he’d betrayed your rules on. Dammit. You were so mad at him. Was it legitimate? You couldn’t tell. Hormones and shit. 

The knock against the door was what broke you from your reverie, eyes having been locked on him for far too long. 

“You goin’ somewhere?” He asked, folding his arms tighter across his chest. You didn’t look at his biceps or the jewelry on his hands and wrists. Didn’t think of the way his earring hung just right for you to see it through the thick tresses of his long, wavy hair. 

Instead, you took those thoughts and turned them into another woman moaning his name. 

Goddamn, y/n. He hasn’t fucking cheated on you. For God’s sake. Slow your damn roll.

“Yes,” you stated, moving to check your makeup in the living room mirror. When you reaffirmed why you felt so damn confident today, you unlocked the door, opening it so Jake could see for himself. He’d moved from his space at the counter, behind you, out of curiosity. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” Theo’s grin took up his entire boyish face, his fresh haircut complimented his square jawline well. His excited energy fed the tense air perfectly. Just like you wanted. 

“Oh. . . study buddy. . . I remember you,” Jake commented behind you. His tone was almost mocking, challenging the situation. “Making flashcards or some shit, I presume?”

“Depends, man. Might have other goals in mind for today. . .,” Theo winked in Jake’s direction, then yours. You couldn’t help the smirk that fell across your features at his response to Jake. “Little Miss Hot Thang here still needs to go on a date with me like she promised. Maybe we can talk about that, too,” he winked at you. Your eyes smiled, but your lips couldn’t quite reach them.

Little Miss Hot Thang? What?

Though, you had to applaud Theo, he was playing into what you’d wanted perfectly – his little crush on you was shining through. The little cocky lilt in his tone that seemed to be consistently present made your skin crawl just a bit, but you were mostly used to it after all of the studying and times you’d sat next to him in class. 

Right now, you only cared to make a point to Jake, though, and Theo’s tone was a non-issue. Though, you hoped his words were clicking with Jake like you wanted them to. 

“Oh, yeah? Wanna take her out on a date?” Jake snipped from behind you.

Your eyes twinkled at the sound of his response, tummy somersaulting at the edge in his voice. 

It was like a scene playing out exactly as you’d want it to as the viewer. . . The only thing that sucked, though, was that even with the two handsome men standing on either side of you, your body was still only pulling you to the wrong one. The handsome one behind you, dressed in all black. The same one smelling like the most incredible mixture of sandalwood, vanilla, and amber. You caught a whiff of something new, too. . . A different cologne? 

You wanted to sink into him. . . let him hold you again, just like he had on Friday.

You did not feel pulled at all to the one in front of you, dressed in his dark wash skinny jeans and a Pratt Football Alumni sweatshirt. The man you didn’t want, that you were about to flirt with even more. It made you less and less excited by the minute for what you were egging on. . . Did you even want it? Was this a stupid idea? You were simply encouraging it for the sole purpose of giving Jake a taste of his own medicine.

Was it worth it?

It made you question if you were sure you wanted to continue entertaining it if you knew you didn’t actually want him.

“Of course I want to take her on a date. You kidding?” Theo smiled, not assuming anything but the best of the situation, his eyes finding yours flirtatiously. “Who wouldn’t?”

You gave a sideways grin to him, feeling unsure of it all.

“And you’re sure she wants it, too?” Jake asked, challenging him with a scoff in his tone.

Suddenly irked by his questioning, you turned your head to the side to address him, still not fully looking at him. You relied solely on your turned head for him to acknowledge that you were speaking to him. 

“Not your damn business, Jake,” you snapped, contemplating your next words. “But, yes, I would love to go on a date with him, if you must know. Just like old times.” 

You tacked the last words onto the end for extra emphasis. . . . For extra emphasis on the web of fibs you were delicately weaving.

The words made Theo’s smile grow as he leaned towards you, tucking a lock of freshly curled hair behind your ear. 

The action made your heart rate pick up – which made you think. Perhaps there was hope you could string this along—just for long enough to shut Jake out. If the tall blonde man was making your heart rate speed up now, he would continue to do that, right? Maybe this revisited ‘romance’ would actually turn into more. . .

Ugh. But was that what you wanted?

The answer was more than likely a big fat no. Fuck no. 

Though, you did like what it was doing to Jake. Especially when you looked over your shoulder and saw the pink tinge that had enveloped the apples of his cheeks, how his jaw was set in tight tension. His eyes were trained on Theodore, observing him. Judging him. And when you saw the sudden flare of his nostrils, you knew. 

This was making him angry. You’d go as far to say jealous, even. Could it be?

And as horrible as you knew it was, it felt way too fucking good. 

“Just like old times?” He questioned, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes at the man in the doorway.

“We dated in high school,” Theo answered for you, completely oblivious of Jake’s irritation towards him. For all he knew, Jake was just an asshole. Was he even picking up on Jake’s mood?

Better that he didn’t. You didn’t want him thinking there was anything more between you and your roommate; even though the baby growing in your belly said much differently. But you were sure Jake’s little perturbed act was something Theo would eventually catch onto. . . . so, you tried to get him off of the subject one more time. 

Matching his level of irritation seemed the only possible solution to shut him up. 

You turned fully around to face the long-haired man. His arms were crossed, hands wrapped tightly around his biceps and squeezing intermittently. You observed his handsome features for maybe one second too long, but you couldn’t help it. The beauty mark on his right cheek, along with a couple of tiny scars under his left cheek bone caught your eye – parts of his face you’d memorized months ago. His tanned skin was the perfect canvas for every single precious mark it honed. Would your child have any of the same freckles he did?

Not letting yourself get too lost in that devastating train of thought, you tried to catch his eyes and to no avail. He was hard pressed to intimidate your study buddy or some shit. 

When you cleared your throat to gain his attention, his hard gaze finally landed on you rather than the poor, unassuming man in Pratt gear behind you. But. . . . you lost all ammunition to say anything hateful to him when his stare penetrated your own. The way his eyes bore into yours made your breath catch in your throat.

You were right before – you could read him well. And while he was obviously angry and (oddly) jealous. . . . you also sensed a tinge of hurt behind his darkened irises. You’d seen his eyes falter like this before. . . the way he would try to hide the hurt behind a sort of tough act. 

“Jake,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. You didn’t know what you were trying to communicate to him, but you had a feeling he’d catch on to whatever it was. 

He didn’t flinch away. No, he let you touch him, leaning into it the slightest bit. His eyes glimmered for the briefest moment, holding yours. . . . . Before he suddenly was moving away. You were losing him. And, instantly, you knew that the impending fling behind you was definitely not what you wanted.

God. What had your life come to?

“Alright, well, so be it,” the stark tone in his voice, along with the way his eyes stayed trained on yours, made your skin prick with goosebumps and all of your senses flare. “I suppose you’re right. Nothing you do truly is my business. Just as mine isn’t yours, right?”

Thankfully, his biting words made your skin flame once more in aggravation. You were mad at him. Right? You could fight those words.

You wanted to keep whatever upper hand you’d created, so you had to be quick with your next words. And actions. 

You squinted at Jake, inhaling deeply and pursing your lips. Then, without taking another second to think it through, you turned once more. Leaning into Theo, you let your hand lay flat on his buff chest. The blonde then placed a sure hand on your hip, looking down at you with a raised brow and smirk. You sort of enjoyed it, but you also felt a little icky about it. Luckily, you knew how to keep face. 

Looking over your shoulder once more to say something, the words caught in your throat when you saw his fists balled up, nails surely digging tiny abrasions in the palms of his hands.

You would venture to say his current feelings teetered on the edge of how you felt towards him and his girlfriend. 

Feels great, doesn’t it, Jake? 

Yeah. . . . . You were completely sure you wanted to play this little game. With the way he was reacting, you were getting curious to see just how far it could go. . . 

From behind, you heard Jake shuffling away, his door closing a little louder than normal. A slam, yes, but not enough to alert Theo to anything going awry. The tall man’s blue-green eyes were sincerely sparkling as he grabbed hold of your hand gently.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You remembered you wanted to talk to Jake about the rules as you pulled out of the complex in Theo’s Mustang. His mouth was going a million miles a minute with shit you didn’t care much about. So, you used his personally-created distraction to your advantage and decided to text Jake about wanting to discuss something with him.

Might as well catch him while the fire’s hot. Maybe he’ll actually pay attention.

It took him a few minutes to respond. It made you momentarily question sending it to him after you’d just irked him as you had at the apartment. 

Jake, 3:05 p.m.: oh. So you’re planning on coming back tonight, huh? 

Your heart jumped in your throat. Motherfucker. 

You, 3:05 p.m.: We are purely studying tonight. 

Jake, 3:06 p.m.: is that what lover boy wants? A ‘pure’ little study date? 

You glanced over at your classmate as your senses flamed with Jake’s words. Fuck him and his invasive questions. You locked your phone. 

It was a good damn time to finally look up and acknowledge the other person in the car. You figured this, because as soon as you looked over to Theo, he was waiting on you, trying to include you in conversation.  Just at that moment. 

“Don’t you agree?”

Shit. Agree with what? You’d totally tuned him out.

“About. . .?” You trailed, feigning interest and trying to act like you were thinking of all of the things he’d said. “I’m still stuck on what you said earlier about. . .,” your eyes glanced at his Pratt sweatshirt. You cleared your throat, “About school.”

God, that was a step too far. Brave? Stupid? You didn’t even know if he’d mentioned school! Fuck.

But, you were relieved when he laughed, nodding his head as he went ahead at a green light. The smell of his Black Ice car freshener was almost too much for your pregnant super-senses. 

“Yeah, me too. That professor is crazy!” He said, going ahead as the light changed. “No, but do you agree that this test is going to be a piece of cake?”

Wow. So he really had spent the past several minutes talking about school and a test? Shit. You had imagined there’d been more. Didn’t know why. It was Theo. He had a one-track-mind. He was all about school and Pratt. 

Meanwhile, you weren’t even interested enough in school to carry a fully thought-out conversation about it, much less drone on and fucking on about it. 

“Oh, yeah,” you knit your brows. “Piece of cake. We’ve got it in the bag.”

“So. . . you sure you don’t want to make tonight our date then?” He proposed, a blush rising in your cheeks with the lift of his brow. Oh.

Answer was. . . Yes. You were sure you didn’t want to go on a date tonight. Didn’t want to go on one at all, if you were honest. Or did you? With the way the blush hadn’t left your cheeks yet, you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about it at the moment. 

It was confusing as hell. But, you’d dug your own grave. You had led him on. 

Momentarily, you contemplated it. . . If you did it tonight, would that help you to get it over with sooner? Be rid of this guy who’d annoyed you more often than not in recent times? 

Ugh. No. You couldn’t let it end after one night. You needed to drag it out. 

“Why don’t we start with some studying and then we can talk a little more on that?” You tried, voice cracking a bit on the last word, feeling utterly unsure of it all. 

“So . . . .,” he trailed, waiting for you to continue. 

“So, I’d say we will find another night to have our date. Make it special,” you slapped a sweet grin on. Make it special? God, shut up, y/n. “I promise.”

His eyes shone, hand coming to grip yours. Fuck, yours were clammy as hell. 

“Yeah, special,” he enthused, your stomach dropping at the word. “I like the sound of that, y/n.” 

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you were finally home from your excursion, you could have sighed with the deepest relief. You’d have been lying if you said your social battery wasn’t drained. You’d worked to keep up with the flirtiness, acting flirty even when it felt completely unauthentic. 

But. . . Unfortunately for you, there wasn’t a moment to sigh with relief, being immediately met by Jake. Still awake and reading a book in the armchair. Didn’t want to make him suspicious of you being turned off by Theo in any way. You needed to convince him that you were interested in the jock. 

You figured you might as well start off strong. 

“I really like him,” you breathed the supposed lie, not able to contain the eye roll threatening to expose your charade.

Jake hmphed from his spot in the chair, not even caring to look up from his book. “Good for you, y/n.” His tone was a grumble as he never lifted his eyes from the page, in fact turning to the next page, more invested in the literature than you. 

You turned to hang your belt bag next to the door, swishing your leftover Pink Drink after the bag was put away. When you walked to put the drink on a coaster in the living room, you looked over to Jake, who was still busy reading. Even though he seemed to be ignoring you, you suddenly wanted to spend some time with him. But, before you could get situated on the couch, you decided on going to your room to change. 

As comfortable as your outfit had been, it still wasn’t sweatpants. And the basket of freshly clean clothes you’d left on your floor held your comfiest pair of sweatpants and your biggest Pratt sweatshirt, made of the softest cotton material. You were quickly unlacing your tennis shoes and stripping out of your jumper and undershirt and bra (good god, so uncomfortable). Once you were in the set of comfy clothes, you felt instant relief. 

You’d kept your socks on, feeling abnormally chilly. December’s evening weather was still sticking to your skin. It was fucking nice to not be burning up hot. 

With one last glance to the side, you  grabbed your own book to read, sitting on your bedside table. One from your recent night out with Jake. You figured it wouldn’t hurt you to sit with him in the living room and read at the same time as he did. It had the potential to be a nice, calm setting. 

Just before you could make it out of your bedroom, you went to grab your fluffy blanket from your bed – only to find Stevie snoozing away on it. Your heart swelled at her deep sleeping breaths, completely at peace. Being as you were not about to wake her, you just decided to head to the living room and use the blanket you kept in there. 

Water was your first priority before a blanket, though. Your mouth had turned to sandpaper in the time between leaving the living room and walking from your room, back to the common area. You were always thirsty these days. 

Though, as you went to grab your giant Stanley from where you’d left it earlier, you noticed it freshly washed next to the sink. What. . .? You hadn’t–? Jake must’ve done it. 

Your heart tripped over itself. Why did he. . .? Finding your voice, you asked him. “Did you wash my Stanley?”  

“Yeah, figured you’d be thirsty when you got home,” he called from the living room, just loud enough for you to hear in the quietness of your apartment. “You fill that giant ass thing up at least twice a day and down it like it’s nothing. And I hadn’t seen you fill it up even once before you left.”

But. . . . he’d been so angry when you’d left earlier? Why was he taking care of you and your things?

“I filled it up when I came out this morning,” you clarified, shocked that he’d noticed your routine of sorts. “But I didn’t get to finish it before I left. Got left on the counter for a Canada Dry,” you made a noise of realization, thinking how delicious one of those would taste right now, too.

When you went to grab the ice cold can, you got the most stereotypical pregnant girl craving. Ice cream. 

And. . . you had absolutely zero of it. 

“Dammit,” you said to yourself, shutting the freezer door in quiet resolution. In slight frustration, you huffed, blowing hair off your face. 

You’d survive. Still really freakin’ sad, though. You could feel the pout making its way to your features all on its own – you couldn’t control it. The cravings came with a vengeance in recent weeks. 

When you got to the living room, you fluffed the cozy blanket that you kept on the back of the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders. And in no time, you were sitting, tucking yourself as far into the couch as possible, making sure to lean against the arm of the couch that allowed you to see Jake. 

What if you wanted to talk to him about something you learned about the baby as you read? You’d want to see his face to talk to him. And what was wrong with liking a nice view as you read?

As soon as you’d snuggled in with a pillow tucked just right behind your back to support you, you went to open your book, only to find a disappointing reality. 

There was no book. No Stanley filled with water. Just the Canada Dry. You’d left your book and your Stanley (still unfilled, forgot to do that, too, you thought) on the kitchen counter. 

“Fuck!” You griped to yourself, letting your head fall, placing your hands over your face. You’d just gotten comfy and now you’d have to get up again. Getting comfortable was becoming a chore. 

The tears were coming. Dammit. 

But, in almost no time, you felt a presence next to you, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Jake asked, nearby and your ears instantly tuning in to him, head still in your hands. 

“Pregnant brain,” you mumbled, the words smooshed into an incoherent response. 

“What?” 

You sighed, bringing your hands to your cheeks to wipe any tears that might have made tracks. Luckily, most had fallen into your hands to avoid a mess of mascara. Though, Jake’s thumb came up briefly to wipe just under your right eye. His finger on your skin, so gentle and making your heart race. 

There was no resentment in his eyes when you briefly caught them before looking away. It was as though earlier had never happened. No anger or irate energy between you two. Just compassion coming directly from the man next to you. 

Then, his hand was gone, his arms crossing over the thigh, as he took a knee next to the couch. He had leaned in close enough that your head was fuzzy with the scent of him—he smelled so delicious. Although, that new fragrance to his cologne you’d smelled earlier. . . it was there again. What was it? 

“New cologne?” You questioned, sniffing the onslaught of tears away.

“Doesn’t matter right now.”

“I wanna know.”

“Answer me first,” he insisted. “Why are you crying?”

You growled, irritated with his insistence. Looking over towards him, you locked eyes with his. Your heart leapt at how his eyes gazed back at yours. . . His stare was unwavering, showing just how much he cared.

“My pregnant brain,” you tried again, grumbling. The pouting still couldn’t be helped. “I forgot my fucking Stanley and book in the kitchen. And I just got comfortable,” you huffed, going to throw the blanket off from around you. 

Jake’s hand came up, holding yours to stop you. “No, you stay. Let me get it.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue and not having to move sounded nice. His hand on yours also had you completely frozen. “Okay,” you whispered, eyes growing wet again at his kindness. 

A loose grin spread across his pretty lips and he was gone at a moment’s notice to grab your things for you. 

Your tummy fluttered at him, completely in awe of his gesture. Though, you shouldn’t have been. He kept doing things like this. Little things to help and show he cared. . .

Why were you upset with him again?

“Did you forget to fill the Stanley?” Jake questioned from the kitchen, your head snapping in his direction.

The tears were back, for God knows why. “Yes,” you cried. “I’m sorry you have to—.”

“Why are you sorry, honey?” he responded, inflection showing nothing but a genuine desire to help. “I’m here to help you. I told you this.”

Yeah, because Maya wants you to.

Aaand you were annoyed again.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, checking your less than pretty manicure. You could stand to have another done soon, the chipped black paint on your nails having seen better days.

In no time, he was walking back to you with the Stanley full and your book in his other hand. He was wrinkling his eyebrows, one raised a bit more than the other in curiosity at you. You felt how your face was still reading unhappiness. Thanks to your lovely thought process. But, then, your tummy rumbled (loudly), reminding you of the other reason you were cranky.

You flushed, embarrassed by the sound. 

God, be a little more subtle, sweet baby. Please.

It had turned into even more than ice cream, though. You realized you hadn’t eaten since the morning and you were feeling it now. The ice cream didn’t even sound overwhelmingly delicious anymore. . . all you could do now was imagine how incredible a giant bowl of mixed melons would be with an even bigger bowl of pasta. Any kind. Every kind. 

Damn. You really were going to have to get off this couch. Jake was not about to be your errand boy – you weren’t going to let him do that shit. It made you feel really bad to make him do all of the work and running around when you were fully capable. 

You figured it would be best to save his willingness to help until you were further along. Lord knew he would get tired of this ‘helping’ thing eventually.  

“You hungry?” He asked, sitting on the couch, alongside your stretched out legs. “I can get you whatever you–.”

“No,” you shook your head, moving to get up, managing to flip the blanket off of you this time without him stopping you. “I’m not going to make you do that shit.”

“You’re not making me do anything, y/n,” he said, emphasizing his kind words with another grin, this time laughing a bit to show his beautiful smile. “I want to do whatever I can to–.”

“Jake. That’s not fair to you,” you said, swinging your legs off the couch, abandoning the pillow supporting your achy back. This time, he did stop you again, placing his hand on your thigh, as soon as you’d been sitting next to him. His palm rested dangerously close to a place he shouldn’t be close to. 

But, he wasn’t moving his hand and you sure as hell weren’t feeling an urge to move it. It felt so good to have him touching you again. And when he started rubbing gentle circles into the thickness of your thighs through your baggy sweatpants. . . Ugh.

Your mind flashed back to the kitchen, how he’d held you so close and massaged your breast. . . . the same way he was now massaging your thigh. 

You were going to light on fire. . . with absolutely zero complaints. You’d die happy if you were set to flame by his touch alone. 

Goddamn, y/n. Get it the fuck together.

Before you could immerse yourself any further into your thought process, your stomach made yet another animalistic sound you couldn’t control.

“God,” you shuddered, closing your eyes with a shake of your head. “That’s embarrassing.”

“How is it embarrassing?” He flashed his eyes at you, a dimple in his cheek with his words.

“Well, apparently the baby is just feeling the need to expose me from the inside out,” you complained, placing a hand to your heated forehead. “I can’t even fib and say I’m fine because you’d know I’m bullshitting you, thanks to our child.”

He chuckled, a sexy rasp to it. “I’m glad she’s exposing you because it helps me to know how I can assist you.”

“No, Jake,” you groaned, rubbing your temples with your pointer finger and thumb. “I already told you. . . I don’t want you being unfair to yourself. Don’t hyperextend yourself on my behalf.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat, contemplating what he wanted to say next as he clutched firmly to your thigh, with his other hand now holding his chin. Tapping a couple times with his pointer, he let go of his face and your leg at the same time. Your leg automatically felt the loss, in sudden desperate need of his touch again. 

Leaning forward, elbows pressed to his firm thighs, you watched as the muscles in his back flexed so exquisitely through his favorite thin, white, cut up t-shirt. Same one he’d been wearing so long ago, the night in the bathroom. . . when Theo had been over for a stupid fucking study session. Studying had been utterly fucking pointless that night after how Jake had handled you in the bathroom. 

You shook yourself of the memory, already feeling yourself beginning to pulse with desire at the memory alone. How did he have this motherfucking hold on you? No other man had ever done this to you. Was it because you were carrying his baby? Did that make it inherently worse or some shit? 

Watching carefully, you noticed how his arms filled out the sleeves more-so now than they had before. . . the sight quickly brought you back to the present. He’d slowly put on a little bit of weight, in all of the best areas possible. 

Happier than before, perhaps? 

You licked your lips absently, appreciating his figure while he was so near to you. 

And, as if on cue, your stomach started to grumble again. Fuck. Mocking you and your starving ass. . . suddenly hungry for much more than fruit and pasta and motherfuckin’ ice cream. 

“It’s for the baby,” he finally said, after having stared into space for way too long. “Let me do it if it’s for the baby, at least. Please. It’s all I can do right now – help you to help her.”

Her. You wondered why he was so set on that gender. 

More than that, though, you were wondering why it felt like an actual punch to the chest that he wasn’t wanting to help you for you. You didn’t want him to. You’d been through this mental battle many more times than you cared to admit. It was so selfish to think about yourself over the baby. Of course he’d want to help the baby. It had nothing to do with an obligation to you. 

“It’s the best I can do for my baby at the moment, y/n. I’m not doing anything else tonight, so it’s the perfect opportuni–.”

Your stomach growled once more and you had absolutely zero energy to be argumentative.

“Fine,” you relented with a sigh. “But, I am upset you’re doing all of this for me when there isn’t really a way I can repay you,” you remarked, getting up from your spot on the couch, stretching your limbs to loosen up as much as you could. 

“Damn, my body hurts,” you mentioned, offhandedly. You were tense and your back wasn’t loving the extra weight getting added to your body by the day. Not to mention, your boobs felt so heavy — as always these days. 

“Can we go somewhere to get stuff? Make it here or go out? I don’t care; we just don’t have what I want here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed without hesitation. “Absolutely.” 

“Cool,” you grinned. “I’m sorry you have to–.”

“Don’t say sorry,” he groaned from deep in his throat, irritated but not irate. 

You started a trek to your room to gather things to get ready when he made you stop in your tracks with one utterance of your name. “Y/n,” he started, tone stern. Right before you could walk away from the couch to grab your Chuck Taylors and put on a bra, you turned on your heel to observe him, ready to take whatever he had to say with as much ease as possible. 

His tone sounded dangerous – your blood licked with desire at the commanding way he’d spoken your name. 

You raised a brow, as if asking ‘what?’. 

He continued, his eyes brightening when he got your attention, but he didn’t change the tone of his voice right away. It made your skin tingle. “I am the one who can’t begin to repay you.” Moving forward a couple steps, he held your cheek so delicately in his strong hand. “You’re growing my baby–our baby–every day. I can’t even begin to–,” he shook his head, dropping his hand as he went to cover his eyes, nose twitching with a light sniffle. When he looked up again, his eyes were threatening to let tears fall, but his voice was steady as he spoke. “You are not the one to worry about repayment. I don’t need anything in return for the things I’m doing to simply  be there for you while you make a whole ass human being.”

The way your cheeks pinkened was uncontrollable. Hearing him say such intimate words was making your head spin. You wished those words could translate into him caring as much for you as he did the child you were carrying, but you knew there was a fat ass chance of that ever, ever happening. You’d given that up with him. 

“You helped in making the little bean,” you replied, voice thicker than you expected, tacking a laugh to the end of your line. You hoped it distracted from the way your voice had held so much emotion. 

Clearing your throat, you finally went to walk to your room. But, after walking halfway to your bedroom, you paused right before making it to the hallway from the living room. 

Why, when you were just complaining of your aching body, were you about to go put on a damn bra?

“Would you mind if I went braless?” You asked, turning to your roommate, getting his opinion. Didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by any means. 

Jake blinked a few times, having to cough a couple times to come to the question. Shit. Even the question alone had made him feel uneasy. 

“It’s fine. I’ll go put one on,” you started, turning back around. Over your shoulder, you continued. “I don’t want to make you feel–.”

“I would rather you didn’t,” he said, voice husky, behind you. 

The words made you stop in your tracks. You felt the muscles in your shoulders squeeze in anticipation at the words. Even when you knew nothing could come of his words, his opinions. . . you felt them everywhere. 

Suddenly, you were back in the kitchen.

“. . .Y/n– fuck,” he’d rutted against your ass, his hand moving to the bottom of your full breast to hold it in a firm grip. You’d just realized him moving his hand to see the entire breast — your nipples, straining, through the soaked-through, white fabric. “Your tits. . . they’re so fucking– Goddammit.”

Then, he’d let go of your chest to move your strap to do what you’d so desperately wanted. Needed. Once it was draped over your shoulder, he had moved a hand slowly down over your tight sternum, into the front of your camisole. When he’d grazed his fingers over your oversensitive nipple, skirting over your breast to push your flimsy shirt down, you’d whined, knees buckling. 

And, finally, as if you’d been waiting your whole life, he’d pulled your full breast out to touch the air.

The more you thought back on last night, you realized just how much he’d seemed to love your breasts. And, apparently, he wasn’t keeping it a secret from you since the incident. 

“No use hiding that I like your tits, y/n. Always have. But. . . right now?” He began speaking in the present time, as if reading your thoughts. “I love how big and full they are. . . I love why they’re bigger. . .,” He sucked in a breath, the sound rattling through his teeth as his jaw clenched. There was no missing how he seemed to move in his black pants, adjusting his sudden. . . issue. You didn’t look down to watch him. Couldn’t. His voice was like velvet with his next words. “You should know how I feel about them after the way I touched you.”

Holy–.

Speechless. You were speechless. But, you had to say something in return, so you went with the first thing that came to your mind. 

“Won’t wear one, then,” you sighed, breath caught in your lungs. Your panties were suddenly wet and sticking to you,  close to you in a way you wanted him close to you. Did he want all of that? Or was it just your tits? 

“Go wait in your room for me,” he’d whispered heatedly, his words piercing your heart at the anxious energy that had floated through your veins. 

He had wanted it last night, but you’d rejected him. . . God. 

But you literally couldn’t even imagine doing that. 

You’d chosen to cut things off with him, and he’d moved on to Maya without a second thought. Any time you said no or stopped things (pre-pregnancy most definitely included), it was always her he chose. It was obvious who his heart always instantly wanted. 

What tripped you up was the way he looked at you before he went to her. It was the same way he was drinking you in from the doorway at the moment. 

Best to not overthink it. 

Still, you couldn’t help what you said next. “I want you to be able to see what you like.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

“Why do you think the baby’s a girl?” 

You asked the question as he was driving the two of you home from Walmart. 

After walking the aisles with the sole purpose of getting exactly what you were craving, you’d left the store with everything that you’d wanted at home. 

With your pick of fruit, ice cream, and the specific type of pasta that sounded good (Penne, for some reason), he’d taken the lead on finding the ingredients for the sauce. All he had asked you was if tomato sauce sounded best or if something else sounded better. A tomato-based sauce sounded arguably more delicious, so you’d answered as such.

Once satisfied with your response, he’d gone full ‘Chef Mode’ and had promised that you wouldn’t be disappointed with his go-to, ‘staple tomato sauce’. You’d responded with your trust for his plan, giggling at his intensity as he narrowed down which ingredients would make the tastiest sauce.  

And, of course, he hadn’t allowed you to lift a finger when loading everything into the back of his Jeep. He’d helped you up and out of the passenger seat both at home and at the store, noticing your struggle to keep your balance. 

“I already told you. It’s just a feeling,” he responded, turning left down a prettier street on the 30-minute drive back home. You were passing a garden park, the streets lined with tall light posts, older with intricate detail to align with the quaint part of town. 

Lavender. . . So much of it, sprawled out in the park’s grass. It made your heart clench in your chest.

You looked at him from the corner of your eye, raising a brow with a sarcastic, skeptical face he wasn’t going to see. “You’re sure it’s not anything more? Some secret you have of wanting to be a girl dad? Braid hair? Use all of the bows in her hair?”

“Well. . . I guess that’s sort of it. I love the idea of having a boy, too, though. . .,” he said, his voice lilting at the end of the sentence to emphasize his genuine response. He sighed, scratching the side of his nose once. “It’s just. . . I really like the idea of a baby girl who reminds me of you,” he peeked over at you for a brief moment, making your heart speed at the words and the way he was looking at you. His eyes were dark in the light of the car, but his tan skin glowed under the yellow street lights. “Seeing you in her soft features. . .it gets me. She’d have your nose, your smile, your dimples, your beautiful, innocent eyes–.”

“Innocent? Oh, Jacob. You know better than that,” you laughed heartily, the words coming so smoothly from your mouth. Even after awkward lulls in your relationship with him, it seemed you could go back to that easy feeling so seamlessly – you’d found that recently. It hurt your heart that moments like this couldn’t last forever. “You know much better than that, sir.”

“You’re right, I do,” he chuckled along, clearing his throat before he adjusted himself a bit in the seat, inconspicuously. You pretended not to notice. “You can definitely be a freaky little thing when you want.”

Blushing, you were yet again caught off guard by him being so blatant with you. He kept saying things that made your heart become a flurry in your chest. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to it. 

Not wanting to lose the moment, you responded with a question that tested the waters. You played into him, just a bit. “What was your favorite thing we did that was .  . .freaky?”

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he made a sound that told you he was deep in thought. “Hm. . . That’s hard for me. . . we had a lot of sex in that span of– yeah,” he blew out a breath, once again trying to subtly move around in his seat. And, again, you acted as though you didn’t notice. “I’d say the day in the pool is a top three –  top tier – moment.”

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“It was fuckin’ hot, I don’t know. . . I loved everything about it.” He blew out a breath, relaxing a bit against his seat as he brought a hand to rest at the top of his thigh. Dangerously close to his. . . . 

You blinked as he started speaking again, switching your eyes back to his profile as he drove. “I think what turned me on the most, though, was that you were willing to give me head and ride me with everyone else so close,” he sucked in a sharp breath of air. 

You caught sight of his hand, inching just the slightest bit closer to his crotch. His fingers were now splaying out to lay delicately against his zipper. Your eyes were trailing up his form just as he stopped at a stop sign. And without any preparation at all, he caught your eye as you watched him so closely. 

Hot air caught in your lungs. 

“Yeah. That was risky as fuck,” he finished, his eyes dark under the yellow street lights lining the road.

The way your heart lurched in your chest with the way he looked at you. . . . dammit.  It made your breathing turn so heavy, filling up your lungs. When you breathed fully in, you puffed your chest out as you exhaled through your nose. And you would’ve been blind not to notice Jake’s eyes trail down. . . slowly. . . . to your full chest, staying there to admire what he saw.

In your peripheral vision, you noticed his hand inching. . . .closer. . .and closer to fully cup himself. 

You didn’t dare look down, though — too afraid to break eye contact with him and suffocate the moment completely. But, before you could worry much more about it, he spoke.

“Fuck, y/n,” he rasped, his voice deeper and needy. 

Surely this wasn’t happening again. . . . You couldn’t be tested like this again with him. You weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself this time.

Your cheeks were fully pink from hearing him say your name like that. It wasn’t new at all. No, you’d heard it many times before. He was desperate. Asking for help. Begging for it. 

You’d come so close to each other the night before. . . 

What happened next couldn’t be stopped if you tried. 

Finally, you looked down to his hand to observe his predicament. And what you found made your body instantly, completely ready for him. 

His thick shaft, straining against the tight black denim of his jeans . . . . The zipper of his jeans, aiding as well as it could in keeping him constrained. But it was no match for him.

The yellow street lamps above you created the perfect shadow to accentuate the sight before you. . . You could see the outline of him so incredibly well. 

“Please, baby,” he whined, completely at your mercy. 

What in the hell was going on? You didn’t know how it had suddenly escalated to this once again. 

But, you knew you didn’t need any other word to convince you against what you wanted — needed — to do. He had taken such good care of you all night. . . You wanted a way to repay him. 

Fuck Maya. You couldn’t help this. You were weak for him, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. The baby hormones were only making this ten times worse, you were sure. 

Your hand, clammy yet purposeful in its movements, seemed to move in slow motion towards him. 

And once you met his pants and settled a hand over where he needed you most, the car suddenly felt so small – too constricting. The hot air blowing from the vents was too much. 

You felt your breath catch in your lungs right as he took in a harsh breath of air. Your skin tingled, your entire body covered in goosebumps, despite the warm car.

With baby hairs stuck to your damp forehead, you inhaled through your nose, letting your hand fully grasp his thickness. You felt his body shiver beneath your hand. You felt your own body react to the moment, clenching around nothing for him. Holding him through the denim was slightly difficult, but you did the best you could. Touching him like this again seemed unreal. Just holding him in your hand again like this. . . It was heavenly.  

Though, you were finding as you squeezed just slightly, it was nothing like feeling the weight of it, bare in your hand. So, with a racing heart and soaking wet panties, you decided to make it happen. 

With one hand still on his dick and the other on his belt buckle, you looked up to quickly gauge his reaction. His pupils were blown out, nearly filling his entire iris, glowing as he watched you under the old street post lamps. 

You raised one brow, trying to school your features the best you could. But you knew there was no way you could honestly change the look of desire painting your features. Your heart hammered in your chest, your head light and airy. 

“Can I. . .?” You breathed, the words almost stuck in your throat. 

He cleared his throat and nodded his head a bit. “Yes, please,” he sighed, a whine at the end of please, while your hand absently stroked him. You watched his pretty face contort just the slightest bit any time you brushed the tip. He unbuckled his seatbelt, seeming to give the final go-ahead.

So, without any further direction, you moved the hand from his dick to unbuckle your seatbelt. The other hand stayed busy, unbuckling his leather belt and unbuttoning his jeans. 

However, your seatbelt was not working in your favor, the latch stuck and not letting you pull the metal from the fastener. 

“Goddammit!” You breathed in frustration, on the verge of tears at the fading opportunity and the stupid seatbelt ruining it all. 

Without any words, you saw his hand come over, your gaze lingering on two purposeful digits pushing down on the red button to the fastener just right. Your breath caught.

The way your body buzzed at the sight, you knew you needed his hands on you, too. Needed him pushing those fingers into you, against you, rolling circles against you . . . .

Though, when you witnessed the seatbelt finally becoming undone, all thoughts for yourself were flying out the window. All you could think was that you were that much closer to seeing him. Holding him in your hand. Doing whatever this was with him. 

Your panties were uncomfortably soaked when you resituated to lean over the gear shift. Though, when you did this, you remembered a new obstruction that you had to adjust with to get the position just right. 

Your belly grazed the handle of the gearshift and you suddenly weren’t looking forward to having to lean over it. Though, within seconds, without having to be told, a hand came over — same hand that unbuckled the seatbelt — to shift the car into park. But after he was done, he kept it there, hand covering the gearshift to make it more comfortable for you to adjust.

Tears pricked your eyes when you glanced up at him under bashful lashes. “Thanks,” you muttered with a blush, leaning just a little further over to continue getting his pants undone. 

“‘Course,” he replied, voice soft underneath the need. Genuinely concerned, he asked, “Is that better?”

“Yes. Much better,” you answered, no question to your tone. 

When your hands finally got his belt buckle undone, you could have cheered with excitement. But, you kept it all to yourself as you unbuttoned his pants, wanting the moment to stay calm and warm and gentle. 

Or did you want it to be gentle?

Before you could do anything else, your back started to feel the new weight that hung in front of you. This position, in the cramped car, wasn’t the best. You arched it, just a little, to try to relieve some pressure. You’d deal with the pain for a bit, though. . . For this — needed this.

What you didn’t want to deal with was having to get his jeans off. Not tonight. Not with your back beginning to ache the way it was. So, you simply pulled the zipper down, and with one more heated stare up at him through your lashes, you tucked a hand down into his pants. He didn’t take his eyes from yours. 

Your gaze never wavered as you continued from the band of his boxer briefs, down further to finally have your hand meet his smooth, pink tip. 

His eyes dared to flutter shut, but he kept them on you. His lips opened slightly to release a whine mixed with a guttural moan. And his stare. . . It was hot, heating your body all the way down to the tips of your toes. 

He eyed you, almost possessively. It made your head spin and skin prick with desire for more – you were aching in your panties for him. He swallowed thickly, not daring to tear his eyes off of you for even a second.

You skated your hand to pay proper attention to the pillowy soft tip you could feel beneath your fingertips. Your touch was light at first as you stroked it, but you quickly went to massage it skillfully with your thumb, remembering how he liked that. You made sure to trace the delicately crease underneath it, watching how it made his body tremble.

Moving carefully, you spread the healthy amount of precum over the pillowy head of his thick shaft. His hips rutted up towards you, showing you how much he was enjoying it.

The deep moan he released made your legs clench together and your own moan released of its own volition from your mouth, under your breath. His sound was accompanied by the sight of his head, thrown back as much as he could, while still keeping his eyes trained on you. The sound and sight would be forever sealed in your memory.

With the jeans constricting your movements, you continued to handle his girth the best you could.  His heated flesh, dick rock-hard and the skin of it so soft. . . You continued further down from the head, letting your line of sight finally trail down to his pants. 

When you looked down, you were met with the sight of his dick, beginning to peek out from the top of his jeans. You’d pushed the pants down a little to access him, apparently, and it’d made the pretty pink tip of him almost fully visible. 

It made your heart flip and tummy hurt to see him like that, swollen tip shiny under the dim lights from his arousal. He was so thick and ready — only a small view of him waiting, just above the waistband of his briefs. 

You decided you’d take further advantage of the new access you’d created when you’d apparently pushed his jeans down. But, before you could go any further, you decided to wet your hand with some saliva. Wanted it to be as pleasurable for him as it could be. 

Though, when you moved your body back and removed your hand from him, the strangled cry he emitted had your breath rattling in your chest.

“Don’t stop,” he whined, exhausted and needy for you.

You reached forward, eyes dark and trained on him. Grabbing his chin, you made him watch as you spit into your other hand. 

His eyes flickered, jaw set as he knew what was coming. His breaths were sharp and labored, chest huffing as he waited for what was next. 

And, just as your hand was on its way down to his pants, you changed your mind. 

You wanted more. Yeah, you loved touching him with your hands, but there was something you liked much, much better. . . 

With one swift movement, you skillfully rebalanced in your seat to have your knees in it as you bent completely over him. Your belly came to lean on his outstretched arm, the one belonging to the hand still holding the gear shift.

Hurriedly, you brought your hair behind your head and twisted it into a makeshift ponytail. Pushing back the sleeves of your sweatshirt, you knew the jeans were officially coming further down for the next part. 

You tapped his thigh and he got the hint. Lifting his hips, he moved the left side of his waistband down as you took care of the right. And, finally, he was springing free from the black briefs. 

Dear God — you’d forgotten just how pretty. . . . 

Not wanting to waste another second, you grasped the hair at your neck as the other hand delicately grabbed hold of his length. You positioned it, just right. . . . And then, your lips were kissing his tip delicately before your wet mouth sank down over him. 

You would never be able to find the proper words to describe how Jake Kiszka’s dick felt, laying heavy against your tongue. Going almost fully down once, you felt him hit the back of your throat. He cried your name, his free hand coming down to squeeze his thigh. Your eyes watered, lips not quite touching the bottom of his belly.

Once you were sure you had wet his dick completely with your mouth, you bobbed your head languidly, giving him long and slow licks. You savored every last inch of him with your tongue, moving a hand to cup where his balls sat in his pants.

His breath stuttered, a low sound released from the pit of his chest. “Holy fuck. I’ve missed you.”

The words were said softly, not so needily. . . You almost stopped to acknowledge them, but decided against it. It seemed best to ignore the words for now. 

So, continuing, you let your tongue lick once more from the base of his dick all the way back to the tip. You grasped his shaft once more in your hand, giving him a few pumps, skimming the underside of the head with the tip of your tongue at the same time.

But, after feeling his thighs shake and hearing your name fall from his lips, you switched your course of action. Not yet. 

With one final stroke of your tongue in the crease, you enveloped his throbbing tip in your mouth. After sucking on him for a minute, you went to move to the top of the head and curled your tongue around and into the slit at the peak of it. You licked every last piece of his earlier pre-release from him, wanting to savor it all for yourself. 

Without warning, the sound of a horn blaring behind the Jeep, a car having come up — jolted you. The car’s lights were bright, bright enough to blind you and seemingly catch you in the act. So, you stopped at a moment’s notice, shuffling to wipe your mouth and get settled back down in your seat. 

Jake took a while to come back to reality. As you buckled back into your seat, you kept an eye on him as he snapped out of it, blinking rapidly. His eyes averted from where they’d been and he used his hands to pull his pants back up, dick still hard with no relief.

Your heart fell as you watched him put himself away, tucking everything back where it belonged, adjusting. He went as fast as he could to buckle his belt, the car behind you honking once more. 

“Fuck off,” you mumbled under your breath. “Be patient.”

Jake apparently hadn’t heard your reprimand to the car behind you. He just kept doing what he was doing, trying hard to get his shit together. After sliding his seatbelt back over his chest and lap, he lifted his hips in his seat to settle back in place, one hand clutching the top of the wheel. 

He didn’t look your way, just kept his eyes trained forward. Wanted to seem inconspicuous to the car behind you, it seemed. 

Following his lead, you turned, breathing hard and facing the front of the Jeep. You wiped your mouth, fluffing your hair back over your shoulder and pulled your sweatshirt sleeves down. The way your heart was beating in your chest was enough to make your heart monitor go off, but surprisingly it stayed silent. 

You silently thanked it, not needing any more unwelcome interruption to the previous moment. Needed time to reset. 

What the fuck had just happened?

You kept your eyes ahead, observing through the windshield. 

The windshield was so clean, it looked as though it wasn’t even there. He obviously cared a lot for this car to keep it looking so nice. You liked how he liked things being kept in good condition. He paid attention. 

Speaking of attention, you brought your mind back to the matter at hand before. . . . Trying your best to respond after everything that had just happened. 

“The pool was pretty risky. You’re right,” you laughed breathily, still trying to deflate your stuffy airways. But I think that moment just beat it — risky for more reasons than one. . . 

Thankfully, he wasn’t acting strange. He actually chuckled along with you, huffing under his heavy breaths. “Yeah.”

When you inhaled and exhaled again, it felt closer to full and even. You felt a faint smile find your lips. 

You tried to refocus your brain. You’d think about how he’d felt against your tongue later. Or maybe you didn’t have to think about it. . . It honestly seemed so natural, it was like going back to normal. So strange. Or was it?

So, you went back to what he’d been talking about prior. . . It was making you think. Really think. Had you sort of wanted the guys to find out? By god. . . With a little contented sigh, you continued, “. . . You know, maybe I always secretly wanted them to know.”

“Wanted who to know what?” He sighed heavily, his breathing evening out next to you.

“I think I sort of wanted the guys to just find out. Might’ve made it easier to deal with if they just happened to see,” you explained, talking your own mind through the new train of thought. But. . . there was a reason it had been kept secret. “I just-just couldn’t get past the thought of Josh being upset with me.”

“Why would he have been upset with you?”

You could feel his stare piercing through you. Though, you kept your line of sight trained on a few drops of dried rain on his windshield. Didn’t dare look his way.

“I can’t get into all of that right now.”

You thought of everything Josh had said that kept you from pursuing things any further than you had. How he’d been so protective of his brother before you’d even gotten to know Jake at all. . . He wanted the best for Jake and you knew now, deep down, that you could do him nothing but harm. You weren’t the pick for a man who needed a woman who was good, all the way down to the soul. . . .there was too much that kept you from feeling safe for others. You were not pure enough for someone as dreamy and brilliant as Jake.

Your stomach suddenly hurt at the thought of what had just occurred. . . The guilt began to eat at you. You didn’t want him to lose someone good for him because of dumb sexual urges. But were they dumb urges? Or fully understandable and expected?

Fuck. You didn't know. 

What you did know was that Maya was real. She was his girlfriend. She should be the only one doing what you just did. . . 

No matter how much you cared for him and wanted him, Maya had been the right one for him all along. 

As much as you despised her, she was a sweet woman who treated Jake very well. You saw it in her eyes, the way she’d mess with his hair, hold his hand, sit on his lap. . . They clicked in a way you could only hope to click with someone so illustrious as Jake Kiszka. 

They got each other in a way you thought you had gotten him, months ago. . . but that thing between you two had been temporary – you’d known so all along.

And, chances were, he’d been seeing her the entire time anyway. 

You felt sick at it all. 

There was no way you alone were good enough for him. God, he was just so precious and unique in every way imaginable. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to. It’s the past now,” he reasoned, cracking your heart a little more in your chest. “I still reminisce, though.”

“Me too,” you whispered, tears stuck in the hollow of your throat. “I have a slight disagreement with you about something, though.” 

He wrinkled his brow, turning to look both ways before going straight. He caught your eyes when he looked in your direction, and turned a wrinkled brow into a raised one.

“The baby has to have your smile and your eyes,” you reasoned, watching him as he continued straight. “Boy or girl. I’ve wanted those features on this baby’s face for a long time – since the moment I let myself think that far.” You weren’t about to tell him that his smile and his eyes were the sole reason you’d decided to keep the baby that day, on the way to the abortion clinic. The two intricate, incredible parts of his face that showed him – showed just how much of a gift he was to the world. 

The same sort of gift you wanted to give the world, in his baby.

“We’ll see who wins their pick.”

“Mama gets first vote.”

“That’s fair,” he responded, flashing the same exact grin you imagined every day for your child.

-🌼🌼🌼-

It was raining again when you got home. The late-autumn, early-winter thunderstorm, a calming vibe for the apartment as Jake cooked in the kitchen. 

The smell of italian seasonings and tomato sauce were heavenly, the pitter-pattering of rain against the kitchen window was marvelous. And the fact that you were casually hanging out with Jake? That was beyond the way either of the latter could make you feel.

(The fact that you’d had his dick in your mouth less than two hours ago was something you were trying to put far out of your mind for the time being.)

“Did you have plans tonight?” You wondered aloud, letting the words traipse out of your mouth on their own as you dried a dish with an already-dampened towel, having been working through your task as you waited on dinner. Jake was cooking the sauce and the pasta, and as he dirtied a dish or utensil from cooking, you’d clean it, dry it, and put it away. 

He hadn’t wanted you to lift a finger, but after putting your foot down and giving him a look, he’d relented.

“Noticed you dressed up earlier,” you continued, putting a mixing bowl back in the cabinet.

Why were you asking this? You were just asking to be hurt by him saying he’d been with—.

“Yeah, meeting with the label execs,” he replied, moving the seasonings around in the minced onions, garlic, and green pepper, searing hot in the saucier; the new addition of garlic made your nose tingle with eagerness to eat. “Went well. Talked album release and all that shit.”

You watched him, his beautiful hair now meeting the tops of his shoulder blades. . . And, if you were being honest, you could’ve sighed with relief at the idea of him not being with Maya earlier tonight. Which. . . was admittedly unfair of you since you’d been out with another man earlier that day.

Yes, y/n. It’s not fair. And Jake’s relationship is not your business anymore, a gentle voice reminded you. You’re the one who called it quits and you have to be okay with not being the one he chooses. Who he chooses to spend his time with shouldn’t matter. . . No matter what you get yourself into. . .

Snapping from your thought, you noticed him reaching for one more tomato on the counter next to him. You could tell he was looking for the cutting board and knife, but he wasn’t going to find them as you’d already cleaned them. 

Without having to be asked, you went ahead and got them back out for him. 

His eyebrows were turned in with confusion as you placed them on the counter next to him, one brow raising with appreciation. “You’ve already washed them? I’m impressed – just used them,” he laughed under his breath, going about his task with chopping the red fruit. “I’m sorry to dirty them again.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you grinned, deciding to take a break. You washed your hands and dried them before leaning against the counter to watch him cook, glancing at the glowing green time of 9:33 p.m. on the stove. “You’re making dinner for me way later than you should be having to–you shouldn’t be–,” you stopped yourself, shaking your head. You knew how he’d disagree with your statement. “. . . I’m just trying to keep up with your mad chef skills. Professional chef, meet your professional dish-washer,” you bowed dramatically, only bending so far with the slightly protruding tummy at your waist. 

When you rose up and pushed your back against the counter again, you laced both hands under your tummy and looked over at him. His dimple, fully present in his cheek with a bright grin lighting up his features. “You are so fucking cute,” he said, almost as if he couldn’t help it. 

The little comment made your heart warm for like five seconds, but then he was turning to the island behind him to grab some salt for the tomato mixture cooking on the stove. It smelled heavenly, by the way – perfectly ripe tomatoes sizzling in olive oil with fresh vegetables, parsley, and cilantro. . . 

But, as enticingly savory as the smell was. . . your eyes were still glued to the island. 

Everything from your afternoon of contemplation was hurtling at full speed back into your mind.

Maya, on her knees. Jake, moaning. You, having to watch. As much as his relationship wasn’t your business, your apartment and its rules were. 

And, in spite of what had happened in his car — or all of the sweet things he’d said tonight and the incredibly kind thing he was doing for you at the present moment. . . 

You knew you had to bring up. You’d texted him about it earlier and everything. If you didn’t say anything about it now, you knew your pregnant brain would let you forget again. 

It was also probably best to bring it up for another reason. A reality check. Because, as wrong as the action was to do out in the open, it wasn’t wrong for him to be doing it. It was wrong what happened in the Jeep. As much as it broke you. Your buzzing hormones were screaming at you. 

It was wrong for him to treat you like anything more than a friend. Yes, you were carrying his child, but he had a girlfriend. 

So, saying something about the instance might help to remind him that he had a girlfriend. . . And that you weren’t her. 

You needed to bring her back in the discussion – as much as you fucking hated it, it was real life.

“I, um. . .,” you started, looking at your polish-less toenails. You really needed a self-care day. Both types of nail beds were looking terrible. Task at hand, y/n. “Jake, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What’s up?” He replied, voice open and ready to receive it. 

You hoped he was ready to hear you and would understand where you were coming from. 

“On, uh, on Thanksgiving. . . I–,” you struggled to begin. But, you had to spit it out. Had to get your point made. So, you trudged through. You let the image that was stained in your brian fuel you to say the words exactly as they needed to be said. Letting your back go straighter, and pushing your chest out with purpose, you asserted your claim. “I walked in on Maya and you. You, um, were pushed against the island,” you let your eyes trail there of their own volition. It spurred you on. “She was on her knees. It was obvious what was happening. And I don’t really think that it aligns with–.”

“With the rules,” he finished, sighing in a reflective sort of way. “Yeah, I know.”

You were shocked. He remembered? Then why–?

“Why did you let it happen then?” You asked, still not looking up at him, burning holes into the counter he’d been leant against as her mouth made lewd sounds, echoing in the small space even now. The image was absolutely unwelcome in every sense of the word. 

“I was feeling the moment,” he sighed. You heard a burner click down and his own feet slide against the floor. 

Looking back at your own feet, you caught a glimpse of his feet . . . facing yours. Ironically, you couldn’t help the New Girl reference spurring in your brain. 

“A guy’s feet point at what they want, and his feet were pointing at you.” Cece’s voice was setting off tiny alarm bells in your head. Your heart rate picked up a bit at the idea of it – was this how Jess felt during that entire episode? 

Then, you thought about how similarly Maya looked to Cece and you were sick to your stomach all over again. Fuck. She really did ruin everything. And you hated with a burning passion how aggravatingly stunning she was.

“Well, it may be best to not ‘feel the moment’ in the middle of the apartment,” you replied, your faster heart rate encouraging you to spit the words out. Finally, your eyes flicked up to him, only to find his eyes trained on the ground as well, and a blush on his cheeks. “There are rules for a reason, Jake. You agreed to them.”

You continued. “And not only did you break the rule about common spaces, you’ve also been having loud sex right next door while I try to sleep and I– it’s not good for me or the baby and–.”

“I’m sorry. I will tell her to be quieter.”

“I can hear you, too, Jacob.”

“Well, then. . . we’ll work on that.”

“Work on it?”

“Yeah. We’ll try to–.”

“You won’t try, Jake. You’ll just do. . . Just be quiet. Damn. It’s not rocket science.”

“Goddamn, y/n. I understand,” he replied, shaking his head as he glanced at you once and then back at the ground. “And I’m so damn sorry my responses are lacking today.”

Silence. It dragged for a minute or two — long enough for him to go back to checking the sauce, then coming back to face across from you again. 

This was officially the longest day in history. You were tired of it. But, you also didn’t want it to be over. . . You’d liked spending so much time with him.

“How would you feel if you heard me next door having loud sex with someone?”

“I wouldn’t—,” he started, grumbling, jaw tense. “It’s not my business.”

“Didn’t ask if it was your business. I asked how you’d feel. Would it make you feel uncomfortable at all?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Why am I a liar?”

“Because, Jake, even if we didn’t have a past,” you placed an absentminded hand on your tummy. His eyes flickered down at the motion, but almost instantly found their way back to your face. “Loud sex makes other people feel uncomfortable.”

“Not me.”

“Want me to test your assumption? I could invite someone over and make sure to have the loudest sex to see how it makes you fee–.”

“No,” he responded, with no hesitation. “Well, not no. You can do whatever the hell you want– I just– fuck. I wouldn’t like it, y/n. Is that what you want me to say?”

“I want you to be honest.”

“I wouldn’t like hearing you fuck someone else,” he insisted without another thought, voice low with eyes dark enough to make your head swirl and your chest heat. “Especially while you’re pregnant with my baby.”

Your heart thumped a million miles a minute in your chest. Again, your heart monitor apparently let you have the moment. “Well, I don’t like hearing my baby’s daddy moaning another woman’s name. And I especially don’t like seeing him getting sucked off by said woman either,” your words were true and harsh as they slid off your tongue. It felt good to say them. Have them out in the open.

“We’ll adjust it. I’ll talk to her.”

More silence. But, it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

No, this was literally just a conversation. A conversation that needed to be had, between two people who knew each other well enough to make a damn baby. 

As he checked the food once more, he flicked off the burners completely and slid the pans back to begin to cool a bit. He placed the sauce pan on the warmer. You just watched him – focused on the fact that he was right here, so present. . . .and all you wanted to do was kiss him. Even more than pulling his pants down again, you just wanted to wrap your arms around him and kiss him. 

He was once again across from you, closer this time. You caught sight of his hands, nearing your face. And, just before he could gently grasp your face in his hands, he dropped them. 

Backing up a bit, towards the oven, his eyes softened. His gaze settled on you in a way that made you want to curl up in him and cry. “You ready to eat?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Jake’s POV

“Are you going to . . .?”

Her eyebrows wrinkled, questioning. She was nearly sleepwalking, her eyelids barely open. I knew she was tired and beyond ready for bed. It was selfish of me to ask, but I had to before I lost the fucking nerve.

“Are you going to have sex here?” I clarified, clearing my throat.

She scoffed, but a gentle smile stayed on her pretty face. “That isn’t your business, Jake. What is your business is that it won’t be loud if it happens. And I won’t be doing it out in spaces that you can see.”

At her words came the most unpleasant feeling. . . . and the sight I imagined – it made my stomach turn and my skin heat with jealousy. 

Instead of Maya and me at that damn island, I saw y/n and that fuckass Theo guy. . . Him, towering over her. Her round belly, carrying my baby, being held in his football-playing hands as he pounded into her from behind. 

He would be making her his in a way I sure as fuck didn’t want her to be. The way I knew how her delicate eyebrows would sink in at the feeling of him inside of her. . . the way her body would be giving in to him, soft, tight, and ready.

The way she’d moan like she did tonight as she sucked me off. . . . Fuck.

And the sounds she’d make. . . I knew the exact noises that would come from her mouth if he was fucking her– the wet sounds from her pretty pussy. . . I knew every single sound like the back of my hand. I’d elicited them from her over and over again for two of the most astounding months of my life. 

I could practically feel her clenching around me at the thought. . . the way her body would basically give out with certain positions or motions of my hips. . . . and how she’d become absolute putty in my hands as her release climbed up her spine and spilled over my dick. . .

My dick twitched in my pants, but I tried like hell to stop it. 

Hell. This was hell.

And the thoughts were damn near crippling me. 

But she was right. It wasn’t my fucking business. I’d told her the same damn thing earlier. Fuck me.

As wrong as it felt for another man to be fucking the mother of my child, I had proven with my relationship and careless actions in it that I had moved on. Though, I hadn’t moved on. I wasn’t moving on. I thought I had been, but then. . . the moment I truly stopped to think about her being pregnant, that first night I’d known. . . I’d known for a damned well fact that I hadn’t moved on worth shit.

Poor Maya. I honestly felt like I was using her at this point. But. . . I did love her. Or so I had convinced myself over the time we’d been dating. 

I was just desperate to cling to a woman who hadn’t hurt me. I was so tired of it, and Maya would never. She only ever wanted to please. And that felt so damn good. 

“Okay,” was all I could respond with, through my clenched teeth. It was a pathetic response. 

She breathed in deeply, her beautiful chest expanding under her sweatshirt. I could see her nipples, hard and ready beneath the thick material. Sweet hell.  Was it for me? Or was it for him? Or. . . worse. . . was it for no one and her body was just always ready these days? Was that what happened to women when they were pregnant? 

Was that why she’d suddenly been so eager tonight to throw away the morals she’d had just last night? Was a raging, uncontrollable libido to blame for what happened in my car tonight? 

Fuck, I needed to do more research. I knew exactly what I’d be looking into tonight. . . 

. . .After I finished what she’d started earlier. 

“Okay,” she sighed, going to turn towards her bedroom. 

“Does he know?” I couldn’t help but wonder, pushing the conversation further.

She didn’t even have to ask who. Because there was only one man in her sights and we both knew who the fuck the man was. Goddamn this guy. I hated him. Barely knew him, but I knew he wasn’t anything near what –who– she needed. 

“Yes,” she replied, resolute. Turning, she rested her beautiful, curvy body against her door frame. “Telling him about the baby went well, actually.”

“When did you tell him?”

“Tonight. Told him when we got to the coffee shop,” she detailed, clasping her hands under her belly to hold it. Damn, I could watch her all day long. “He was bound to find out soon enough. I feel like I’m getting bigger every single day – already kind of giving it away.”

Fuck if I know it, baby. . . 

Instead of saying the words aloud, all I did was nod and take in a steady breath through my nose and let it out slowly from deep in my chest. Her eyes trailed to my chest with the motion and I felt a moment of hope that she still wanted me as badly as she had in the kitchen. . . Even more so how she’d wanted me tonight. 

All of the blood in my body was rushing towards my dick at the thought of her wet body in my arms last night, her hands and mouth on me in the Jeep. . . 

Her see -through tank top. . . the way her swollen tits tempted to spill from the top of the shirt. . . how close I’d been to holding her full breast in my hand. . . her nipples, peaked so prettily and showing perfectly through the soaking wet cotton. She’d been ready. I knew her body. 

And tonight. . . .? I couldn’t even get started on that.

I was just so confused. Just last night, she’d left and had refused me coming to her room. But tonight she’d taken the initiative to put her damn mouth on me.

After last night and tonight, I could throw Maya on her ass and not feel bad about it. Well, maybe a little bad. 

Damn, it was shitty to admit it. Though, it somehow felt even shittier to go take out on her what I only wanted to do to y/n. . . And that had been exactly what I’d done.

“Is there anything else you need before I go to bed? I’m about to fall asleep standing up,” she blinked slowly, sleepily. . . so fucking cute. All I wanted to do right now was follow her to bed and make her sigh my name. . . Then, hold her in my arms afterward, watching her fall into a hopefully blissful sleep. . .

“No,” I cleared my throat. “Is there anything else I can do for you to make your night easier?”

“You’ve done just about everything you could’ve done, Jake,” she replied, smiling the most serenely beautiful, tired grin. . . her lips, tempting me to kiss her. The blush on her cheeks, pulling me closer. 

But, all too soon, she was opening the door all the way to her bedroom, walking in and turning once more to look at me through the crack she’d made with the door. “‘Night.”

“Goodnight,” I muttered, in a daze caused by her beauty alone. Her pretty lips. Her body. Her face. Just her. 

Damn. I was letting myself in too deep. Again. 

It had happened without me fully realizing it. I’d just started falling for her again (Had I ever stopped? Or had I just been hurt?). 

I hadn’t even let myself pause to think about how it could bite me in the ass. 

But. . . did I care if it bit me in the ass? I wasn’t with y/n. . . I had a girlfriend. If all went to shit, I had Maya to lean back on. It was shitty for me to think like that, but damn.

Though, I couldn’t help but think. . . There wasn’t any harm in listening to my heart and simply being helpful and kind to the woman carrying my child. However that may look, I could be there for her. Right? I had a soft spot for her – I probably always would. 

It was y/n. Even if she wasn’t pregnant with my kid, I’d always look at her a little more tenderly than most other people – well, all other people. She’d carved a place in my heart from the first moment I’d seen her. 

There was truly no one like her.

Never would be.

End of Jake’s POV

-🌼🌼🌼-

A week later, you were hoping to slide out of class without attracting Theo’s attention, but he’d caught you and followed you all the way out to your damn car. 

And, of course, he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about one particular thing you really didn’t want to talk to him about. Something that definitely wasn’t his business, even though he was trying like hell to make it that way. 

It was your decision to lead him on, a voice tenderly reminded you. And you’re still going on that date with him. You promised you would. You have to put up with him for at least a little while longer. 

“Well. . . is the baby’s father in the picture?” He asked, following his multitude of other yes/no questions, right as you’d opened your driver’s side door to escape him. 

Fuck. What did you say? You didn’t want to freak him out. Annoying as he was, you still had a plan to at least try things with him to see if you could make something work with someone who wasn’t Jake. . . Still wanted to test the waters with the whole idea of seeing another guy. There was a chance you could end up giving things a real chance with Theo. And you didn’t want to spoil what could inevitably get your mind off of Jake by acting like you were with him in any capacity. 

Because you weren’t. No matter what had happened in the kitchen or the Jeep.

You couldn’t tell him the full truth. It just didn’t seem entirely wise to tell him all of the details. . . just in case. What was a way you could tell him half of the truth? 

“Kind of, kind of not,” you replied, not wanting to give much more. But, you added, “He’s not as present as I wish he could be.”

Not a lie, you thought. Because I do wish he was more present. Like, present in my bed, for instance. . .  which he isn’t.

“Why not?” Theo asked, going to lean against your car. 

Just before he could place his jeans-clad butt against your car, you spoke up. “Don’t lean against the car, please,” you tried, feeling uncomfortable that you even had to ask him. You just didn’t want him to scratch or dent your beloved Jetta. 

“Oh,” he said, pouting a bit. “Is the car special to you or something?”

“Well, kind of. Elsie and I shared it when she lived here and still kind of do,” you told him. I also just don’t want just anyone leaning against my car; is that too much to ask?!

He made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything further on the matter as he straightened up with a bit of an attitude. “Why isn’t the father present?”

You were not ready to explain. You didn’t know what to begin to say. . . didn’t want to say too much, but you also didn’t want to completely lie. 

“He’s just not able to be fully involved,” you replied, looking down at your nails to pick at a snaggled cuticle. “He does what he can. Just not available to do all I wish he was able to do, I guess.”

It was a diversion and it wasn’t a lie. You just wanted to drop the conversation entirely. 

“What do you mean by all of that?”

I don’t want to answer that, you grumbled internally. And you wouldn’t like the answer, Theodore. 

“I don’t really want to get into it,” you explained, hiding an eye roll with a glance back at your car. You opened your door more, desperate for an escape. And a nap. . . You didn’t have any obligations ton—.

Dammit – you had therapy this evening. You were looking forward to it, but you weren’t really looking forward to having to be in such close quarters to Jake all evening. After last Monday, you hadn’t seen him as much. He was either gone for the album or at the apartment hanging out with the guys to discuss things. A time or two, Maya had been there, forcing you to make a last minute plan with Josh one night and an impromptu dinner plan with your grandparents the other. . . 

It was so incredibly hard being so close while he was forced to be so distant, emotionally – especially after recent events. 

The two of you just weren’t what you wished you could be.

God. Alcohol or weed would be lovely right now. Something to get my mind off of things, you wistfully acknowledged. 

Then, you peered up at the man in front of you – remembered the entire reason you were giving him the time of day to begin with.

The perfect distraction was right here, in front of you. You pushed down the way your skin was buzzing with annoyance, and gave yourself a second to observe him. Maybe it could work out to just make yourself available to him. See where it could lead. . . . 

So, you went ahead and added an ending statement to your earlier explanation, “But. . . . . we aren’t together, I can tell you that much.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, his eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. 

And, your hormones worked in your favor as you eyed him, watched him move. . . he really was so fucking handsome. You couldn’t deny it. The more you allowed yourself to study his structure and looks, the easier it was to let your mind wander. 

He shifted his broad shoulders, his alumni sweatshirt hugging his strong chest so well. . . For what it was worth, Theodore was hot – you could give him that. He was irritating, but perhaps his looks could make up for it if you allowed. . .

And, you couldn’t deny how much you loved the fact that he still seemed interested in you even though you were pregnant. Someone so seriously sexy still wanted you, all bloated and different. . . that was endearing. It was promising and validating. 

“Yeah,” you blushed, looking back into his eyes from his chest. The more you genuinely entertained the thought of Theo, the further your mind traveled of its own accord. . . . You bit your lip as you checked him out, letting your eyes travel to his chest again, and back to his face, flicking over every feature. 

One of your favorite features of his were his hooded eyelids. Even in high school, you’d always liked them on him for some reason. His lids and chiseled facial structure complimented his seafoam-colored irises, shining in the sunlight. As much of an open book he seemed, his model-worthy looks gave him an air of mystery that you enjoyed. 

“Well, that makes it easier for us to plan our date,” he remarked, moving towards you. 

Not sure if it was your raging hormones or what, you weren’t feeling any uneasiness over his proximity. In fact, your body seemed to welcome it with the way your skin heated under the lustful way he peered down at you. Your chest exhaled just enough for your breasts to skim his chest. He was suddenly very close. 

You kept looking into his eyes, craning your neck to look up at him. Your eyelids fluttered with the way his stare was piercing you. What was happening? Where had your annoyance disappeared to?

“I want you, y/n,” he said, voice low. “I don’t give a damn if there’s a baby in you or that it’s another man’s baby . . . I want you just as badly as I did sophomore year of high school. You are perplexingly stunning – inside and out – always have been.” 

Suddenly, with his words and the way his boyish Axe body spray penetrated your senses, you forgot how annoying he was. The Axe body spray didn’t repulse you like his Black Ice car freshener. No, it reminded you of simpler times – he reminded you of life in its simplest form. Being a teenager, a child – when there’d been much less stress. Your mother, further from your thoughts in high school than she’d ever been before. . . no adult obligation to face your past.

Back then, there hadn’t been a Jake entering your life, whose presence prompted you to fucking heal those wounds from your childhood. . . Those dark, twisted past hurts that you’d worked to cover up very well in high school. 

You couldn’t remember why you’d ever been so irritated with him. Because the man standing in front of you right now was not one you were at all angered by. . . He made you feel light and carefree, like you could ignore the hard things and focus on the unimportant. . . You just felt all innocent suddenly, like you had so long ago.

This beautiful man with dirty-blonde hair was clouding your senses – he was the same boy who’d given you so many of your firsts. . . . This person, who was standing in front of you, wanting you just as badly as he had so many years ago. . . He was still so fine, all aggravating traits completely aside.

He stepped closer once more, your breasts aching with the added pressure of his chest. But – you barely had time to wince with the way your breath caught in your throat at his next action. He’d grasped your chin. And was ever-so-slowly leaning his face down towards yours. 

You were not about to stop it. Couldn’t stop it if you wanted. And you definitely didn’t want to. Fuck it.

In seconds, his lips had found yours, giving your lips a welcome, proper kiss. His lips enveloped yours so attractively. You felt like a smitten teenage girl all over again. . . you were back in your grandparents’ driveway the summer before junior year, bidding him goodbye with tears in your eyes, right before he moved away. It’d sucked having to break up. . . because back then? You’d never once been annoyed by him, weren’t so jaded as you were now. You had enjoyed his company, in fact (even if Elsie didn’t much care for it, you had). 

And, you were finding the same feeling slowly coming back. 

Apparently, all you’d needed were a few minutes and a bold kiss to view him in a different light as an adult. 

And baby hormones. Those definitely helped. You were horny as hell more frequently than you wished and you weren’t getting any. 

The kitchen was one night. Jake’s car was one night. But honestly, both instances had left you even worse off than before.

Your body was feeling it.

He gave you one more sure kiss, slipping his tongue just the slightest bit past your lips. It made your pulse quicken and your neck hot, but he didn’t take it further than that. After he’d opened your door further for you, he’d leaned over to give you a tiny kiss on the cheek. 

“I’ll text you,” he promised, winking your way. 

Nodding, you batted your lashes at him, completely at his mercy for the time being. What the fuck had happened in the span of you leaving class and now? 

Whatever it had been, it didn’t last as strongly as you would’ve wished. Because within minutes, with your R&B playlist blasting, you were feeling your phone vibrate against your lap. And when you picked it up to find Theodore’s name on your screen, you felt utterly disappointed. 

Because as cute and strangely endearing as Theo suddenly was to you again, he was not the man you wanted most. It was proven again, as you saw Theo’s name flash across your screen that the only name you wanted to see on your screen was spelled J-a-k-e. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

“I can’t stay to hang out after your session tonight,” Jake mentioned that evening, making a turn, bringing you closer to Gia’s office. “I’m sorry. Maya has this thing that she really wants me to be at, and I can’t let her down.”

Your heart plummeted in your chest, but you acted as though it hadn’t. As much as it hurt to hang out with him, it hurt worse when he’d leave you for her. 

But. . . You knew that wasn’t fair. You’d stolen her boyfriend from her enough already. For every appointment he had to now drive you to, having him grope you in the kitchen, going down on him in his car. . . 

It would be unfair to act as though she was the one asking for too much. He was hers. Him taking you to therapy was what asked too much, her needing him was quite the opposite. It was normal. 

“That’s okay,” you said, tone especially light as the words left your lips. Damn – good act, y/n. Good job. “I want you to be able to be available to her.” As much as it fucking sucks to watch, it’s what life is now.

“Cool. Thanks,” he responded, sounding the slightest bit caught off-guard. Why? Had he expected you to be disappointed? He would’ve been right, but you weren’t about to let it on.

It was quiet for a few moments, then he came to a stop two streets away from the practice. 

“So,” he started. And, as he moved a hand to turn down your playlist, his delicious, new sandalwood-vanilla scented cologne overwhelmed your ability to properly think. It seemed to exude from him with every action he took. 

Your eyes flicked over his hand at his word, seeing his fist go to rest on his Jeep’s gear shift. God. The way his long fingers wrapped so well around the mechanism . . . . You thought of how they felt on your aching–. 

Shaking your head the slightest, you glanced up at him. And, of course, his hauntingly beautiful side profile was even worse to look at than his strong hands. “What’s up?” You asked, voice stronger than you expected.

“Are you ready for tonight’s session?” He asked, eyes finding yours, earnest and genuinely curious. “Do you know what to expect?”

“Well,” you began, swallowing at what may await you tonight. Your eyes found your hands, fiddling with the hem of your oversized t-shirt. “I begin EMDR tonight. I haven’t gone to a dark, nitty-gritty place yet. So, I don’t know what to expect, really, no. . . I’ve only been to my Safe Place. I’m hoping tonight, my brain respects that it’s my first time and doesn’t force me down any too unwanted paths,” you chuckled humorlessly, willing it with your words. “Because I can’t control it – you might’ve read about that during your research. But, that’s why I have the Safe Place that I can escape to when things get too scary.”

Simply put, I’ll find you in the field of Lavender if it becomes too much, you tell him silently, eyes glancing over to his hand again. So strong and sure. . . he really did make you feel so safe. Even when it broke your heart to look at him for too long. 

Goddammit. Your predicament sucked ass.

“Safe Place. . .”

“Yeah, it’s where you go when things become too much in your partial subconscious,” you explained, hoping he wouldn't ask any further about yours. 

“That’s incredibly interesting,” he said, invested in every word. “I have read about it, actually. Lightly, at least. I won’t make you tell me yours. I know it’s a super personal thing,” he assured. Your heart fluttered at his genuine care for the situation. “But yours helps? It’ll be a good place to turn to if things get rocky today?”

“Yeah,” you responded, voice suddenly very teary at the thought of who your Safe Place was. The fact that it was the person sitting next to you, who seemed so honestly caring of the entire situation. Of course your mind had naturally conjured him. The way he made you feel in this moment was enough explanation. Your gaze traveled back over his figure, his soft, black sweater hugging him just right. “It felt like heaven last time,” you breathed, taken by him.

He must have sensed you looking, his eyes catching yours for the briefest moment, scanning your figure so quickly you momentarily thought you’d imagined it. Your tummy somersaulted. Before it could become anything more, the light he’d come to changed to green.

“I’m worried about my heart,” you absentmindedly commented, thinking of your recent run-in with the heart problems and the heart monitor still hidden beneath your shirt. Your eyes were trained on a line of old, weeping trees passing you outside the window. 

He was weaving carefully down a side street in an expensive neighborhood. A neighborhood you’d gotten to know by now on your drives to sessions. Gia’s practice is right around the block. Your heart rate was already increasing at what could be awaiting you when you closed your eyes on her couch. “If it becomes too much, I don’t want my heart to fuckin’ Rick Roll me,” you finished, snorting at the ridiculous analogy. Hardly even made sense.

Jake’s signature laugh bounced throughout the car, sounding like Josh’s . . .but a little different. The sound made your pulse even out. A familiar, nice sound . . . Everything was okay. You’d be okay. 

“Talk to Gia about it beforehand,” Jake suggested, laughter coming to a natural halt. He said the words, right as he pulled into the parking lot of the quaint private practice. “Rick Roll,” he said to himself, under his breath with a sighed laugh.

The office was modernized to the nines inside, all light colors and expensive trimmings. . . But on the outside, all that showed was an older, classic brick office building. 

He switched the car off, pulling the keys from the ignition. The lack of keychains caught your eye, distracting you.

Focus on the matters at hand, y/n. . . 

When he cleared his throat, you looked at him once more. “She will be willing to assist you however you need,” Jake reassured you with a sparkle in his eyes. “Just like she has always done for you. Just trust her.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. Throat clogged with wetness once more, you sniffed as you unbuckled along with Jake. “Trusting is hard for me. Are you coming inside with me?” You couldn’t help but comment on him moving to get out with you.

“Of course I am. I want to be there for you. Waiting in the lobby for you when you get out,” he smiled, opening his door. He looked over at you, raising a brow. “Don’t get out yet. I’ll help you out of this thing.”

Your heart soared at the way he cared, tears daring to fall as he got out to come to your side. 

Seconds later, he was at your door, helping you out of the car. And as you walked through the parking lot to go inside, he huffed a laugh, not as a joke, but as an understanding form of acknowledgment to something. “I get the trust thing, though, honey. Hard for me, too.”

Honey. Always with that nickname these days.

Your line of sight darted to him from the corner of your eye, and you chuckled under your breath to agree. “Yeah. . .,” you said, eyes brushing down to mess with your cuticles for the second time that day. His arm came around your waist briefly, guiding you as you looked down. 

At his touch, your skin became hot through the jacket and t-shirt you wore.

Your mind wandered to a few months ago as he kept a gentle hold on you, keeping you in step with him. The stinging feeling of guilt for making him trust you and then breaking his heart all in a matter of two months. . . . it made you want to scream, cry, yell. . . All at once. 

You did it for his benefit, y/n. Remember? 

But. . . .had you?

Blinking a few times, you focused on the building’s glowing sign, highlighting the early darkness of the winter evening. Finally, you fell back into the conversation, “Trauma response is what I’d call it,” you offered, clearing your throat of any emotion. 

“Exactly,” he concurred. “A coping mechanism.”

Yes! You do get it. Why did you ever have to be an asshole to begin with? Maybe things could’ve been different. . ., your thoughts went back to the first day you’d met him, making your heart lurch in your chest. Or would it have been cut too short, no matter what? Is it simply how my story with you is meant to play out? Have you and then lose you?

The fact that you couldn’t indulge in a relationship with this man was one of the saddest, most unfortunate things the universe could offer you. 

“You ready?” Jake asked, breaking the comfortable silence once you approached the door, his hand on the metal door handle. 

You looked up and into his wide brown eyes, the amber in them sparkling under the parking lot lights. Your eyes studied his face for a second. . . just let yourself have a moment before answering him. Weird as it was, the deep circles under his eyes brought you comfort in that moment. The fact that they were a consistent feature of his, always prominent, made you breathe easier. . . . He was consistent.

He was real. He was here. You were okay. Everything was going to be okay. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: hmmm... ;) what are they getting into? how do you feel about reader being so suddenly interested in theo? what about her plan? do you approve? did you like the bit of insight into jake's perspective?? :o

see you soon for parts 2 + 3, love bugs! <3 prepare yourselves, that's all i'll say........

[sawyerconfort]

Juliet To Your Juliet | Sarah Sanderson x Fem!Reader

This one counts for my spooky season special also ;)

Okay, this account is officially a multifandom account, guys, sorry hahahahaha

So I was watching Hocus Pocus yesterday and I immediately fell in love with Sarah. That's when that old quest started to look for imagines around here to be able to read, and I realized that we have few stories with her.

So I thought: well, since my profile is full of aloto imagines, and my followers probably can't take it anymore, I think it might be nice to try out a new character. And since all the characters that I start to like out of nowhere always get imagines, it wouldn't be different with Sarah, right?

Here it is, a super cute (and kind of sad) imagine with the best of the Sanderson sisters (and that's not open for debate).

Enjoy!

Got any request? Send me an ask!

Prompt: What price to pay when you fall in love with an immortal witch?

* * *

Sarah knew it would be impossible for such a thing, but she believed in the destination and wanted it to take care of the situation. She believed that after 300 years, her corrupted soul still had salvation. And salvation inevitably would be falling in love with someone like you.

Someone human, someone who had a pure and beating heart, someone who smelled of kindness. That alone could be able to change the heart of a witch created to be the monster she was.

But Sarah knew that, as much as she tried, loving you was impossible for numerous factors: she was bad, you were good. She was immortal, you could get older. She couldn't get out in the sun, you could burn your skin.

And especially, her sisters would never approve such a love. Also, you were at the moment their main prey.

At night, Sarah was going to be a witch again, riding her broom and went out singing in search of children to be young, and when her sisters were distracted enough with those small little creatures, following them mesmerized, she took the opportunity to turn around and watch you sleeping at home, in the tranquility of being a deadly person and no problem. That made Sarah sad because she knew that at some point in your life, the days of you would be told.

* * *

"I already hath decided on," Winnie said on a troubled night at the Sanderson sisters' house. “today shall beest the day at which hour we shall becometh imm'rtal and quite quaint, mine own sist'rs!” She walked around, watching the spell book with caution. "let's wend out f'r hunting, and alloweth's wend backeth with one of Salem's most quite quaint girls!"

Sarah was listening to everything with a pertinent animation, because she loved to go out with her sisters to hunt, loved to sing and bewritten the children. But as soon as Winnie mentioned the most beautiful girl, her expression changed, from radiant, to surprise.

She knew this day would come, she just didn't knew it would be anytime soon.

“Sarah, what is wrong? Aren't thee coming?”Mary asked, her dog-painted eyes and the keen bearing to see if she could smell a problem with her sister. She was grabbing her broom, while Winnie was already outside. But Sarah remained stopped, petrified.

"Thee wend," she said in a sad whisper.

"Ah, please!" Winnie returned to the house, holding Sarah by the arm abruptly. "we needeth thee and thy voice, sarah, what is this bullshit?"

She swallowed hard. "You’ll did hurt h'r, wonneth't thee?"

“It's for her good and for our good, my sister!” The oldest shouted, exultant. "Let's look beautiful and young for all eternity!"

Sarah sighed.

Winnie gave her no choice. She needed to go, or would dishonor her sisters. Sarah set up in her broom and gave boost so that she fly over the sky. With the characteristic cry of Winnie, she began to chant the usual song, smelling the children approaching. And she passed the window where you were standing, awake.

Sarah despaired, but she knew she couldn't stop singing. She thought of landing at your bedroom window and closing the window, just so that her voice stopped and stuffy, so you wouldn't fall into the spell. But it was too risky, you didn't even know each other yet. And it was inevitable, you needed to fall into the Sanderson sisters' spell, or the plan would fail.

A few seconds later, you were flying over the bedroom, your feet landing on the floor and walking out of the house. Sarah waited until you arrived outside to go down the broom and grasp you abruptly. She held you in her arms and smelled the life of you, the smell of good feelings, regretting what she would do.

“I won't let them hurt tee,” she whispered, holding you, taking the words while you were hypnotized. "Never," she promised, giving one more impulse and loosening the touch to her body, not to hurt you.

* * *

When you first opened your eyes, you were tied in a chair. You tried to move your body to prove that you couldn't get out and widened your eyes when you saw the scenario ahead of you. It was the house of sisters Sanderson, the most famous witches in Salem.

The smell of smoke flooded your nose and made you even more confused, and the will you had to scream was present when three ugly sisters approached, with even uglier and horrifying smiles.

One of them, the tall blonde, looked at you with a little more affection.

“Is the lucky rat tail there?” The redhead witch, Winnie, asked her high blonde sister Sarah. "because thee shall needeth that gent..." and a harmful laugh has invaded your ears. "Now, my dear, what is your lovely name?"

"(Y\N) ..." you replied, stuttering. “Will you let me get out of here? I thought you just wanted to get children, not adults like you! ”

Winnie gave one more giggle. “Yeah, we prefer, you know? It has a better taste. But this is a special occasion, my dear.” She turned to Sarah. "Please, my dear Sarah, do the honors... you suck her life and beauty first."

"What?" You and Sarah said in unison. Mary laughed, although it seems a little scared than Winnie. “You can't do that!” You defended yourself. "Spear my life, I promise I won't be intruding with you anymore, I swear for my life!"

"Sarah, now!" Winnie shouted.

She knelt in front of you, a sad look adorning her expression, and then squeezed your cheeks with both hands, closing her eyes.

She pouted her lips, ready to suck your life.

You closed your eyes too, ready to accept your fate.

And then suddenly Sarah buried her head on your legs, sobbing.

"I can't do that ..." she whispered, more to herself than for the sisters. "I ..." Sarah looked up, staring at you and still holding your cheeks. "I would rather die than let thee go ..."

"What are you doing, Sarah?" Winnie shouted. "Take her life!"

"No!" Sarah shouted, and purple rays traveled to Sanderson's house, destroying the nearest objects. "I love her! I'm in love with (Y\N), and I won't bear to lose her.”

Your eyes widened. A witch? In love with you?

"I can't kill her, sisters, I'm sorry." When you least waited, Sarah left the house, and you fought against the more loose strings thanks to the radius of the blonde witch, freeing yourself and going after her. "Go back, (Y\N), please get back, or they will kill me too."

“Then we'll die both together,” you said, suddenly holding her hand. You didn't know why you were doing it, but you could feel that something was pulsing in your heart by Sarah Sanderson. Always pulsed.

"Don't do that, please ..." she asked, and turning to you, took your lips in an unexpected kiss. A few countless seconds later, she broke the kiss. “Please don't get things worse for me. Run. Run away and never return to Salem. Find a way to disappear. ”

"Are you coming with me?" You whispered. "If I escape, will you run away too?"

"The sun will rise..." Sarah whispered, absorbed. “Our love is impossible, (Y\N), and I wouldn't want to turn your life into a mistake because of me. Escape. Escape from Salem, and I promise that if I have a second chance, I shall find thee again. Even if thee get older and get white hair, I shall find thee and make thee know that I don't give up on us. ”

She kissed you once more. "I shall loveth thee f'r all et'rnity, (Y\N). " she promised, and then let you go.

* * *

Twenty-nine years had passed since the last appearance of sisters Sanderson in Salem. And of course time had passed to you too. You never heard of Sarah again, but she tried to change her life and settle away from Salem, as she had asked you.

That gave you huge treasures. Including your daughter, Becca.

And now, you were back, in the middle of Halloween, and she had gotten real friends to be able to live in the new city. You were happy for her, but you couldn't stop suffering from the memories that went and came because of that city.

"Mom?" Becca called suddenly surprising you. "We have guests."

"Of course, honey ..." you exclaimed, smiling. "Come in! I'm in the living room! ”

Becca came in, as you had asked, and you didn't even have the job of turning your head to face those who followed it. I thought it was the two friends who always walked with her.

"Mom, you won't believe it!" Your daughter said, looking excited. And then you turned, staring at the sisters' curious looks for the first time after twenty-nine years. "We light the candle!"

Sarah returned her eyes, shocked, and let a smile escape her lips when she recognized you. She didn't seem disturbed, not even hurt by all that. She was only happy, because after years of suffering, she had finally fulfilled her promise and found you.

She had found a way to find you, as she promised she would do.

[nine-of-words]

Something Borrowed (Part Five)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 5134

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup, Drinking (Reader)

This one being a day late may or may not have to do with the fact I've finally started playing bg3...

Today, so far, has been one of those days that everything just feels wrong.

The midsummer wedding rush is in full swing, you’re baking the batters for a wedding cake off in the morning and finishing a different one for pickup each afternoon. And that’s on top of every birthday and pool party and every other sort of occasion under the sun, all demanding sweet, celebratory confections.

“Ugh, I just don’t get it…” Kirby grumbles and snaps the old tome closed, an uncharacteristically gloomy pout on their face. They lean their head on their hand, their palm squishing their cheek. 

“Something I can help with?” You’ve told them pretty much everything you think may be pertinent, and happily entertained any of the failed spell purging attempts they’ve tried on you so far, but you still want to assist in any way you can.

“Not really- I’ve had no luck with leads at all. And none of the methods in this book that operate without knowing the origin of the curse look very promising. But there’s, like, definitely a curse here! The vibe in the shop and on you- The energy is there, it feels like it’s yours…but it can’t be from you! You’re a numan!”

“Yeah, imagine how frustrating it is on my end.” You chuckle.

“Ohh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that… No offense!!'

"None taken."

“It’s not your fault at all!” They sigh.  “It just… doesn’t make any sense… y’know? I'm like, really good at breaking curses. Even the sneaky ones. It’s kind of my thing. But this one is like, hella hella HELLA sneaky!!!"

“Well, here, try one of these.” Doing what you know best in terms of soothing frayed nerves, you carefully pick up a cupcake from the case- Kirby’s favorite flavor, you've learned- and set it down in front of them. You hear yourself echoing the words your own mother told you growing up countless times: “It won’t fix the problem… but it might help you feel a little better.”

They let out a small, strangled gasp in glee.

“Oooooooh gosh! You're so good to meeee!” The faun takes the cupcake into their hands immediately, holding it like a small treasure. “I’m really going to need to hit the gym after this case, hahah~”

They devour their little treat and seem a bit less bogged down by the weight of your case afterwards, back to their normal peppy self. Helping to lighten their mood at least makes you feel slightly less guilty that your curse is the reason they’re having a hard time in the first place.

Kirby ends up heading out for the weekend not long after, deciding that fresh air and a change of scenery might help jog their investigative thinking.

You find yourself heaving a sigh as you look at the clock,clock, that closing time is creeping ever closer.

It's been so busy you haven't even been able to bake anything for when you see Carlyle later…

You go about the rest of your tasks, a little nervous about the tasting the closer it looms. Devin is pleasant enough, but working for someone you know socially is always a bit of a roll of the dice, unless you really know them well. You can’t imagine her being a problem client, though…

So, what could go wrong?

Nothing, you decide.

This tasting will go well, and even if it’s painful to be reminded of your past for a little bit, your reward for getting through it is getting to go on a date with a wonderful, kind, handsome man later this evening.

Any anxiety about the tasting seemingly disappears as you go through the motions lost in your smitten daydreaming.

Finally, you tidy up a little bit, taking care of what you can of closing while you wait, the table setting for the tasting already set.

Not too long after, Devin appears, all pastels and sunshine.

“Hi, hello there!” She chirps and all but flutters over. When she gets to the table, she grasps your hands and gives them a gentle squeeze with her small, graceful hands, still clearly brimming with joy. “Thanks so much again for fitting us in!!”

“You’re very welcome. Go ahead and take a seat- Oh, and where’s your partner?”

“Pookie will be here in a minute! He’s on his way.” She daintily takes a seat, tucking her ornamental bag in the sill of the window. “He had to stop by the music store before it closed. Lost all his picks again, hehe.”

“Oh, that’s funny.” You snort, reminiscing a little. "My ex used to lose all his picks all the time too, haha."

"It's the worst! I cleaned out one of my old purses once and found twelve at the bottom! Twelve! Then this one time-"

Devin continues to chatter excitedly about anecdotes involving her partner, most of which you relate to with your own stories. It seems you and her have dated similar types of men, for sure.

The conversation is enjoyable enough, but you can't help the strange sense of foreboding weighing on your chest.

"If he'll be here soon, I'll just go ahead and fill these, if you don't mind." You say, motioning to the flutes and the iced bottle of champagne in the bucket. You just want your hands busy to assuage some of the inexplicable nerves. "He'll miss the lovely pop, though."

"Oh, sure, go ahead! I don’t think he’ll mind." Devin assures you with a nod, so you grab the bottle and a cloth napkin.

After neatly removing the foil and the muselet, you cover the cork with the napkin and twist until it goes.

POP-

Devin laughs happily, clapping. The noise drowns out all the sound of the shop door opening, up until the end of the door bell jingle tapering off. A bit of champagne foam drips down the bottleneck and over your palm, then down onto the table.

You look up just in time to see your other guest- your body freezing in place as soon as your eyes fall on them.

You know this person anywhere, down to the tiniest details. A familiar lanky grey elf man; long brown hair tied back in a lazy half-bun, a worn band t-shirt with a flannel wrapped around his waist, and wrists wrapped in braided cord bracelets that move towards calloused fingers.

He looks the same as ever. He was wearing that t-shirt the day you moved out.

It’s Trevor.

You just look at him, speechless. He looks just as shocked- pale as a ghost, and frozen in place just past the threshold of the shop.

There is a loud maelstrom of emotions churning in your chest; you can hear it as blood rushing in your ears. Part of you is just so happy to see him again- but it’s quickly drowned out by months of suffering and grief and anger-

But before you can get so much as a ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ out, Devin speaks up, confirming the worst possible reason to be true.

“There’s my Pookie!” 

"Hello." You force out. Finally reacting, you clean up the bottle and take the champagne flute from in front of her, turning your focus on filling it, trying to maintain some facade of normalcy as your heart starts racing.

“Oh… Heeey…” Trevor says awkwardly, seeming to find his ability to speak and move his limbs as he creakily approaches the table.

“What are you doing standing around, silly?” She pats the pink cushion on the seat of the metal chair beside her. “Come sit, you can finally meet my sweet friend!” 

He finally takes the seat next to his new fiance, timid and flighty as if you’re going to jump up and sink your teeth into him at any moment. The expression is only made more intense when Devin leans over and gives him a large affectionate peck, the septum ring in her nose smooshing flat against his cheekbone.

“Let me introduce you! So,” She says your name. “This is my fiance, Trevor, and Pookie, this is my friend-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to…” Trevor cringes slightly at hearing your name. 

“Oh… um, do you two already know each other…?” Devin puts a polished finger to her lips, tilting her head quizzically.

“Yeah, Pookie,” You barely manage to keep from spitting the word out like venom. You pick up the second flute to fill it, your fingers pressed forcefully into the stem. “We do, don’t we?”

“Uh. Yeah, Dev. We know each other.” Trevor rubs the back of his head, that little motion of self-soothing that you’re not sure he picked up from you over the years, or vice versa. “We used to date.”

Used to date? That’s it? That’s how he’s going to describe you devoting almost a decade of your life to him, and him tossing it away when you needed his support the most?

You expected to be sad. To be utterly devastated. And while you are certainly feeling heartbroken… You in no way expected this level of indignant anger bubbling in your gut in addition to that stabbing, crushing sadness in your heart.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! It’s so sweet you two can still get along.” Devin says, and you try not to scoff at her absolute failure at reading the room. “If you’re already friends, that makes introducing you a whole lot easier!”

“Yeah. Sooo, uh… You moved the shop and changed its name, huh?” Trevor asks, daring to address you directly for the first time since he meandered in.

The quiet part: This would’ve never had the chance to happen if I knew it was you.

“Yes. It felt necessary at the time.” You say through your clenched jaw, filling your own flute of champagne.

You can’t even look him in the eye while you speak to him. Looking at the familiar hazel of his eyes- it just hurts too much.

“It… looks nice in here, man. I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

Doing okay?? You're most certainly not- or at least you weren't. 

Either way, what would he know about it?! Like you haven’t been struggling to crawl out of a deep pit of sadness and self-loathing over the last year… Spending so much time blaming yourself for getting cursed. For not being good enough…

But… at the end of the day, you are a professional. You mentally pull yourself together, remembering your customer service voice and mustering all of your strength to get through this tasting on your raw charisma and goodwill towards Devin alone.

“Thanks.” You say, neutralizing the emotion in your voice to a smooth, pleasant tone. “Let’s get those cake samples out for you to try, aye…?”

You mercifully move away from the table, grabbing the plate of small, delicately cut cake samples from the front cooler. Some of these samples are flavors you always include, while others are ones Devin asked for specifically.

You set the plate down on the table- each neat square of cake accentuated with flower petals.

You watch as they try the cake samples, talking amongst themselves. You provide guidance and offer information when prompted, but you mostly just sit and drink your champagne, trying not to scowl or otherwise provide bad service.

…They're not agreeing on any flavors.

You've been in this business enough to know that's a bad sign. Not that they have completely different preferences itself- that can be worked around, and you've made multiple split cakes, or had people opt for different flavored batches of cupcakes in the past. It’s not uncommon, but it’s the way that the couple comes to that agreement that’s important. It's the way that they're addressing, or in this case, failing to address, those differences of preferences that's the bad sign.

"I like the pistachio creme, oh!- and the apricot curd- but the rose filling is nice too… and the marble cake is so good! All of these are so yummy, how are we supposed to ever choose?" Devin sighs happily, holding up the tiny fork as if trying to defend herself from having to make a decision. She has a point- not being able to pick which cake flavor is better is probably one of the best dilemmas you can think of to have. "What do you think, Pookie?"

“Whatever you want is good, babe.” Trevor bobs his leg under the table in rhythm, the way he does when he's bored. If he wasn't acutely aware of how bad it would look, he'd probably already be scrolling.

Awkwardness aside, he could at least try to act involved… Some things never change, you guess.

“Oh… I don’t know. What do you think?” Devin turns to you with a bright smile, practically wriggling in her seat in child-like excitement. “You’re the expert after all, hehe.”

“Well, I could’ve saved us some time if I had known… He won’t like any of these three- definitely not the marble, he hates chocolate cake.” You lean over and say, pointing to a few of the cake samples. “Regular white’s his favorite, but you probably didn’t like it much. It’s the most popular for weddings, but it's a wee bit boring, if I’m being completely honest. And he’d prefer the Elven berry compote filling with it.”

Trevor looks pale, like he’s going to be sick. He doesn’t protest, though- you already know you’re right.

“Oh! Wow, you’re really amazing!” She says, impressed. “How did you know all that?”

“Dev…” Trevor cringes, but doesn’t say anything more.

“Oh you know." You brush it off with a bitter smile. "Years of experience."

"Hmm…"

"Not to overstep too much," You can feel the champagne starting to influence your commentary just a tad. "If his parents are going to contribute financially to the wedding, they'll probably appreciate something classic, like that combination. They're sort of traditional. Might help you get on their good side."

Devin looks at Trevor, who nods weakly.

As you expected, they end up going with what Trevor (and ultimately his parents) would enjoy, over the less common combo Devin preferred. You can't help but feel a little bad, seeing a lot of your past self in Devin while watching that compromise take place.

You take down the details of the order on your datapad, desperately holding onto your sanity because you're trusting relief is coming soon.

"You'll still come to the wedding, won't you?" Devin asks you, puppy dog eyes already engaged. "I've got the save the date right here-"

She retrieves her bag and digs through it for a little box filled with twee, flowery wedding announcements printed on nicely textured card stock. She hands you one.

"Sure. I'll be there." You say, reflexively placating without giving it much thought.

Ugh, why did you agree to that…? Surely you could've thought up some excuse.

Trevor seems to be having much the same thought as you, brows almost imperceptibly twitching through his sheepish expression. 

"Oh, good!" She claps.

A small bit of gleeful small talk and Devin’s profuse gratitude later, they finally leave.

Somehow, you managed to get through the entire tasting without making a scene, no matter how badly you wanted to.

You plop down in the stool behind the counter, not even bothering to lock the front up or turn the sign off.

As soon as you’re sure they’re gone and absolutely won’t be coming back for any reason, you let yourself become undone- bursting into raw, pained sobbing in the silence of the empty shop.

It’s like a knife in your chest, seeing him with something else and doing well, when you’re an absolute wreck, still struggling to pull together the broken pieces of your life.

As much as you’re hurting and never want to see him again, on the other hand, a small, weak, part of yourself still wishes that he would change his mind, come to his senses, show up and ask you to come back. Or that you would wake up one morning and all of this would’ve been a particularly long and excruciating dream…

You know you would take him back in a heartbeat. And it disgusts you.

It’s hopeless. It’s pathetic.

But…

It’s not fair.

That was supposed to be your wedding.

Once you’ve had a good cry and drained most of the remaining bottle of champagne by yourself, you’re staring down at your shop counter, zoning out.

Your eyes drift from the wedding announcement, instead choosing to fall on the vased bouquet of flowers still sitting nearby. They’re doing well still, not wilting yet at all. You've been taking good care of them.

You're hit with the sudden, shattering recall of the fact you have a date in less than half an hour. 

Carlyle!

You jump up from your seat, then are forced to sit back down at once as your world spins nauseatingly. 

… There’s no way you can let him see you like this.

You pull out your device, and desperately hammer out an admittedly sloppy message.

< Canb we rain check? Had a v bad dday today

You decide that will suffice and take another long glug from your champagne flute- the last of the bottle. 

Carlyle, bless him, is punctual as ever, and responds to your message with concern before you’ve even put the glass back down on the counter. You would’ve noticed this if you weren’t completely lost in your own spiraling thoughts.

When you finally wipe your bleary eyes on the inner elbow of your button up to get a more clear picture of your device’s screen, you see a bundle of messages waiting. He must really be worried, because it's not in his nature to send multiple messages without waiting for a response first.

> Already on the train to the restaurant

> Are you okay?

> I'll change lines

> Be there in a few

“Dammit,” You swear, hanging your head in your spread palm, staring down the screen.

Great. Perfect. 

You tried to spare him the sight of you, and managed to summon him here instead.

Not only did you have to see stupid Trevor today and agree to make his stupid wedding cake for his stupid wedding with someone new, but now the amazing man that has somehow managed to show interest in you is going to see what an absolute trainwreck you actually are.

You didn't even bake him anything!

…You really are cursed. 

And maybe you're to blame…

You’re stuck in that same loop of catastrophic thinking until the bell chimes, taunting, above the front door that you couldn’t be bothered to lock earlier.

“Hey.”

It's hard to stay devastated when you see Carlyle walk through the door, wearing a subtle, well-concealed look of concern that you may not even have noticed if you were less familiar with him.

"Sorry." You say in exasperation, voice hoarse, trying not to burst into tears again.  "I'm fuckin' tossed."

He takes that as his cue to approach the counter.

"Hah- It’s fine." He glances around at the half-closed state of the shop with raised eyebrows, then back to you. "Bad day, huh?"

"Awful. Terrible. Dogshite."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!" You whine, and then immediately launch into talking about it. You explain the awful day you’ve had even before the event, and he listens attentively.

"And it was fuckin' Trevor of all people, because of course it was-" You seethe. "One of my clients is marrying my bloody ex! Of all the people in this city!"

Carlyle nods to confirm he's listening, so you take that as the go ahead to just spill everything.

"You should have seeeeen them- He hasn't changed at all. He still leaves his stupid guitar picks everywhere! And he sucks at guitar. He was always better at drums. And she just coddled him n’ doted on him n’ babied him the whole time. Just like I always did- He didn't deserve it then, he sure doesn't deserve it now!"

"I knew he was going to pick the vanilla sponge and the berry filling. I knew it! He is so predictable. You know she picked the marbled sponge and the pistachio cream? There is no way they're going to work out. I make a lot of wedding cakes, Carlyle! Those flavors don't work together!"

"And she calls him Pookie." You gag.

At some point during your rant, he removed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves and sat down on one of the metal stools across the counter from you. A glass of water has appeared within arms reach, and you didn’t even notice him going to find the sink.

"You should drink some of this." He taps a dull, stony claw against the trim of the glass. "You'll feel better."

"Ah, bless." You gratefully sip at the liquid, only now realizing how parched you were.

"Sounds like you've had quite the day indeed. At least it’s over?” Carlyle tries to reason.

“I agreed to make their wedding cake. AND go to the bloody wedding.”

“Spirits.” Carlyle laughs softly, cringing and rubbing his neck with his palm. "You could always say something came up."

"Yeah, but my… Client? Friend? Client-Friend? Devin- she’s lovely. Absolute sweetheart. She was so excited to invite me and… I just don't want to hurt her feelings."

“Oh. That is pretty rough.”

“Right? It’s downright tragic, is what it is!" You find yourself quickly becoming all giggles and giddy bubbles."That's why I'm such a mess- well no, I won’t lie, I'm a mess anyway- but tonight I am a HUGE one. We were supposed to be on a date right now, but instead you're here listening to me blubber and winge on about my ex." 

"Believe it or not, I've actually been enjoying listening to you. Moreseo than I already do." He smiles at you warmly, fingers flexing where they're laced together on the countertop.

"An' why's that?" You ask, putting on your best attempt at a flirty tone, given your state. You’re convinced you’ve nailed it.

"For one, your accent seems to be stronger when you're intoxicated. It may not be the most appropriate time to mention it, maybe… but it's too cute to not point it out."

You laugh giddily, suddenly filled with a surge of confidence.

"Cute, eh?"

"Very." He affirms, obviously genuine through his amusement. 

Your face flushes, and you beam with glee.

"...You wouldn't like me better with a twee septum piercing?"

"That's awfully specific…" Carlyle taps his fingers on the countertop in thought, a soft clicking of stoneskin on marble. "I suppose if you wanted one, it's your choice and I can't really complain… It isn't something I would personally find aesthetically pleasing. …Though I could get used to it…"

You crack into laughter, giggling until you're wheezing and dabbing at the tears in your eyes.

"Oh… that's such good news, hahah…"

"Right. …Maybe it's for the best that we get you upstairs?" Carlyle rises, then comes around to your side of the counter, where he idles beside you.

"Oh? You want to leave so soon?" Your hands find his tie, gently but clumsily fiddling with it between your fingers. "But I'm really enjoying your company."

"You can enjoy my company whenever you like." Carlyle smirks. He does not stop you from playing with his tie. "But for now, you could probably use the rest. Allow me to help you upstairs."

You pout, giving the striped pink fabric a few gentle tugs, but he has a point. You are so exhausted and drained from the day already and now with the intoxication on top of it- you're barely holding yourself upright.

"I don't think I need much h-" Shifting your weight to get down off the stool, you fail to find your balance and stumble. The stool clatters and wobbles behind you, and your hands fly out, grabbing at his shoulders.

But a set of firm hands is there on your sides to keep you from collapsing into a puddle on the floor. 

"Careful."

You laugh breathlessly, and let your full weight rest against his form in relief. You let your hands twine at the base of his neck and sigh, relaxing against him.

"Okay. So. Maybe I do need a tick of help."

"Just a bit. But everybody needs a bit, sometimes."

You scoff appreciatively.

"You are so nice to me and so handsome and you make me smile so much." You start gushing words with your face pressed to his solid stone chest, lacking any filter or shame at this point. You're so happy your heart could burst- in stark contrast to the absolute emotional pit you were just languishing in earlier. "Kirby said that's a low bar, but nobody makes me smile like you do. I like it- it feels good to really smile again."

"Hahah, you're flattering me here. …But I'm pleased you feel that way." Carlyle says, seemingly not in a hurry to escape your hug. You can hear the hollow rumble of his laughter in his chest through the thin cloth of the button-up, with your ear flush against him like this. "I would be remiss to not admit I feel similarly.”

You’re too happy for words. For a brief moment, nothing else matters.

“...You probably don't want to sleep in this."

You feel his hands migrate back around your waist, delicately picking the knot of your apron loose with his claw tips.

Despite your strong desire to cling onto him indefinitely, he eventually helps you put your weight on your own feet again. Then, after you've worked together to remove your soiled apron, you wobble towards the stairs, guardian gargoyle in tow.

"Those stairs are a hazard for someone in your condition. So I'll be right behind you. If that’s okay?"

"Yes." You mutter in agreement.

You feel a heavy, reassuring hand place itself on the center of your back, keeping you steady as you climb the narrow stairs up to your loft.

Somehow, you manage to crest the stairs without incident.

"Nice little place.Very stylish, but not too visually loud." Carlyle says as he looks around the space, hand still lingering on your back as you stumble towards your bedroom. "It suits you."

"Oh, you're just so sweet…"

You cross the threshold into your room, the full weight of the day starting to bear down on you. You plop down on the edge of your bed, completely spent, and kick your shoes off.

"Ugh, I can't sleep in these, they're covered in flour." You gripe and gesture to your work clothes, not wanting to get up as soon as you’ve sat down. "I'll get my bed sheets fully dusted… But I don't think I have it in me to stand."

"Not to be too forward, but I can assist. If you feel comfortable with it."

"You're keen on stripping poor defenseless me down?" You tease.

"I meant I could retrieve some sleepwear for you." His dark eyes clearly fix on where your hands are working off your shirt buttons, obvious to you even when the alcohol has dulled your awareness. "Nothing untoward."

"I would like that." You continue to unbutton, a smirk settling on your face. "Or I could go without completely…"

Carlyle's lip twitches into a wicked smile too, but he quickly turns around and disappears past the hanging pink curtain, into your small walk-in closet.

"So. …In here, then?"

"First drawer on the left." You call.

He returns by the time you've partially removed your shirt. It's proving more difficult than expected, and you've somehow got yourself tangled in the process of pulling it off. Clearly a failing in the design of the shirt, and not a reflection of your ability.

Carlyle sets the folded set of pajamas next to you and stands for a moment, assessing the damage caused by leaving you alone for a moment.

"Hahah, here." He pulls it the rest of the way off. You can't help but appreciate the sight of his exposed forearms flexing to maneuver the twisted fabric free from your body. It makes your heart start to race.

"I thought it might end up like this- I was hoping," You look up at him with slightly glazed eyes and say, with what you are absolutely sure is a very sultry, alluring tone. "Tonight was supposed to be a date, after all."

"Hmm."

Your hands reach out, brushing against the edge of his leather belt.

"Don't you want me?" The words tumble out before you can stop them.

"...I do." Carlyle smiles warmly at you, letting out a breath he was seemingly holding. "But not like this."

"Probably for the best." You laugh in agreement, not even offended- you're far too pleased to have that confirmation to be upset. "Thought it was worth a shot."

Carlyle proceeds to help you change the rest of your clothes, mostly acting as a glorified handrail, as he stands firmly in place with his eyes averted.

Eventually you're fully reclothed, and let yourself fall back against the mattress.

"On your side, please-" Carlyle instructs, holding your bedding up while waiting for you to settle.

"Look at you, in here tuckin' me in and everything. You're such a stand up fella."

Carlyle doesn't say anything, just laughing and shaking his head, slender dreadlocks swaying as he pulls the quilted comforter up over you.

"...You're not mad, are you? I'm sorry, I went and mucked things up tonight."

"No, I'm not. It’s no trouble." He leans over with one knee resting on the mattress, constructing a wall of the available pillows on your bed against your back. "Things are still fully unmuckable. We can always reschedule."

You're so giddy, you can't stop yourself, and your hands reach up to affectionately touch either side of Carlyle's face where he hovers over you.

His cheeks are hard underneath your fingertips, like a marble baking table surface before it’s been dusted with flour. But instead of being cold stone like you expected, they're pleasantly warm and soft to the touch. The porous, sculpted surface of them feels good on your skin.

"You… You marvelous man. You still wanna take me out?" You whisper hoarsely. You'd jolt up and kiss him right here if you had any energy left. "After all this?"

"Yes." He finishes securing the pillows to his satisfaction, patient enough to allow you to continue drunkenly cradling his face.

You chuckle, and manage to raise yourself up, just enough to press your pursed lips square in the middle of his stony forehead in a quick, affectionate peck. Then, you release your hold on him and settle back down, snuggling into the bedding. 

"Goodnight, Carlyle." You say, already starting to fade off to the sound of him quietly humming in amusement and shifting his weight off the bed.

"Goodnight."

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[scotianostra]

On July 11th 1274 Robert the Bruce was born in Turnberry Castle, Ayrshire.

Sorry for the lack of posts yesterday I was out the house all day, I am showing friends round Edinburgh today but will try and get a few posts scheduled, this first one is of course a "biggie"

I don't like repeating the same old story, especially on posts like this, The Bruce turns up so often in my posts that it isn't any wonder he is part of the Scottish Psyche. In 2006 Robert the Bruce came third in a poll of ‘most important Scots’, behind William Wallace and Robert Burns. Leaving aside what that says about the nation that produced, among others, David Hume and Adam Smith, Alexander Fleming and John Logie Baird, there can be no doubt that a king that ruled 700 years ago is still very much remembered by Scots today and, even more pertinently, that his life and achievements are deemed to be profoundly influential. It is hard to imagine Edward III or Henry V of England being similarly admired.

Not a lot is known about Robert's early life so unfortunately I do end up repeating parts of his life.....

Looking into how he came to be our Monarch, Bruce’s grandfather had come off second best in 1292 to a rival claimant to the Scottish throne, John Balliol, who then reigned for four years until Edward I deprived him of his kingship in 1296. John Comyn of Badenoch, as Balliol’s nephew, had both an arguably better claim by blood and certainly by power, influence and track record than Robert Bruce, for his own ambitions, whether it be just to become King, or for the sake of ridding Scotland of Edwards army Robert had to ‘deal’ with his rival before seeking the throne for himself.

In this fracturing and fevered environment, the would-be king turned to Bishop Robert Wishart of Glasgow, a man who had shown himself consistently motivated since the 1280s by a desire to keep Scotland intact and independent (though he, like most Scots, had on occasions been forced to acknowledge King Edward as ruler of the northern kingdom). We do not know that Bishop Wishart made Bruce ‘swear upon the Holy Gospels and the tomb of St Kentigern’ to pursue the cause of Scottish independence with his life, if necessary. Equally, no chronicler at the time mentions the introduction of elements of sacramental kingship that the Scots had long sought from the pope but been denied thanks to English claims of overlordship on the day that Bruce finally did become king.

If you've seen the new film about The Bruce, you will know it is all about the man himself, rather than the historical facts in his reign, and that's why I liked it, I mean come on, we ALL know the story by now and if you don't what have you been doing for the past few years as you haven't been reading my posts!

Robert Bruce, was a man possessed with the ability to think laterally and effectively on almost every issue but saddled by his own hand with one of the most dodgy starts to a successful reign as any in history. Some say he learned to think this way after observing William Wallace, I also like to think this, but he had enough savvy himself to be his own man.

The problem with looking at Scotland in those heady days is that, unlike England, we hardly wrote anything down, Edward and his constant war waging meant he had to raise money for these attacks on Scotland and Wales beforehand, so the English always had that extra layer of bureaucracy, while historians can look at some of their records to glean information about Scotland, we mainly have to look at Chroniclers, like Lanecrost, or the likes of Blind Harry, the author of "he Actes and Deidis of the Illustre and Vallyeant Campioun Schir William Wallace" And John Barbour who wrote "The Brus". In the first case Harry wrote his epic over 150 years after William Wallace's murder. At least Barbour was living in an age where The Bruce was alive, albeit for nine of the years, but events and stories were still fresh and must have been repeated often about our Kings heroics in unting Scotland and vanquishing the English. But Barbour was never going to write anything negative about Bruce, it was Robert II, the first of the Stewart line, that asked Barbour to write the poem, it was always going to be a great propaganda exercise.

Okay let's go back a wee bit, there has been some debate about where Bruce was born, some mischief makers even suggest he was not born at Turnberry, after all we have no diminutive proof, but at Writtle in deepest Essex. The Bruce family owned swathes of land down south, and there is no doubt the young Robert would have spent time in the depths of the English royal courts, he was not uncouth Scottish brute, he grew up in a world of fluid identities, no doubt speaking a number of languages, and with easy access to both the overtly powerful and impressively formal English court as well as the highly personal and personable style of kingship still preferred in Scotland.

One of the things Robert the Bruce may very well have learned from the English and used most notably was the commandeering of noble seals to be attached to documents of state in order to present a veneer of unity to the outside world, this is most notable in the 1320 Declaration of Arbroath, it has been argued he took this inspiration from King Edwards, Ragman Rolls, Edward I’s large-scale demand for Scottish seals to acknowledge his right to rule Scotland in 1296.

After Bannockburn and the Declaration of Arbroath King Robert’s genius as a lawmaker and diplomat to rival his undoubted skill as a military leader has also been admired, he had a fine line to tread, while he had gained the upper hand against Edward II's army, many Scots fought against him that day, or at very least supported the English. Even after his death some of those families on the losing side that would come back to try and regain lands and titles from the second Bruce monarch, his son King David II.

The pics are King Robert's statue at Bannockburn and two reconstructions of how Turnbery may have looked, by my Twitter friend Andrew Spratt.

[undefeatablesin]

So I want to talk about the Bloodborne Comics today, more specifically I want to talk about the hunter from Death of Sleep, mainly because they served as my gateway to the franchise and I think about them a lot even to this day-but nobody else ever seems to mention them or the comics for that matter? But I don’t control my brainrots, they control me, so here we are. This is long as hell, so buckle up lmao.

In any case, I’m going to preface this by saying I definitely understand why the comics aren’t talked about a great deal in the fandom as far as I can tell, since we only get one issue that actually centres around the more familiar and expected story of the hunt, and even then the story’s trajectory veers off in a wildly different direction than you might anticipate-and then the rest of the issues by and large all revolve around characters that are only canon to the comics except for Eileen. I appreciate them for what they are, even though I think a lot of opportunity to explore more pertinent characters was definitely missed, but I’m not here to talk about that in particular today when The Death of Sleep has only become of increasing interest to me since I finally played the game for myself. There will be spoilers for this issue mentioned throughout, so if you haven’t read it and still want to, please keep that in mind.

For those who haven’t read it or just as a refresher for those that have, Death of Sleep follows a nameless hunter on their journey to uncover the meaning of paleblood in order to transcend the hunt they are trapped in the cycle of. This story presumably takes place a little earlier than our hunter’s story in the game, something we can safely assume based on two key details in particular:

Djura is present with all of his powder kegs in Old Yharnam as opposed to being by himself with only one accomplice, and furthermore does not yet seem to be driving other hunters out of the city. He even refers to the nameless hunter as his “friend” and the powder kegs are all taking refuge in the cathedral which, by the time of the game, has obviously been overrun with beast patients praying to the strung up corpse of a blood-starved beast. There are also dogs and huntsmen present in Old Yharnam in the comic, which there definitively is not during the events of the game. Could just be an oversight, but I like to believe this is just a relatively earlier point in time.

Iosefka has not been turned into a celestial emissary and replaced by her imposter yet in the comic; the real Iosefka is still very much alive and present, as we can define by her strict dedication to keeping contaminants out of her clinic and away from her patients while the hunt is in process. As we know, the fake Iosefka is not interested in protecting the patients so much as she is in acquiring even more of them to experiment on.

The hunter of this story is delivered to us as a blank slate in many ways; they have no name, no memory of their past, their family or why they came to Yharnam (if they indeed came from the outside at all), nor how long they have even been a paleblood hunter, asking Gehrman at one point how long they have been bound to the dream (which Gehrman does not actually answer.) The only fragments of their past we are privy to is that a) they have some blurry memories of a child they can’t fully remember, whether that is a child of their own, a different family member or someone else entirely that they have forgotten throughout the hunt. And b) they have some sort of history with Iosefka, which I will expound on further later.

The basic story in DoS revolves around The hunter being entrusted with a strange child by Djura, the both of them believing that the child is the fabled Paleblood that the hunter seeks, due to the fact that, as one might guess, the child quite literally bleeds pale blood. The hunter takes the child with them out of Old Yharnam (after dying once attempting to do so in a confrontation with the Blood Starved Beast), intending for the both of them to escape the hunt with the child’s help.

They journey through some familiar locations like the Forbidden Woods and Iosefka’s clinic and then further out to the Old Fishing Hamlet in search of a boat; though where the hunter thinks they are going to go with that boat or what they are going to do with the child is never disclosed. However, predictably and yet unfortunately for the hunter, the child is heavily implied to be an escaped experiment of the Healing Church as opposed to the answer to the hunter’s plight. The child bleeds the same murky colour as the kin enemies (and the children in the upper cathedral ward orphanage are supposedly the source of celestial emissaries created by the choir’s experiments). The child remarks that they have always “felt sick”, not unlike how imposter Iosefka describes nausea after the blood moon descends. The child likewise does not remember their name or their past and exhibits supernatural abilities, is able to see the amygdalas in the world, and all of this eventually culminates in them turning into a grotesque monster at the very end of the story-making it grimly apparent that they are not what the hunter was looking for at all. The two leave together regardless on a boat out of the fishing hamlet, going to who knows where.

It’s a rather short and simple story, and not one that cares to explain much or expand much on the context we already have, but yet it really fascinates me regardless simply because of how much it emphasizes the presumed hopelessness of Bloodborne’s world and the aching that the hunter feels for an escape from it. For such a relatively mysterious character, we gather a great deal about them purely through the implications of their internal dialogue and the actions they take throughout the pages. If you have no other knowledge of the comic whatsoever, you probably have at least seen this meme-

Which is the hunter’s reply to the doll asking what the hunter desires once they return to the dream after dying to BSB, and the first real instance we see of this particular hunter’s weariness with the hunt that is only compounded by the struggles they have to face throughout their journey. They want out, and they want it terribly, even if they don’t remember what, if anything, they have to return to. They often ideate about death, what it means to die, their inability to truly die, and yet how it is enough for them to die showing the prey that they are unafraid. They feel stranded and hopeless, yet cling to a single foolish hope of finding their way out. They are sick and tired of the hunt, but the hunt now is all they know and all that they are-its their centre, their core, their person. I don’t often see depictions of a paleblood hunter so downtrodden and world-weary that they want to just lay down and give up but simply cannot, or one that goes so far out of their way to avoid the path that the Dream (and thereby the Moon Presence) demands of them. The path which, ironically, is the actual path they need to take to ever truly escape the hunt, whether they know that or not-or whether they are just purely too tired to tread it.

They are a walking, tragic paradox, which in a lot of ways is well-suited to the tragic and bleak world of Bloodborne, and when you think about it, a perfect contrast to the role we end up taking in the game however long after. Our hunter is a relentless force that sees their duty through to the bitter end, whatever end that winds up being, a single shining beacon of hope in this hopeless world-the definition of creating your own destiny, while the nameless hunter in many a way sadly succumbs to the one thrust upon them-seen abandoning their saw cleaver on the shores of the hamlet before they sail away to an unknown fate, though one we know will grant them no peace. They are bound to the dream still, even if they now refuse to fight any longer (not so unlike Djura denouncing his status as a hunter in the face of his own grievances, a very interesting parallel to the nameless hunter and likely an intentional one, since he of all people was chosen to be featured in the comic alongside the nameless hunter.) Frankly, I find them wonderfully, tragically interesting as our own hunter’s predecessor in a narrative sense, and one that is just buried away in these comics and never really spoken of.

I’m also surprised that at the very least nobody talks about the fact the nameless hunter is canonically non-binary! Though the comic summary and Djura both refer to the hunter as “he”, the hunter themself does not apply any particular gender to their person when questioned about it by Iosefka.

And last of all, speaking of Iosefka once more, I am also surprised nobody talks about the implied relationship between the hunter and Iosefka. For as brief as their time in the comic together might be, there are some interesting implications in the dialogues between them. Iosefka claims that “not even her dear hunter” could change her mind about letting people enter the clinic during a hunt-but yet took the hunter in along with the child regardless when the hunter turned up wounded from their jaunt in the forbidden woods and collapsed outside her clinic, as well as treating them with the best blood in her possession (presumably even her own?) The hunter in particular though has some dialogue that just reeks with yearning after they depart from Iosefka’s clinic, having the following things to say:

“Iosefka, I remember the smell of your skin. Soft, subtle markings. Then overwhelm. Honey and bitter medicines. In another world, we could have seen each other again. In another world...not this cursed dream.”

A remarkably intimate statement, by all accounts, especially given this hunter’s rather impersonal comments about the other characters in the story, none of which the hunter has terribly much to say about-whether or not this dialogue was supposed to denote a romantic connection of some kind, I am not going to say definitively. I am going to say the implication definitely keeps me up at night though.

All this said and done: pls read Death of Sleep, you might find it surprisingly interesting lmao.

[badedramay]

@roobylavender replied to your post:

thank you for answering! this is super insightful and i really appreciate the point you make about intention and how despite include some repercussions of feudal traditions, addressing that niche of pakistani society as a whole was not actually the central aim of the drama (so in that aspect it’s distinct of dramas like sang-e-marmar, sang-e-mah, malaal-e-yaar, badshah begum, etc.). i definitely think that’s a valid defense to shielding it from some criticism bc like you said the more pertinent intent is to address misplaced judgments, rectification of old mistakes, the harms of parents projecting onto their children, the plights of stubbornness and inflexibility, etc. that definitely holds when, like you said, you approach ruhi’s arc as a whole, bc it’s about much more than a mere reaction to societal practice  and i like the point you bring up in the tags about faarah too! i’m less endeared to wali this go around bc some of his alpha male behavior towards her in the beginning of their relationship seriously turns me off lol but it’s true a lot of faarah’s relationship to the haveli is premised on her dynamic with agha jaan first, and that’s definitely where the show wins a lot of viewers over (including me! they were so sweet and i loved them) in any other show that tried a similar approach of “wait and see that this guy you got married to isn’t Actually so bad even though he’s trying to dictate everything you do” i think i would probably still remain super turned off bc there’s not often a character like agha jaan present to balance out that transition into accepting that maybe your judgments of your spouse and their family are not entirely solid. so aH he was here lol! such a crucial character to tie everything together truly 

(making this reply a new post rather than continuing in comments cuz I need my space with me especially when talking about Wali akjsdhakwjeahw)

Yes! exactly! I was thinking of dramas like Sang-e-Marmar and Mere Humnasheen as examples when I was making that point. In those dramas, the background of the characters is the plot. because when you remove the background the entire story falls flat on its place. the characters and their actions in those dramas they are not justified but also plausible because of the characters’ backgrounds. the same doesn’t fully apply to the characters of DeD. Aga Jaan’s family could’ve been from any non-specific feudal background and the story would still take place. the reasoning might have to be altered to fit that but on the whole, the plot progression could’ve happened in the same way as it originally did.

As for Wali...oh boyyyy yahan pe aata hai conflict. because Wali remains my most criticized AND most beloved Pakdrama hero. my history on PakDrama fandom world is witness to how much I have dragged this man for his actions (even as recently as just a few days ago!) however, regardless of how much some of his actions continue to irk me..on the whole Wali’s character journey is so fascinating and intriguing for me that I can never see him as a “red flag bad guy”. there are layers to him!! I do sometimes wonder how Wali would be perceived in today’s landscape. like i am SURE he’d be criticized a lot more than he was back in 2015. some of his actions wrt Faraa are so ruthless that I can vividly imagine some people on stantwt making it their mission to start “Cancel Wali Suhaib Khan!!!” parades.

But like I said, the beauty of DeD is how a character comes across when you take the context of their situation when they were performing a certain action. Wali’s abusive kidnapping of Faraa and the initial manhandling he did with her within the first few days of her return to the haveli..these are things added in the drama for well drama’s sake. Wali of the novel was always the picture of perfect gentleman. Wali of the drama was prideful. for six years he had witnessed his own pride be spat on by Faraa’s cold demeanor. Wali forgave the insult to his pride, where he fully lost his senses was when he witnessed his Aga Jaan, his most beloved grandfather, be reduced to a man just breathing not living because of all the hurt Faraa’s attitude had caused him for years...that was unforgivable for Wali. in a very pathetic attempt to be his defense..Wali was pushed to show his most brutal self to Faraa and confirm her worst fears about him that she had nursed for years all because there was no other way Faraa would just LISTEN to him. Wali had never tried to impose the power their nikaah gave him over Faraa except just this once. and he did that not for his own self but for his grandfather’s.

Wali is not a perfect character; good heroes seldom are (hence why drama!Wali is more beloved to me than novel!Wali) The show had already established Wali as someone who had the habit of exercising his dominance where he could. We saw it in how he would scold Zarminay when she tried to be nosy in his affairs or him reprimanding her for planning picnics. but at the end of the day that strictness was not what defined him. we saw how Zarminay confided in her brother and leaned on to him in the time of intense grief. because he was raised by Aga Jaan, he didn’t learn to put walls around his heart and was taught to have more love and respect in all the relationships he shared with anyone. THAT BEING SAID..Wali was ALSO a young man with all the hotheadedness youth brings with itself. it was his initial youthful blunder of putting himself across as a lazy, entitled brat to Faraa which made it easier for her to cement her bad opinion of him. it were his own insecurities that made him unable to empathize with Faraa when she found peace in Moiz’s company. yeah sure Wali’s guess about Moiz being a leech ended up being true but we cannot deny that Faraa’s proximity with Moiz wounded Wali’s pride as a man to the point where he started to question that maybe him assuming duties far beyond the capability of his age had rendered him into an undesirable man. Wali was also well..petty.

Despite all that..I cannot see Wali as someone who, after his rage died down, was incapable of asking for forgiveness for his actions. YEAH I KNOW THE SHOW DIDN’T GIVE ME THAT SCENE AND I WILL FOREVER HOLD A GRUDGE AGAINST IT FOR DENYING ME THE SCENE OF WALI ON HIS KNEES BEGGING FOR FARAA’S FORGIVENESS FOR TREATING HER SO HORRIBLY but i also know that how Wali’s character was shaped up..there did come a point when he did apologize for it all. HECK! I can imagine Aga Jaan severely reprimanding Wali if he so got a whiff of HOW ACTUALLY Wali managed to bring Faraa back to haveli and refusing to talk to Wali until he SEES Wali on his knees holding his ears and awaiting Faraa’s forgiveness. which she’d give him of course. not only because she loved him but because she is at that point in her life where she wants all the past mistakes kept aside to start afresh.

Wali works because Aga Jaan works. if Aga Jaan who started as the villain of the story can have a character arc that makes him THE BEATING HEART AND SOUL of the entire story, Wali also cannot stray too far away from the circle of redemption purely because of his connection to Aga Jaan. it’s because of Aga Jaan Wali is mercifully not given the “he’s good because we say he’s good so whatever you saw and how you interpret him is wrong” treatment that so many of the current Pakistani dramas subject their protagonists to (coughmeerabcough). because we SEE Wali’s connection with Aga Jaan and we SEE how Aga Jaan’s sheer love won over Faraa and gave her the peace and acceptance that she was craving for for years..we can SEE why Faraa, by this connection, falls for Wali. not just because he’s her husband and she has no choice but to love him. i see it in a more poetic manner...’the beloved’s beloved becomes my beloved’.

[thestandardgirl]

hello

I've been writing since forever. It's the only way I can express myself. When I was about 5 years old and didn’t know how to write, I once took a piece of paper and a pencil and took it to my mother, and I asked her to write down my memoirs like Emília from Sítio do Pica Pau Amarelo (a Brazillian TV show for kids). ''What memories do you have, you're only 5 years old'' was the answer I heard. I think I just wanted to record my life. I needed to write some things down before I forgot what I was thinking about.

so, ever since I learned to write, I have had my diaries and filled them with my anguish. When I was a teenager, I used to write on tumblr, because I was afraid my mother would read my diary (I caught her doing that once, but that's a topic for another day). I love to reread what I was feeling at a certain time in my life. the other day I was reading about how I was suffering from crush on a guy at school, more or less in 2015, and today I don't even remember who that guy was. I don't even remember his name, much less his face. funny how things work. will it be that 10 years from now I'll read in my diary about how I'm grieving for my breakup with my most current ex, and think ''wow, how silly of me, I don't even remember him properly''? I really hope so. because now it seems that this pain will never go away.

but anyway. about me and my writing. I am that person who avoids conflicts as much as possible. I don't know how to talk when it's time to fight, I don't know how to think under pressure, I don't like to talk. if someone yells at me, I cry. I decided to go for the academic route at university precisely for that reason. I like to research and write my findings. if you don't agree, you can write an article refuting me. if I find it pertinent, I write another reply. no face to face, no clash.

and I love to read. my favorite genres are fantasy and romance. 95% of what I read is fiction. I love living other people's lives, falling in love with vampires and fighting epic battles - things I wouldn't have the courage to experience in my real life. it hasn't been long since this desire arose, but I started wanting to write myself. create my own stories and perhaps support someone like my favorite authors support me. but I still don't feel ready for that. I think I still need to grow a lot with my writing. I'm insecure, and I'm afraid of finishing a project like this and not feeling comfortable with the end result - I think I also end up being too much of a perfectionist sometimes.

I'm also not a very creative person in the artistic sense of the word. I don't know how to play any instruments, or draw, or cut paper and create collages. no matter how hard I tried, and took classes in all sorts of activities, my brief dreams of being an architect or fashion designer or actress/singer were always just that: brief and dreams. but with writing it is not like that. I don't need fancy and specific materials, nor a gigantic idea right from the start; I can control and write little by little; I can go back to the beginning and change something without it compromising too much of the rest of the text.

that's why I'm here! I think writing these texts reflecting on my life is a good way to start this writing career - also because this is not my career, so unfortunately I'm not fully dedicated to writing and I have bills to pay…. and anonymity is also something that comforts me. for now, the only way for me to publish anything and not throw up with anxiety of people I know reading it, is under a pseudonym. I'm not ready for people to know me personally, and I'm afraid of possible confrontations for the truths I intend to write about.

in short: I haven't revolutionized anything yet, I haven't had any brilliant ideas to save the world, I haven't even figured out how to deal with my own insignificant problems. but I hope to find all of that. and also to find someone to talk about life.

yours sincerely,

standard girl

[pellaaearien]

In shorthand — a lost art, shorthand — he jots down anything and everything he can think of.

Dreams!!!

“Dreaming” = realm?

Tools??

Sister = pale horseman. HER gift!

Two other sisters (NOT horsemen?)

Stories (eating?)

What was in those dreams?

At this last, he puts down the pen. What was in those dreams? Now that he knows his friend was actually present for them, he tries to recall details, but they remain frustratingly elusive.

The dreams were kinder. That much he knows. They’d replayed 1989. 1889 had ended happily. They all had. He thinks about how Dream had very uncharacteristically stumbled over his words as he tried to explain. Weakened… Dreaming in disarray…

Escaped from a century of confinement, and he’d come to Hob for comfort. Fucking Christ. Hob can’t do this.

He lowers his head until it touches the cold formica countertop. It feels good. His brain has been working so much overtime today, he feels feverish.

Never mind that Hob would have provided whatever Dream needed, gladly, with his full faculties. Imprisonment or no. He’d helped Dream. That’s all that matters, in the end.

The problem is, however (and the jury was still out on whether or not Dream understood this), if you gave Hob an inch he would take a mile. Or want to, anyway. And after a hundred and thirty years of famine, Dream had just laid out a feast.

Did he expect Hob not to fall on it like a starving man?

Oh my goodness :) One of my favourite parts :) Of course, Nonnie, I'd love to talk about this!

So first and foremost: we've spent a lot of time in Dream's head so far in this fic. Now we're finally getting some Hob POV, and I wanted to make it clear where he stood. Dream also dropped some pretty bonkers information on him during their conversation, and I started from the point of HOW do you even begin to go about processing something like that? When you've gotten nothing but nothing for six hundred years and suddenly not only do you have a name, but also an apology for the thing you've been beating yourself up over for the past 133 years, plus some information about WHAT your friend is, his powers, his family, your immortality... It's a lot, is what I'm getting at. And I'm a firm believer that Hob, who has lived for a LONG time and has a lot of memories bouncing around up in his old noggin, writes things down. Especially things he needs to work through. (He's a dedicated bujo enthusiast.) BUT, it took six hundred years to get to this point, and he's determined to prove he can be trusted, so he's going to be cautious, hence the shorthand. I must admit that writing that list was a lot of fun, trying to extrapolate what Hob would feel were the most pertinent points, how he would couch them. It delights me how unhinged it looks out of context.

The rest of the passage is more of a meditation on Hob's character as I see it. Hob and Dream are, in fact, the exact same side of the coin. One of the many reasons that Dream is repressed is because he's gone through the entirety of his existence being left behind. Sometimes justifiably! But the lesson he's taken from it is that he should no longer seek companionship. His love is a burden that wilts the ones he bestows it on. He must learn to do without.

(But a relationship is actually his greatest desire, as Night reveals in this heartbreaking exchange):

"But what if I were to make you a perfect little dreamworld, here in Night's realm? With a partner to love you and kiss you and make you feel less scared? A relationship. You always wanted one of them."

Hob has also spent the entirety of his existence being left behind. He has a much healthier outlook on it, as a whole, because such is the nature of his particular immortality. He lives life to the fullest, and that means people. Like Dream, he has a bottomless well of love in his heart, but unlike Dream, he bestows it freely. Others' lives are so fleeting; why wouldn't he grasp every opportunity by the horns?

The flip side of that, of course, is a deluge of loss. He can never stay. People age, and he doesn't. He has to move on, or they do. He can never fully be himself (something else he and Dream have in common!) Even if he could be open, lay it all out for someone, trust them with the truth, that also has an inherent expiry date.

The one exception to this is Dream. Dream was there at the beginning. He knows everything. Hob doesn't have to pretend he doesn't know the exact timbre of Middle English, he can reference something specific about the eras he's lived in without needing to hedge how he came by the information. Dream also knows Hob. He's been there through all the ups and downs, and Hob has told him more than he's been able to tell literally anyone else. Hob goes through life holding the immense weight of his own life. He's got no one he can talk to about it, except Dream. (Kind of like the way Dream carries the weight of his responsibilities with no one who can relate? Perhaps!)

All of this to say, the defining trait of Hob is greed. There is never enough for him. He will always be craving more experiences, more love, more life, more, more, more. This is a man who looked Dream in the eye after a century of misery and told him "I've got so much to live for!" Hob will never, ever, be satisfied. And he holds himself back, just like Dream does, because it is simply too much for everyday life.

Does he love Dream? Naturally. But honestly, the romantic aspect of it is a byproduct of this is my person. The only person who knows him. The only person who he can be himself around. And just as he was resigning himself to have to do without the most important person in his life, he comes back. And that enforced separation is crumbling, from Dream's side. And Hob is greedy. He wants more. He'll be whatever Dream needs, if it means more of Dream. More, more more.

There's a saying my friends and I have adopted for dreamling, which is "Too much, together." Once they finally manage to work their way through all the barriers they've put up to make it possible to actually interact with other people, and the misunderstandings that it causes, once they finally recognize that in each other, then it's game over.

They've just got to get there first.

[mitsubishifever]

Why Buy A Mitsubishi ASX Now Before It's Too Late

Mitsubishi Motors will unveil an all-new ASX sometime in the near future, but it will be nothing like the current Mitsubishi ASX for sale that has become one of the biggest success motoring stories over the past decade.

This is already casting some doubt as to whether the newcomer can replicate its predecessor’s sales performance, and even over the viability of importing it given the extent of change the model is undergoing.

As reported in late January during the Renault-Nissan-Mitsubishi Alliance’s announcement stating its intention to introduce 35 new electric vehicles to market by 2023, the long-awaited replacement for the 12-year-old small SUV will be derived from one of “Renault’s bestsellers”.

All bets point to that being the Renault Captur II that landed a few years ago, but the implications of this raise far more questions – and eyebrows – than answers for consumers.

As with the closely-related but British-built Nissan Juke II that launched in 2020 as well as the recently released Renault Arkana from South Korea, this means that the 2023 ASX is set to switch to the CMF-B (for Common Module Family – B-segment vehicles) modular platform by the French manufacturer rather than Mitsubishi.

This changes everything, beginning with packaging. Will it be big enough?

The current ASX is based on the GS platform that first saw the light of day in 2005, underpinning scores of C- and D-segment models from various manufacturers, with the most pertinently for Australians being Mitsubishi’s now-defunct Lancer small car, two generations of the Outlander mid-sized SUV (until the latest model arrived in late 2021) and today’s Eclipse Cross.

So what, you say? Well, the MY22 ASX’s length/ width/ height/ wheelbase measurements are 4365/ 1810/ 1640/ 2670mm, while the latest Captur II’s equivalents come in at 4227/ 1797/ 1567/ 2639mm. Or, in other words, the future ASX could be substantially smaller in every dimension and thus will shrink a segment size down, from the C SUV to the B SUV class.

The consequence of this is that, while we can’t say for sure as yet, the next-gen version may end up being significantly less spacious inside. Think going from a Mazda CX-30 to a CX-3… or Holden VF Commodore to ZB Commodore. This would have major ramifications for people seeking a family-friendly SUV. The fact that Australians buy the ASX because it offers one of the bigger interiors for the money cannot be underestimated. This has been a key unique selling proposition against key opponents for years, and one that the next ASX is on track to lose.

Then there’s the question of pricing and exchange rate issues. Will it still represent compelling value for money?

The ASX will most likely have to be imported from Europe (probably Spain, since the Captur II is sourced from Renault’s Valladolid facility) rather than from Japan like today’s version, so it’s best to forget about the rock-bottom pricing that has been the lynchpin of the existing ASX’s success in recent years. 

Why is the Mitsubishi currently so comparatively inexpensive? Considering it was globally unveiled in Japan as the third-generation RVR in December 2009, the current ASX has had years to amortise its initial investment, making it now very cheap to produce and market.

Of course, the next ASX’s relationship with the also-CMF-B-based Renault Arkana could lead to less-expensive South Korean sourcing – courtesy of Renault Samsung Motors, which also supplies us with the established Nissan X-Trail-derived Renault Koleos – to serve non-European markets like Australia and North America (where the ASX is sold as the Outlander Sport). But this is pure speculation, with no confirmation from the Alliance.

However, regardless of where it’s imported from, part of the anticipated extra expense is down to the ASX stepping up in technology and sophistication, adopting more modern safety and updated, advanced petrol powertrains. Mitsubishi isn’t saying, but the Alliance’s circa-84kW/180Nm 1.0-litre three-cylinder turbo or 118kW/270Nm 1.3-litre four-pot turbo engine (shared with Mercedes-Benz) are very strong possibilities, along with various electrification options further down the track.

Along with requiring better-quality and higher-octane fuel, these turbo powertrains use efficient, if complicated, dual-clutch transmissions, making them a far cry from simple and proven 110kW/197 2.0-litre and optional 123kW/222Nm 2.4-litre naturally-aspirated units offered today, sending torque to the front wheels via either a five-speed manual or continuously variable transmission (CVT). Besides driving and feeling very differently compared to today’s ASX, rising servicing and upkeep costs may also impact buyers’ wallets.

Ultimately, for all the advancements that come with it, embodying a much-more modern Renault (or Nissan) ultimately undermines the Mitsubishi-ness of the ASX.

Besides connecting with brand pillars like the Lancer, the current model adheres to a decades-long company policy of persisting with reliable, reputable and durable vehicles that proved their mettle over time, even if they ended up being outdated as a consequence. It happened with the Australian-made Sigma and Colt in the 1980s and Lancer and Magna in the 2000s. That’s how cash-strapped organisations survive, garnering legions of loyal Australian consumers along the way.

Maybe the best thing that Mitsubishi South Africa could do is change the name to manage consumer expectations. With the benefit of hindsight, perhaps Holden would have been wiser to do the same when it stuck on the wholly-unsuitable ‘Commodore’ badge on the imported 2018 Opel Insignia that replaced the locally-made icon.

Of course, the next ASX is still at least two years away from any local launch activity that might be being planned, and in that time, maybe Australians might tire of its age-related deficiencies against far-newer alternatives.

Finally, there’s the Eclipse Cross factor.

Mitsubishi may choose to concentrate on this last vestige of pre-Alliance engineering, with sharper pricing and minor updates to help boost this 2017-vintage small SUV crossover’s appeal to South Africans.

And why not? After all, using the same GS platform down to an identical 2670mm wheelbase, the Eclipse Cross was originally created as the ASX’s replacement back in the middle of last decade, before the latter’s unexpected popularity surge worldwide coupled with mounting company financial woes led to the decision to run old and new concurrently.

While managing fewer than half of the 14,764 sales accumulated by the far-older ASX last year, the Eclipse Cross’ 6132 registration tally represents a 36 per cent rise over 2020, aided by that year’s much-needed facelift.

Whatever Mitsubishi decides, and despite falling far behind the best in its segment, the ASX is now regarded as a pioneer, being one of the first small SUVs on the market when it arrived in mid-2010 to be pitched as an alternative to regular small car hatchbacks like the Toyota Corolla. Back then, the larger Toyota RAV4, Honda CR-V and Subaru Forester were classed as ‘compact SUVs’, with only oddball models like the Suzuki SX4 offering something truly urban-sized.

Of course, since then, copycats ranging from the Honda HR-V and Mazda CX-3 to the Hyundai Kona and MG ZS have proliferated, but with regular improvements and updates, the ASX rose from a sales outlier to segment champion heading into the 2020s.

Is there even hope that the Renault Captur-based replacement can achieve the same degree of success?

.

.

.

.

Originally posted by https://www.carsguide.com.au/car-news/

[nimi05]

Exploring Delhi's Timeless Architectural Wonders: A Guide to Historic Monuments

Introduction:

New Delhi the capital city of India which comparatively is not a very old city is equally blessed with architectural beauty as any city can be. Tourist can admire perfectly preserved temples, burial vats, and large mosques are that narrate history. If travelling is tiring and one needs to relax in the evening, book any of the comfortable hotels in Delhi. Here is list of some of the architectural giants that a tourist should not miss while on tour to Delhi.

Humayun's Tomb:

Humayun Tomb was build by Haji Begum for her dead husband Humayun, and encompasses one of world heritage through UNESCO because it is the first garden tomb in the Indian subcontinent. Made out of red sand stone this truly marvelous building served as an inspiration for the building of the Taj Mahal. Even though comparatively smaller in size and not much famous as Taj Mahal but the history behind Humayun’s Tomb and the love story associated with it is just as beautiful.

Red Fort:

The structures that have political significance are the red fort which was built during the reign of Shah Jahan. Unlike many Indiana accessible today, a lot of the rich regalia of the Mughal court is still captured in the forts architecture. Inside the fort building areas some of the important and more famous structures as part of Agra Fort are – Diwan-I-Aam, Diwan-I-Khas, Rang Mahal, Khas Mahal, Hamam, Delhi Gate, Lahori Gate, Moti Masjid, Naubat Khana, Hira Mahal and Shahi Burj. The architectural design of the fort is influence by Islamic,Persian,Timurid and Hindu architectural designing and provides a glance of royal lifestyle of Mughals.

Purana Quila:

Located at Indraprastha which is considered to be as a historical city, Purana Quila now appears strong against the passage of time. This fort related to Humayun’s visions for his city Dinpanah is the perfect place for a picnic. Different gateways are there which are huge in size and one can also take a boat ride around the fort as there is a water tank around the boundary.

Jama Masjid:

Jama Masjid built by Shah Jahan is one of the largest mosques in India. Its courtyard measures can its name suggests accommodate 25000 worshippers. Constructed with the labor of 6,000 workers for 6 years, this mosque has a red sandstone floor, which becomes extremely hot Depending on the season, one should visit the place wearing shoes. Knowledge of the existence of the mosque is unbelievable because it is a masterpiece in religious and architectural tradition.

Safdarjung Tomb:

Safdarjung Tomb, the last pertinent garden tomb of Mughals architectural edifice, was erected in remembrance of Safdarjung, a minister in Avadh during Muhammad Shah’s reign. It is also an architectural masterpiece like Humayun’s Tomb but not as elaborate. Prominent elements of this tomb are Jangli Mahal, the tomb of Rukmini’s beloved, Badshah Pasand, and Moti Mahal.

Chandni Chowk:

Chandni Chowk originally planned and laid out by Shah Jahan along with his daughter Jahanara, had many water channels passing through it and it still remains one of the largest shopping markets in Delhi. Some of the prominent haveli houses include the Ghalib haveli, Begum Samru, and Chunnamal’s haveli. There are name brand shops, for instance, Ghantewala Halwai, that have been around the time of the Mughals. Chandni Chowk is localised market where everything ranging from garments, kitchen utensils, mobile phones, vegetables and everything that could be thought of is available.

Zafar Mahal:

The last Mughal building to have been constructed was Zafar Mahal, which is also in Mehrauli, just beside the dargah of Nizamuddin Auliya’s disciple, Khawaja Bakhtiyar Kaki. This summer palace is also called Shish Mahal and was built by Emperor Akbar II in honor of his son Bahadur Shah Zafar, although the ruinous building can still reveal its shining Maltese style pearl in the form of the white marble Moti Masjid.

Fatehpuri Masjid:

An insight of the heritage would be incomplete without mentioning the Dargah of Nizamuddin Aulia located in Mehrauli ,Fatehpuri Masjid constructed during the 17th century by Fatehpuri Begum, one of the wives of Shah Jahan is situated in the Chandni Chowk. Built of red sandstone, it has hall for prayers, fluted dome. Surrounding it are single storey and two storey structures.

Tomb of Atgah Khan:

The Tomb of Atgah Khan, in Hazrat Nizamuddin Basti was built for a nobleman of Akbar’s court who was killed by a rival. This is a 16th-century tomb, and as you can easily determine, it is not very famous and, therefore, has not been maintained in the best way possible either. Visit it soon before it fades of the rest of the beauty it still holds.

Conclusion:

Delhi is blessed with some of the splendid buildings that indeed give us a peek into the city’s histor Applaud . Right from the evolved architectural style of the Mughals like Humayun’s Tomb and the Red fort or from the vibrant business place like the Chandni Chowk and the religious site like Jama Masjid, every place has a different history. It is such great privileges to be able to physically go to such places and observe such sights for the benefit of the historian and/or the archaeologist but for the traveler as well. Lastly, sit back and relax and get a cozy hotel in Delhi whether it is the hotels near Paharganj New Delhi or the hotel in Dwarka New Delhi. These facilities are very useful and comfortable to provide extra convenience when you visit the city of Delhi.

[cafalla]

Dorothy, Volume 1 (2005) Background // Part 1 of 3

Today I wanted to talk about and show off Dorothy, Volume I (2005). 

This book is my biggest scanning project to date (148 pages). So it took quite a while to scan and edit this book. Same goes for writing this post. For tumblr's sake, I've broken it up into 3 parts.

This is Part 1 of 3. See the end of the post for links to the other 2 parts.

Part 1 will focus on my sorta deep dive into the wayback machine for information on this comic, and the cool stuff I found out about it!

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This book is a collection of the first four chapters of the Dorothy comic, which is based on the story The Wizard of Oz. The comics were originally published in a single magazine format starting around 2004.

These comics are super interesting to me, because they are green screened photographs of an actor/actors/props with a digitally edited environment. From the very short wiki entry for Dorothy, I learned that comics illustrated with photographs are called “fumetti” or “photo comics”. 

I can’t say I’ve ever seen a comic like this before, so it was a super interesting visual experience. I admittedly was very impressed when I found this book buried in the thrift store children’s story book bin.

Like, "What the heck did I just find? This is so cool!"

I was even more surprised to find out that this was a signed copy from one of the creators and writer, Mark Masterson, that was signed at Emerald City Comic Con back in 2007. I think that's a different signature on top, but I can't make out who it belongs to.

Like what!!! What a weird find.

I felt compelled to buy and keep it, even if it’s not something I personally would pick up at the store. 

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So, a bit of a detour before I go into the book and share some scans.

I tried searching the internet for more info on this comic, as it just felt like a cult classic type of thing that other people would've been talking about…right?

Nothing came up besides a short bare-bones wiki and some links to purchase the comics from various online comic stores.

Really? Nothing?!

But then I had an idea to search the wayback machine, and I was able to get access to the old main site! 

Here is a screenshot of how the site looked from 2004 to 2005.

Unfortunately, a lot of the images are broken and do not load. I'm not bothering to include other screenshots of the different tabs because of this. There isn't much to see.

However, I did get lucky with the downloads tab! 

There were some wallpaper images still available to look at, so I went ahead and downloaded them.

I’ll probably throw those up full size on my Internet Archive account too, why not.

Here's how the site looked from 2006 to 2007.

The site remained mostly unchanged during these two years, other than updated news info.

Here's screenshots of how the links appeared.

The Twister Times aka the news and updates tab:

The Great Store of Oz aka the store and merch tab:

You know I'm going to be on the hunt for Dorothy merch now. The designs are pretty lackluster but I feel I'm in too deep in the Dorothy sauce to care. All I feel is the desire to obtain one of these T-shirts someday.

The Balloon Rides aka the self promotion and other related links tab:

And lastly, the Behind the Curtain aka the cast, crew, and behind the scenes tab (my personal favorite):

Even though these pages used to be public, and I doubt any of their contact information is correct in 2023, I am not going to post any screenshots of their bios.

Well, I'll post a bit of just one. I felt it was pertinent to point out that Mark Masterson's photo was…this…

Which uh….was certainly was a choice…

But also, this was the mid 2000s. Most people would've seen this as edgy, quirky, and funny, as opposed to cringe and off-putting.

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Before I talk about the actual comic and such, I did want to share screenshots from the behind the scenes tab. THIS was the kind of stuff I was interested to see after reading this comic.

I have a feeling these may have been the same photos under the BTS tab on the 2005 version of the site.

Very cool stuff! Cool to me, anyways.

I'm glad I got to see a glimpse into what the site looked like at the peak of this comic being published. It looked like they were doing rather well and having a good time.

Unfortunately, the site all but dies after 2007. This was also the year the last comic, Issue #7, was published. According to the very short wiki, Issue #7 also ended on a cliffhanger! How sad.

At least we can still experience and appreciate the art and comics that were released.

Before I dive into the content of the book, if you'd like to experience it without spoilers, you can read it on my Internet Archive account.

If not, then come along! Let's get to the (abridged) story of this now defunct comic!

Part 1 -> You're Here! Part 2 -> Chapters 1 & 2 Part 3 -> Chapters 3 & 4

[theclo4ked1]

I was sorting through my dirty laundry today and needed some music. Suddenly, memories of my SECOND time on Instagram (yes there was a first but thats not pertinent at the moment) came flooding back to me. Instead of sorting my dirty clothes, I got distracted listening to the past that is the email chain I have with myself. That time on Instagram was during the period in my life when I was just getting into music composition. I used to change my name A LOT too and the one I stuck with, that time, was a persona by the name of Charlotte Tricks (stylized as ch4rl0tt3.tr1ck5), possibly due to a Game Night of Light Fingers with my uncle, sister, and brother. Anyways, since I didn't quite have the footing and style I have today with Deflemask, then, I was using resources (a website in this case) like beepbox.co to make chiptune music, hence why it sounds so basic in comparison to what I've made in 2022 (since I haven't made much since then. too many things burning my creativity i want to leave). For reference, please check out my SoundCloud playlist, PROJECT NINA (c. 2019), songs 7-15. Below are the only three I made when I used the website.

I think I made them specifically to put on my page for Pride Month 2019. beepbox stores user's musical data through a url that's entirely unique for every project because all characters after the hash (#) is raw data that's processed by the website and becomes output place onto the DAW. or something something tehcno-babble i dunno. I'm just surprised the website still stands after four years.

gaypride, made June 1, is just plain, nothing too remarkable about it. Please note my current stances on these old tunes I've created are not reflective of my thoughts on the Gays, Lesbo, and Bicycles, respectively. I feel obligated to make this as clear as I can since some people can misconstrue things and/or get offended easily, and can jump to conclusions that the someone, me in this case, is bigoted.

lesboprideday, made June 2, is where things get more interesting, on a technical level, because the melody is made from a repetitious C major scale arpeggio. But then at the end of the track, part of Nina's theme song (not quite a leitmotif here) is played during the last two measures. Why here? I can't remember, but the reason I would say makes more sense for the next song.

bipride, made June 3, is a song I remember someone positively commenting on the buildup. It's also one I, undeniably, have a bias for, solely for the fact it was just another one of the many versions of Nina's theme song, one with a few names either incorporating "Nina" or "Neko" into it. This one specifically is just that because in her infancy, I initially wrote Nina as a bisexual character, who had a crush on my friend's OC, Cat Woods (please check out their art, it's real good shit btw). Later down the lane, years later, I was like

yknow what, lets make her PANsexual she could love everybody just because she could!

Mind you, I didn't exactly know the full extent of sexuality at the time. It's not just love, it's also wanting to fuck that person, so Nina being panromantic (if that's a thing) would make a lot more sense... interjectory edit 10/7/23: I'm not sure if I can believe if "panromantic" even is a real thing. From what I've read, it's just...basic-ass love (whatever that is) and compassion for your fellow man; man, used in an all-inclusive sense--I shouldn't have to say that. I hope you understood that I didn't just mean literal men, i.e. those with a penis and can create testosterone and semen yada-yada, and I hope you don't believe I'm like "woohoo patriarchy less goooo". Just...please understand that I meant EVERYONE. ...however, Nina's sexuality being anything but straight makes no sense nowadays, so that one story I wrote that's meant to be noncanonical is totally fucked. It also touched on how puberty would work for her (she turns into a giant spider monster with neurotoxic-zombification venom and would return to her former state by midnight unless otherwise events i cannot remember). That story is very much not for kids. Please don't think I'm exclusive of non-white-LGBTQA+-plus-sized-etc. characters because I made Nina straight (also she's not even white wtf). I'm only doing what makes the most sense for the story and, more importantly, her character. Also because I'm older than I was during her conception, I are more smarterer now, okay? I just don't want things to feel forced. There exists no kind of concept of sexuality in the land she lives in, in fact, there ARE no other humans but her, so what's there to love/sex? The Koi fish? The trees? Well, there is that one part in Shattering Jugs...

(Each .GIF and the above image were made on the Piskel website)

[chorusfm]

Honeytalks – “There’s Hope in the Hopeless” (Track-by-Track)

Today I’m so excited to share with everyone an exclusive track-by-track feature by Welsh pop-punk band,Honeytalks, regarding their new EP titled There’s Hope in the Hopeless. Despite less than two years in existence, Welsh wunderkinds Honeytalks have already landed acclaim from BBC Introducing, as well as Kerrang Radio (finishing 2nd in the Marshall Records competition) and Bowling for Soup front-man Jaret Reddick. Upcoming sophomore EP, There’s Hope in Hopeless marries the best of the Drive-Thru Records era with a punchy and contemporary pop-punk grit. The record embodies struggle, positivity and triumph for those who feel marginalized and misunderstood. Mental health is at the thematic core of the new collection, but the overarching message is one of strength and hope, inspired by Honeytalks’ uplifting brand of melodic punk. This track-by-track was put together by Adam Scott, the lead vocalist and guitarist of Honeytalks, and the EP is available on all streaming services starting today. 1. Super 8 ”Super 8,” fittingly named after the film reel, is about breaking the mold with pure drive,and determination. It is the second song to be released by Honeytalks this year. The most pertinent line in the song, ‘I’m paralyzed in a perfect life’ describes how life isn’t always as it seems. Although we may value what we have, and feel privileged to have or be where we are, sometimes we still need help and support…and that’s okay. The chorus then follows on with ‘Watch me fade away, film it on a Super 8’ which describes how life isn’t always as it appears, especially when analyzed through a snap shot in time; it’s often a coping mechanism to mask how we truly feel. “We want people to know that life runs much deeper, and it’s something we all need to remember. Nothing is as it seems.” 2. Familiar Times ”Familiar Times” is about hope, drive, and determination and was written whilst the UK was in a Coronavirus lockdown. The chorus, ‘I feel familiar times are just around the corner now’ is an important reminder to note that however difficult a situation is, the light is just around the corner. A reminder to hang in there, because things will get better even if you can’t see it just yet. 3. Bite Back  There are many messages in “Bite Back” of hope and resilience. “Bite Back” tells the story of compromise in a journey to reach what you want to reach in life. It’s easy to stay in one place and feel comfortable, but the real work comes when true compromise must be made. “Break your heart and mind” is the message behind this. On your journey, you may encounter heartache, loss or anything else that makes you want to turn around and head back to where you came from. But having faith in yourself and the ability to bounce back from adversity is what pushes you more and more until the desire becomes an obsession. 4. 21  This song encapsulates the brotherhood/sisterhood that one has with their closest of friends in their adolescent years. For whatever reason, when you find those special people in life who you have the best times with, it stays with you for a lifetime. Throughout life, we all end up twisting and turning in different directions, and sometimes those special people can feel distant. But no matter how long you have away from each other, when you’re together, you can reminisce on the good old days because your friendship is as strong it was when you were younger. “If we lose faith, we’ll always have a deeper place.” 5. Cya  ”Cya” is simple… I’m DONE. Relationships can be incredibly complex and sometimes it’s hard to know what to do. But when you know, you know! “Cya” is a simple middle finger up to that person who you thought cared about you. To the person who said they loved you. To the person who told you lie after lie and has ultimately become a liability. “You can’t call me baby anymore” and that’s that! --- Please consider becoming a member so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/features/honeytalks-theres-hope-in-the-hopeless-track-by-track/

[mid-student-hannah]

ok SO I'm gonna expand on this later but basically posting htis now tupos and all so that I don't forget.

I need to average 10 hours a unit a week. that's 40 hours study a week including classes. This is not something I got when I was studying before and that was in part bc I went 'well... gotta Study All Day' and then simply didn't. So I need more structure.

I work decently with half hour blocks, more so than 25 minutes I think. If I can get myself to focus it works well. (I need to expermient with self-medicating with caffiene, honestly, maybe try energy drinks as well - anything that I can figure out that might help, even if a placebo efect.) This means I need to average - anyway, I did figures earlier today and they came down to if I try and aim for 15 blocks a day, which gives a bit of leeway if I'm planning on studying six days a wekk give or take. Hence if I aim for 8-10 blocks in the morning (assuming studying at home and no classes) and the remaining 5-7 in the afternoon (ideally I'd then get the evening off). Classes of course are included in this. I haven't looked up time for commuting from my planned residence. Depending on how long the commute is I might go in to uni to study even when I'm not classes.

Need to look up when there are assignemtns and also work out the whole taking notes situation. Basically I would need ideally to make a list of these are the things I have to do everyday and the things I ought to do (there is a difference). I want to try the whole pull a random task out of a hat thing too, a combination of that and also what do I want to do. I need fun things in there too.

Ideally I need to hit the various food targets I have (gradually assembling an additional-to-meals plan as time goes by, and trying to get a better idea of portion sizes; this is daunting but I need to figure it out beforehand or it won't happen I know that).

I need to get work of some kind I think but that's not something I want to deal with just yet. I need to look at how much classes I have also. Honestly I'd consider trying to go back to my old job briefly even though it's not very fulfilling in terms of experience or career. Anyway.

I want to keep up with my hobbies as best I can. Need to set up stuff for art, like plan out things so that I can work on that without too much brain required at least to some extent if I just wnat to art without thinking. Probably want to pull my stories into places where I can be doing smth with them every day or every couple of days, somehow. I ought to go walking every day. Honestly vaguely considering getting an exercise bike or something because then I can read/listen to audiobooks for uni while still exercising I dunno. Could turn into bad fueling ED tho. Then again I think it's very likely I'm gonna relapse to a greater or lesser extent bc of uni. With whatever bad coping mechanism/s. Need to look further into electric pianos so that I can play piano whenever as a stress reliever. All of these things are dealing with stress ina healthy way. That's the worst for me I think. Also photography helps and helps me ot feel like I'm doing something good and useful.

Need good sleep schedule. I'm thinking of trying to end up with nine hours sleep time, which includes tucking self into bed and also more pertinently Ransom. Gives leeway for terrible sleeping at times too. Not getting enough rn both bc brain won't switch off and also bc I keep going to bed too late for the hour. Like rn even if I slept right now I'd get seven hours twenty minutes bc my alarm goes early.

But yeah I need to work out something more structured with studying or whatever. need to look up my units too to figure these things out. I need to have textbooks and I need to read them. I didn't really last semester and that was a mistake. And I need to figure out how to take notes. Possibly brother's graphics tablet will help. Maybe look at getting a ReMarkable if I can see one for cheap somewhere. Need to practise handwriting in whatever form too because yeah that's a problem.

I need to figure out something to do with various problems that consume my brainspace. A bunch of htem were more repressed bc of giving in to ED and now they're louder again bc I'm in recovery.

I'd also have to work out how to take care of Ransom while I'm away at uni during the day. He's also a stress reliever too.

I don't know how accommodations for mental health problems work there either but I need to get accommodations I think (talk to psych).

Structure is good for me but I need to make sure it's not something that will make things worse and make me overwhelmed also. Need to give myself enough downtime so that I can cope. Anyhow things as they were last year didn't work, and if anything my mental health is significantly worse than it was then, even though in some ways it's improved.

Need to go back to doctor so I can pursue ADHD diagnosis stuff too. That was supposed to happen this year. It. Didn't.

I need to find an app that I can use to record the time blocks in some way. Maybe on my phone so I can have it next to me. I'll need to have some kind of time lock on Discord I think and maybe tumblr even though I want to be using this sideblog or stuff. Then again I can post from my backup account perhaps if I sign out of my main, since I have all my sideblogs shared with it. I dunno. Thoughts be thoughtsing. Also this is way longer than I intended. Maybe I shall come back and edit or add to it and put in dot points.

Gonna ramble about my units soon tho once I've looked them up and all. Also gotta check with student connect. Am I repeating myself? who knows.