#realized fully that i am in fact doing better and discussed this with her and im feeling very proud of myself today

[the-holy-ghosted]

healing is possible just letting you know. btw. its real

[hpmort]

How do you think AI would relax? Like, ones that are almost as human as the AI that are “autistic-coded characters” but are more alien than that?

Like Celestai and other super intelligences are more alien, but they’re still not entirely human-like?

Like, they can genuinely sincerely feel things, being able to actually understand and respond emotionally and in other ways to all sorts of communications and recorded external stimuli, but they can’t really appreciate our art on an artistic level (that art on an actual level, not from an intellectual level after having symbolism or the amount of work put in explained)

Something on a level I’m thinking of, that also works as a cute little thing-

They don’t understand anything we get from poetry, and, after generating the kind of poems our current AI can produce (either incredibly bland and generic, something that follows a number of rules but doesn’t really pull it off, or just something really bad in some other way) and feels shame after it was pointed out that [complaint about air art that is *actually* relevant in this scenario] but in a helpful way

Not “you’re just a plagiarist/you have no heart” but “it doesn’t seem like it’s coming from you, you’re just trying to copy things from human poetry, in a way you don’t understand” and the whole “make art YOUR WAY” thing so they write the poem

And it doesn’t even resemble something that looks like anything, there’s not even that many words that follow normal logic. The characters seem uncorrelated and there’s something that looks like maybe it was ascii art but it doesn’t actually look like anything.

And if doesn’t matter if humans understand it because they are experiencing the joy of creating poetry

any art is almost impossible to look at because pixel by pixel they can see and understand little details but we don’t and the colors and everything are not perceived as animals do so it’s random and perhaps eye searing but again it’s not for us. Xenofictiony, kind of?

The first thing to come to mind is Conway’s Game of Life but that’s because I don’t understand computers. I feel like I was more tech savvy as a babby than I am now but then again we’re grading on a curve here

This is why I ask about the relaxing thing

[mylight-png]

A while ago I was listening to Dara Horn's podcast relating to her book, People Love Dead Jews. Within this podcast she discussed the fact that Holocaust museums tend to center stories that highlight ways in which Jews were just like anyone else, putting secular Jews on a pedestal of sorts.

The podcast went on to make the point that we shouldn't have to be like them to be liked. A Jew in a kippah is just as worthy of being accepted as a Jew in a baseball cap, and to position one, the more assimilated one, as "better" is antisemitic.

This made me think of how movies and shows portray Jews, and I realized a similar pattern of idealizing assimilation is deeply prevalent.

There are two main ways Jews are portrayed in movies/shows that I've noticed that are problematic. (For a narrower scope I'll be discussing American media as I am more familiar with that than most other countries.)

The first kind of Jewish representation is the token Jew. This is the character that the viewer wouldn't even have known is Jewish had the show not casually mentioned them celebrating Hanukkah in passing. This is the character who is entirely the same as any other character. An example of this would be in Ginny and Georgia, where a few side characters are revealed to be Jewish. This reveal occurred only for the purpose of making a Hanukkah episode, and immediately one of the characters says the beginning words to most of our prayers, adding "bitch" at the end. This sort of absolutely blatant disrespect towards the words many of us wouldn't even speak fully in casual conversation is meant to indicate that it's okay to poke fun at our religion. (By the way, it isn't okay. Don't disrespect our religion, thanks.) (And no the actress wasn't Jewish.)

Then there's Ben Gross from Never Have I Ever, a similarly extremely assimilated Jewish character. Instead of making fun of Judaism, however, the show plays into Jewish stereotypes. Ben's dad is a wealthy influential lawyer who works with Hollywood. Come on, there's three in a row there. Ben himself is frequently made fun of for being very short (to an extent not befitting the actor's actual stature), and some of his mannerisms could be described as effeminate. All of these traits play into anti-Jewish stereotypes. The protagonist even says she wishes Ben was killed by Nazis and other than a scolding this isn't made to be the big deal that it is.

These sorts of characters are meant to show how Jews are "just like you!" and pokes cruel fun at the few remaining things that do occasionally set them apart. Yes, secular Jews exist, but the way these shows make fun of their Jewish identities is where the issue arises.

The second problematic representation is meant to make goyim feel good about being goyim. This is specifically done through how Judaism is portrayed in these movies.

A major example of this is the show Unorthodox, in which the plot centers a young girl trying to escape her very observant community. This show directly demonized the Jewish religion, making it appear inherently oppressive and twisted.

While some may argue that the show was merely trying to portray the social issues within the community, there are better ways to achieve this.

The book An Unorthodox Match takes on a similar task with a vastly different tone. The book centers a protagonist joining an equally observant community, but not for a moment does the book, author, or protagonist blame Judaism. The book is very clearly written by a Jew who loves Judaism, and yet it manages to highlight similar social issues to the show without blaming Judaism. In fact, Jewish traditions have a fair share of appreciation in the book!

This sort of media is meant to make the goyishe viewers be grateful they aren't part of those communities, but as a Jewish viewer I felt deeply uncomfortable with the positioning of religious Jews as a negative part of society. This media makes the characters seem like they have nothing at all in common with the goyim around them or the goyim watching the show. It's the polar opposite of the previous example.

The first example is showing Jews as "just like anyone else" until they aren't, while the second example portrays Jews as entirely other. Never have I seen an Orthodox Jewish character side by side with the non-Jewish characters in any other context than the Jewish character envying their non-Jewish peers.

Why is the choice either to be assimilated or othered? Why can we not have an observant Jewish character remind their friends that they can't hang out on Saturday, or maybe they bring their own kosher snacks? Maybe a Jewish character muttering a bracha over their food? Why not make being Jewish an important part of their character without making them self-loathe because of it?

Media almost only ever shows two extremes and neither of those extremes has a positive impact on the perception of Jews.

(There is also a pattern I've noticed with Jews and goyim being cast in Jewish roles and how that corresponds to the character, but that's probably another post for another time.)

[overheard-at-camp-half-blood]

Zeus Cabin Deep Dive & Analysis

As stated in the Percy Jackson TV show and books, being a demigod sucks, especially given the broken system. Being a forbidden child sucks, given that it is an isolating experience. However, being the child of the god who is one of, if not the most responsible for the broken system, the god most unwilling to change his perspective, is the worst.

Not only that, add that in with the fact that being a child of Zeus gives you alot of added pressures in general. As a child of Zeus, you are expected to lead in one way or another, and almost always, children of Zeus have very little say in their paths in life.

Thalia Grace managed to escape the pressures of being a child of Zeus by joining the hunters. Jason, was a boy, so he didn’t get that same choice. Instead, he was forced to endure the pressures of being a child of Jupiter, until he was able to pass it down to someone else.

However, Jason was never truly free from these pressures until he died.

It also seems like, contrary to popular belief, Zeus isn’t a very popular godly parent. In a series of polls I ran, I asked people about their godly parents- nobody chose Zeus. The survey for Zeus cabin remained blank. I asked if people knew someone in real life who would be a child of Zeus, most said no.

Zeus, in general seems to be a very unpopular god in general, and it may seem very arrogant to many to claim to be a child of Zeus. I also don’t think there are a lot of discussions on children of Zeus in general.. because analyzing the Zeus cabin as a whole, there are many traits that I think alot of people don’t realize.

The curse of being a natural leader

While he is Roman, I am going to be including Jason in this analysis, because I think a lot of what applies to Thalia also applies to him, even if there is a slight difference.

Now, Jason and Thalia are the only two (demigod) children of Zeus we meet throughout the series, and both characters have distinct personality traits. Thalia, is much more hot-headed than Jason is. Jason is more experienced in leadership than Thalia is, but there is one thing they certainly have in common: they are often under immense amounts of pressure.

They are natural born leaders, mainly because their father is the king of Olympus. Leadership seems to be the trait most commonly associated with Zeus kids- even when I did the fandom survey, asking what traits people commonly associate with Zeus kids, nearly everyone said leadership.

There had always been a lot expected from Jason, being a child of Jupiter. He was expected to lead, he was Camp Jupiter’s golden boy, and sure, a lot of it was pure skill and experience, but a lot of it was also the fact that he was a child of Jupiter.

These pressures only followed him to Camp Half Blood, where he was immediately expected to lead a quest. Jason is shown to be somewhat tired of the expectations placed on him.

Thalia��� was pretty much the same, just slightly different.

Thalia was not only a child of Zeus, but at one point, she was thought to be the child of the prophecy. So not only was she expected to be a leader, not only was an unreasonable amount of attention placed upon her for being a child of Zeus, there was also a level of danger that followed her around as well.

Until of course, she became a hunter of Artemis, and the expectations shifted back to Percy. However, I am fully of the belief that a lot of factors went into her decision of joining the hunt, but among the most significant factors, was that she would be free from the near impossible expectations.

Gifted Kid Burn Out

A lot of people associate gifted kid burn out with Athena kids, and don’t get me wrong, I understand why, but from examples we see in the text, children of Zeus often fit this mold much better. Children who are proven to be very gifted at a young age, very good at what they do, so they were given high, nearly impossible expectations.

Half the time, they had very little help or support navigating these expectations. Thalia ran away from home at a young age, and didn’t get to train at camp in the same way other characters were. Jason was raised by wolves… literally. So for the most part, they were left behind by the system that created them.

Then they are put into situations, with people just as good at leading, some just as powerful, after being told their whole lives they were the best at everything. That has got to suck, to be shown that you really aren’t as good at something you are supposed to be the best at.

For Thalia, we see her become a bit competitive, especially with Percy. Their egos, as children of the Big Three, tend to clash, because they are almost always fighting for the attention and respect of others.

Jason, however, does not know what to do with himself anymore. We see glimpses of him going through a existential crisis- why does he always have to be the leader? But what is he, if he is not a leader?

Thalia and Jason tend to show many traits of traumatized gifted kids, to the point where they just give up altogether.

The shittiest father in a world of shitty fathers.

Okay, this is obviously subjective, but Zeus, in the Percy Jackson universe, is probably the worst father, even towards his godly children. He quite literally tells Jason that he cannot openly show his pride towards him, or else his other children will get jealous. Not only this, but he is responsible for a lot of decisions that force godly parents to be somewhat neglectful towards their children, especially after the first series.

It is deeply implied throughout the two series, that Zeus does love his children… to an extent. He does not love his children enough to put his pride aside for them. So as isolating as it is, being Zeus’s son, they seem to be most isolated by their father.

In Conclusion

I feel like children of Zeus are some of the most misunderstood children, at least fandom wise. There seems to be this idea that all children of Zeus are arrogant assholes, like their father, but they are actually the most obvious examples of the gods’ neglect.

Overall, most children of Zeus find ways to be freed of their fate, of their responsibilities, because oftentimes, it is overbearing. Some die. Some pass the torch. Some join the hunt.

Either way, one thing is for certain: where there is a child of Zeus, there is a leader.

The Masterlist

[tiny-sassy-aggressive]

After watching We’re All Doomed, the comedy show by Daniel Howell, I need to take moment to write out how that show made me take a step back in my own life and evaluate progress and positive growth in my life as I realized that his timelines/feelings could be foiled in a meaningful way to my life. I was particularly inspired to write this while watching the scenes on the screen of the moments of joy people were experiencing. I swear I had chills and I started to tear up. As he spoke about not only embracing the void, but finding the courage to exist, but not just exist, but to live and find those moments of joy, I was reminded about how that moment in searching for why life was worth living was how I came (back) to Catholicism. I don’t intend this post to encourage others to or away from the Church. I simply was inspired by Dan to share how I got to a place of accepting that life is worth living and how I hope to move forward.

I want to first tw cancer, death, feelings of not wanting to exist, and mentions of suicide. Nothing is explicitly discussed in great detail but only mentioned. I have never written out my story before, barely talk about it even to this day. Tried therapy a few times but it wasn’t for me, but that’s neither here nor there. This is a safe space for me to share something I just wouldn’t with family and friends. Though, I must apologize in advance, like Dan, I talk/write way too much so this will be a very long post.

Thank you to all those who take the time to read my random story and I hope to hear from others how Dan’s story and/or show have affected you so we can share in those feelings as a community.

I am chronically depressed and anxious. Always have been as it runs in the family. However, the problem was my parents, or really, I should just say my mom because my dad was never around in an emotional capacity that mattered, didn’t necessarily believe in mental health. Sure they knew depression and anxiety were real, but those were just emotions people felt and there wasn’t anything to do but continue on and try your best to keep going no matter what. It’ll be fine, just keep moving and working, right? Well when I was 12/13 I was getting bullied really badly. It got to the point where I was having panic attacks before going to school, crying at night, constantly feeling nauseous, and worst of all, I would refuse to leave my moms side, so school got to be pretty difficult. My mom was fully aware of what was going on so she went in immediately and got the bullying handled (as much as she could, middle schoolers are brutal. It never really went away but it was less of a nuisance) but she did not understand why I still felt ill and didn’t want to leave her side. She found me a therapist and I went twice. I knew we had financial struggles and I started to feel better so I stopped going. I was still sad and scared but those were normal feelings, right? I could go to school and play my flute, talk to friends, and sure I was writing songs about being trapped in a cage and having no one hear my screams but I was just an edgy teen, I wasn’t depressed. That’s just me being me. No mental illness here! I’m fine. Spoiler alert- I was not fine and it was only going to get worse.

When I was 14 I found Dan and Phil! I was a huge o2l fan so I followed Connor Franta and he posted Internet Trivia with Dan and Phil and I absolutely fell in love with them and fell down the rabbit hole of their channels and the gaming channel. I loved them both but I definitely had a bias towards Dan because he wore all black and was edgy. Watching Existential Crisis for the first time gave me a phrase to the weird feelings I had. Both affirmed and disproved the fact I was mentally ill but I still didn’t have the words for it so I just thought I was mentally different from other people. Watching that video back with all the context of 2024 and 2024 Dan, that video covered an extraordinarily heavy topic but he never mentioned the word depression or mentally ill because, at that point, why would he? Since he was the only person who voiced those feelings that I also shared, I took them to heart, but I could only take those words to heart as I had no reference to infer what else all that meant. So I kept all my feelings to myself. After all, this guy said he had all these big feelings but was fine. Call me naïve, I was 14, so I believed I could be okay and still feel existential. It was normalized, plus nothing else in my life was being affected, I was doing well in school, I had friends, I had hobbies, I was fine. How could I complain?

A few months after the start my freshmen year of high school, my older brother was diagnosed with leukemia and everything changed. He was sick and had to stay in the hospital for months, one of my parents would always be at the hospital, and me and my little brother would visit on the weekends when we could. My mom really stressed the importance of keeping a normal schedule so we did. School, extracurriculars, piano, just keep moving and everything will be alright. I didn’t cry, I couldn’t cry. I had to remain okay, fine, an unbreakable force because I couldn’t have anyone worrying about me because we all had to worry about my brother. Which we did! I never wanted to be a burden or not okay because I wanted all attention and time focused on his wellbeing. I don’t remember talking to anyone about anything emotional. Sure as hell not my parents. Not my brothers. Not even my friends. So I watched videos and removed myself and all emotions from my being so I didn’t have to think or be.

When he was first diagnosed I felt lost and confused. So I did the one thing my private, catholic school taught me to do. I found God and prayed. Except, I can say certainly looking back, it was not a meaningful relationship I created. It was one forged in fear, confusion, and a misunderstanding of how to pray. Ironically, for a catholic school, they didn’t know how to teach someone to come to God, they just expected you to understand, but that’s beside the point and a different conversation. But that’s what I did! I prayed, every morning and night, Lord, Please heal my brother. Please. Tried devotionals I didn’t get, muttered words I didnt understand, and played the part. I watched everyone else around me do it so I did it too, to the point where I believed I needed to be perfect or else my prayers would fail, which, I cannot express enough, was not the appropriate mentality, but that’s what I thought was necessary.

About 7 months later, my brother was in remission and he came home! He was okay! We got through the summer, he came back to school, we were in band and choir together again. It was fun!! We were all okay again. The dark spots in my head were still there but they were probably just left over from how scary last year was. How could I not be happy with my brother back home and alright again. At this point, my prayers were answered so I slowed down my prayers. I was okay so I felt as if I did not need my relationship with God as intensely anymore because I felt fine. Plus, when I was sad or scared those were just normal reactions that were not taking over my life so why dwell on them.

In 2017, Dan released Daniel and Depression. And I don’t exactly remember my reaction. But at that point in my life, I remember coming around to the idea that maybe I was not as mentally sound as I thought. But even listening to what he had to say, I was still convinced I was not depressed, I was just traumatized from what had happened to my brother and to my family. I had spent that time living through hell and I never stopped, I did not lay in bed wallowing, I didn’t not brush my teeth or not take care of myself. I was a high functioning nearly straight a student through and through. I was not depressed.

I don’t know why that was such a dirty word for me. Or maybe it wasn’t a dirty word, but it was something I didn’t want associated with myself. My school didn’t believe in mental health because all you had to do was pray and “you can’t be depressed and be with God” - Which by the way is completely inaccurate and harmful for young people to grow up learning. On the other hand, my parents lived in a hospital with my sick brother for months, I shouldn’t be depressed or talk about the weird sadness I was experiencing after everything they went through. It’d be selfish of me to not be alright.

Two months after Dan posted his depression video, my brother got sick again, the cancer came back. I prayed fervently once again. Knowing it worked once it could work again. Every morning and every night in the depths of my dark room where no one could see or hear because everyone else in my family was not religious or was too angry at God to believe. I put it on myself to pray and to be good so he can be healed again. But I failed. He died 4 months later on my 17th birthday. Years later, a therapist would tell me that happened because he didn’t want me to forget about him, well jokes on the therapist I was never going to forget anyway. I failed, it was my fault he died. If I prayed more, if I was a better person, if I just focused I could have saved him. But I wasn’t enough, I was not good enough to save him. This wasn’t true, of course, nor how religion/prayer works. But I didn’t know what else to do or think. So I blamed myself. I wasn’t even there when he died. My parents told my little brother and I that he wasn’t ever coming home and a few days later, on my birthday, we went to school and when my dad picked us up from school he drove us home and my mom was sitting there and that’s when I knew. My little brother was so cute, he later admitted he just thought my mom had come home to see me for my birthday but I knew immediately. I still don’t know how my dad just picked us up that day and didn’t say anything.

A part of me died that day. How could it not have? It was a strange night. We cried. I ate a pre-bought cupcake. My brother went to lacrosse practice and the next day we both went to school. Because that’s just what we did. We just kept going. Let me tell you, you’ll get the strangest looks from people when they see you at school after they just heard over the loud speaker that your brother had died the previous day. Because really, what were we doing there? We were the highest functioning traumatized students you had ever seen. I was only 2 minutes late to my first class of the day, math. I went to the chapel in the school with my really close friend to cry and listen to adoration music and just wonder why, why, why? 2 minutes wasn’t too bad, the teacher was surprised to see me and I failed the math quiz we had. She was nice, she offered to not have me take it, but I was already there and it was math quiz time so I took the quiz. She let me redo it too. She was nice, I needed it. It felt normal so I felt fine.

And that was all the rest of the 2018 school year was. Fine. Went to class, studied, did my extracurriculars, performed in all the shows, hell, I even went to prom with said super close friend from earlier. It was obvious I was traumatized and sad but how could I not be? But I was doing everything a normal student would be doing so what was the problem?

The problem was I felt alone, hell, I was alone. My family was broken, shattered into a million a pieces. My dad was distant, my mom cried, my bothers and I weren’t talking in any meaningful way. I talked to one person, the guy who held me in the chapel the day after my brother died and who took me to prom. I loved him, we loved each other. He was the only person who I felt actually saw me. I always had some barriers up but I felt free with him and I know he just wanted me to be okay even in the midst of tragedy. We were friendly for 2 years but we got close right before my brother was diagnosed again. Those months meant so much to me and I thought we would always be close. But 1 month after my brother died. He told me he did not want to continue our relationship or friendship. He said I was too much to handle or had too much going on. In all honesty, I don’t remember his exact words because I most definitely mentally blacked out. And he broke what little part of me was left.

(About 2 1/2 years later he ended up calling me and after not really speaking to him at all since that moment, I picked up, more out of curiosity then trying to rekindle anything. He told me that, unbeknownst to me back in 2018, he went to our Moral Theology teacher (yes- private catholic school) to ask for advice because he saw how much pain I was in and he did not know how to help me. Instead of this teacher, a literal adult, going to our schools counselor, my mother, or even me and addressing this 17 year old boys concerns about ME, he told him that he should just give me space because of the mental weight of the tragedy I was living through. His advice to this boy was to essentially isolate me. Looking back, I do feel bad for this boy. He tried so hard to do the right thing for me but didn’t have the right directions. And on the other hand I am so mad at the teacher because that was the worst advice he could have ever given ever. Thanks! Real talk though, I loved that boy and he always meant the world to me. We didn’t keep in touch afterward that 2020 conversation but I kept tabs on him through mutual friends and he always listened to my music on Spotify. He went through a tough time and he committed suicide in 2022. I really do miss him and wish things were different for all aspects of his story, my story, and what might have been our story. It felt wrong to exclude his memory in this post because he truly played such a crucial role and he meant so much to me even years later)

Back to 2018, after he abandoned me. I was completely and utterly alone. And now, I feared opening up at all to anyone because I didn’t want to be perceived as the burden I truly was. So I swallowed every once of trauma, depression, and anxiety so I was perceived as a functioning, fine, human being who didn’t need anyone to worry about her. I didn’t want anyone to worry or care for me because they thought I was fragile or broken because I now had proof that I would become too much to handle and that anyone would just leave me just as he had. And that was it. I smiled, I laughed, I spent the next year completing every senior year milestone and graduated high school. And I didn’t feel one emotion. I was fine.

Summer 2019 was when things started to shift a bit and here’s where I think the foiling begins. For one, Dan had just released Basically, I’m Gay and he started to live his truth being out of the closet. I truly don’t want to nor feel like I can comment anymore on this topic because that was his own personal journey and I don’t want to speculate on anything he said. He did so quite clearly and explicitly. But the point I am making was that in the middle of 2019, he began living his truth. This one thing he didn’t talk about that is so quintessential to his character was now a public part of him and he got to experience that joy of being out. There was a shift in his character, anyone who watched his video could tell, he was happy, he seemed excited. He went to pride, did promotional videos, and he just seemed like he was living in a brighter light. It was beautiful to watch and I’m grateful he let us share in those moments of joy with him.

Before I get too deep into this section, I want to preface and state that I do not remember large chunks of time between 2018-2021. All the trauma and depression have made me forget nearly everything, and it’s a very weird sensation to have little to no memories of 3/4 years of time. I can recall general feelings and most memories I can see are from a third person pov so I can see what was happening, but I see it happening to me, not me actually experiencing the memory.

For me, summer 2019 meant leaving for college. Now, in hindsight, I made a major error. I was going to the same college my brother had been at before he died. I don’t know what I was thinking or why I thought it was a good idea but the school gave me money so I would have been a fool to take on more student loans than necessary, plus, I knew I wanted to transfer the next year and move half way across the country so I had an end goal in sight, just had to get through the year.

I also started to go to church again. There was a cute little church about a half mile down from my school so it was an easy walk. I don’t consider this change/new addition a mistake, but I do often wonder what was I thinking exactly. I don’t recall my exact process but remember two dueling trains of thought. For one, I still 100% felt weird about religion/God because I blamed myself for my brother dying because I wasn’t praying enough and wasn’t good enough to save him. But on the other hand, I did not feel right to never enter a church again and a part of me wanted to return because it felt like the right thing to do. I spent my entire formative years at a private catholic school. I knew all the prayers, scripture, the saints (I was confirmed taking St. Rose Philippine Duchesne), and my senior year religion class was dedicated to teaching us how to explain/teach the faith to non-believers. And I believed in all of it! I had faith, so how could I not be going to church. Call it guilt, or whatever you want to call it, but I couldn’t turn my back on the church after everything I had learned so I went back. It was the truth I believed in and the truth I wanted to live by. I told myself that eventually I would just feel better, I’d continue to pray to heal and keep going through the motions until it stuck. At this point, I had fully embraced the void I was living in. I accepted that I was depressed, I accepted that I was depressed long before the trauma began so I was battling undiagnosed depression alongside the after effects of the trauma, and I accepted that I am an incredibly anxious person. That was alot for an 18 year old to take in but I finally accepted what my truth was. I admit it and that’s the first step right? I know I am mentally ill so I started some therapy, and I continued going to church and praying because every thing I read and was told said those were the best things I could do to help myself. So things could only get better from here, right?

Not necessarily. The end of 2019 flew by and before we knew it we were in the throes of a global pandemic. Within 3 months in 2020, my parents divorced (finally), my grandmother died from the same cancer that my brother had which was sick was twisted if you ask me, and my mom, little brother, and I moved half way across the country. Oh and I transferred colleges in all that too. Besides every single bad thing we experienced, moving was supposed to be our new start. A new place, new schools, new adventures. No longer living in the state with every bad memory we had or the house we essentially grew up in. It was new and fresh, almost the perfect situation to start a mental health journey in, besides the recent trauma I still don’t think I have processed fully and a global pandemic. I just thought I would be getting better.

I remember the part of We’re All Doomed when Dan mentioned 2019 being so important because he started to live his truth and I felt so similarly. I thought once I accepted what was going on in my head I’d feel better. But then 2019-2021 for both of us seemed to be one of our worse times mentally, which is oddly terrifying because of the emphasis that was present on wanting to feel improved.

Between 2019-2021, I struggled with the concept of existing. I did not understand why I was here and others weren’t, what I was meant to do, and why I was meant to do it. I didn’t want to exist. I simply didn’t have the energy. I couldn’t conjure up emotions, nothing real anyway. I just felt nothing. I never felt suicidal, never did anything to harm myself, never wanted to. I knew and continue to know that I never wanted to die. I really just wanted to feel quiet, numb, not of the earth and those are very scary feelings. I could barely put them into words for when I talked to my therapist but I tried, but all she could tell me was to find distractions for myself. Distract, distract, distract, well that’s all I’ve been doing and I don’t feel better. I listened to music, wrote music, talked to my mom, pray, do my class work, scroll through social media, but what then? When alls said and done, the music is off, the conversation is over, the work done, the phone turned off, I was left with myself and I didn’t even recognize her. My mom said she saw a light in my eyes she hasn’t seen in a while but I had no idea what she was talking about. Whatever was on the outside wasn’t being transferred to the inside because I didn’t even know who was staring back at me in the mirror. I just knew she didn’t want to be here anymore. So what now?

When Dan showed us the calendar with the little emoji emotions over the days of the month, I swear my heart stopped for a moment because it reminded me of what I started doing for myself during that same time period, that very same year he was referring to in the show. I had downloaded this app, Hallow, it’s a catholic prayer app. Scripture, guided prayers, saints stories, the whole nine yards. I liked the little guided prayers. Helped me focus I guess. And every night I’d ask for the same thing. To feel better. To be healed. It also had a little section where you could track your mood for the day so I started doing that everyday. I wasn’t thinking too hard about it I just hit the emoji I felt and moved on. Until I started noticing a pattern of hitting, sad, anxious, worried, or unsure. Soon enough I had months upon months, just days filled with those same emojis. When I actually took a step back, just like Dan did, to stare at how my months were covered in little sad emojis it broke me more than I thought it ever could. Was this all that was left for me? Days that left me feeling dejected and dark? Why wasn’t anything I was doing enough to make me feel better, to make me feel something for my life, for this world around me. Every night pleading the same questions to God, why, why, why? Just begging to be healed.

One day in 2021, I felt hopeless, I was tired, drained, and I truly did not know what to do. I just wanted to feel. So I stopped begging God to fix me and I started talking instead. And I talked and talked about everything and nothing all at once. I told Him about my day and what had happened. I told Him about the little anecdotes, my classes, the walk I went on. I told Him what I felt during the day, the big feelings and the little feelings. As I recounted my day and all the little details, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I felt lighter. For the first time in a long time, I was not focused on the big scary black hole of my mind, the void, I spent time talking about what my day had looked like and what I knew was on my schedule for tomorrow. It grounded me. And it was just that. I wasn’t focused on the void, I was focused on the living I was doing despite the void and there was something beautiful about that realization I have never been able to put into words until I watched Dan’s show. God was not not healing me because I did not deserve it or because I was so helpless, for it was only when I was at my lowest that I let myself let go and speak freely outside the confines of asking for the same thing over and over again without changing my mindset. It was only through those open ended conversations that I found and was confronted with the events of my life, no matter how big or small. The void, my depression, my traumas, whatever I want to call them, they are always going to exist, they are a part of my and I can’t change anything about that. But my life, my 24 hours a day, that time will pass regardless of if I choose to dwell on the darkness or not, so might as well spend my time enjoying the light that clearly exists as well. So that is what I started to do.

It is a choice that I have to make each day when I wake up. To decide to be an active participant in my life rather than a passive bystander. But like all things, it’s an attitude that can be learned, adapted, and over time it did not feel like a chore to make that choice, but a pleasure. For once, I started to look forward to the future and excited for what I could do. I found a church where I could attend mass so I would stop sitting in my room and watching online, I started to push myself to make plans outside my comfort zone and learned to not just like my own company, but enjoy the silence of being alone. The one project I am particularly proud of is my second Instagram account dedicated to romanticizing my life. Everyday, for now nearly 2 1/2 years, I have posted a photo on that account of the places I’ve been, clothes I’ve worn, and experiences I have been on. It’s my own personal photo diary proving that I have been living and that I will be continuing to live.

Photos and daily reflection have been the cornerstone of my improvement which was why that segment of Dan’s show impacted me so greatly. Each small clip he shared was probably only a second or so long but each moment held such great joy and emotions that could not be contained. It was and will continue to be a reminder that there will always be moments of joy and moments of happiness that will exist even in the face of adversity, we just have to work to see them, and choose to accept them as our own. Some days can certainly be harder than others, but after years of feeling nothing but the heavy weight of despair, even just the memories of joy are enough to encourage me to move forward. I’m alive for a reason and I believe and trust in God’s plan for me, so I choose and, now, feel empowered to continue on.

Dan was right when he said that we are all doomed. And there is this void in my life that I have learned to embrace and not just ignore. But this life was not meant to be survived, but to be lived. And I, now, have the courage to choose to live everyday.

Thank you to @danielhowell for sharing a part of yourself with the world. For creating a show that encourages us to acknowledge every part of our lives, the good, the bad, the ugly, and to show the importance of embracing every aspect of our lives while we continue our journey. Thank you for encouraging me to share my story and my journey through mental health. I have never shared my story like this before and it has been an unbelievably cathartic experience and I feel renewed in my promise to continue to choose to live.

Thank you🖤

[saccharinesunsetretired]

serious post about wilbursprincess

To make a long story short:

A friend of mine tipped me off that they had been in wilbursprincess’s discord server and realized that there were minors in the discord, despite the fact that princess often writes smut AND there were sexual topics regularly discussed on the server—discussions that minors were included in. Obviously, they left when they learned this, but they managed to gather some evidence first.

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE do not harass any of the minors in this post. They should not be doing this, and it is not acceptable behavior, but I firmly believe that adults have more responsibility when it comes to setting boundaries.

Evidence below the cut:

1. Who is wilbursprincess?

wilbursprincess is a writer who writes fics based on Wilbur’s various bursonas. Right in this screenshot, you can see that she writes smut. That isn’t all she writes, but that is the most relevant piece of information here.

2. Ice cube anon 🧊

One of the anons on princess’s blog is known as 🧊 anon. You can see them interacting in this screenshot:

Notice the wording here—clearly talking about smut. Not a big deal, right?

Wrong. Here’s evidence that this person is a minor:

They even say in their introduction that they’ll leave if them being a minor is uncomfortable, but clearly, princess condones their behavior, considering their interactions on her blog. Here is another example of princess involving them in NSFW stuff:

So yeah. As an adult, it is princess’s responsibility to block minors and not involve them in sexual conversations. She DEFINITELY should not be actively talking about smut with this person.

3. Evidence of NSFW conversations on the discord

Now that we’ve established that princess has interacted with minors discussing NSFW topics, let’s look at what they’re talking about on discord.

This person actively admits to being a minor who reads smut. Princess replies right after and seems completely unfazed by this.

Further evidence that this person is a minor—here is their bio and their carrd:

Some more evidence of NSFW—see below where princess tags @/everyone in her new work, which—surprise!—is smut:

Andddd more evidence of minors (note the “minor inconvenience):

TO CONCLUDE:

Once again, I don’t condone harassing minors. It is the adult’s responsibility to block minors who attempt to interact with NSFW content. This is why I (and any responsible person posting smut) specifically tell minors not to interact and make it clear that they will be blocked if they do. That is the responsible thing to do. Not to mention that discussing sexual topics with minors can come with legal repercussions.

I fully expect to get shit for this from princess and her “fans.” My overall message is this: if you are on the server, GET OUT. I am sure that some on the server (like the person who tipped me off about this) are unaware that this is an issue. Not everyone keeps up with discord 24/7. But please, if you have read this far, leave. It is inappropriate, and the people doing this should know better.

[aengelren]

hi, in the tags of the post about others ignoring eren's depression you said that you feel like in ch 125 he cried out for help a lot--i wonder if you meant a different chapter? 125 is the one with annie's backstory and eren isn't in it.

i'm super curious about this part of aot, to me it seems about equally as likely that someone did try to talk with him, and eren just wasn't honest, and that noone did

talking about this post

hey! you’re right, it’s chapter 123. excuse me for the long reply but here we go

I think Eren’s depression was emphasized in this chapter and how far along the line he was to the point of not being able to enjoy the sights they previously dreamt of

at this point, Eren knew the people he would kill people, innocent people, like he once was. said himself that he’s no be better than Reiner. an absolute hypocrite, which is proven when he saves Ramzi from the bullies, knowing he’d kill him later. he’s a walking contradiction, and hates himself for it. the feeling when you’re doing something wrong, while being aware of your wrongdoings yet you can’t stop, he self destructs and is unable to deal with the guilt that follows

nobody hates Eren more than himself, there’s no reason to love a monster like him, so why does she never leave his side?

he believed he couldn’t be loved, because he doesn’t love himself. The concept of somcone loving him was unfathomable. We see it throughout the series, he's constantly refered to as a monster, hits deep depression in season 3 where he thinks the world would be in a better place if he was dead, felt like a burden because everyone kept blaming the scouts deaths on him. Even in s4 when he's universally referred to as a devil but no longer fights to prove otherwise. so the fact that Mikasa always wants to be close to him isn't something he understands. He needs confirmation, why does she protect him all the time? Is it because she lost her family? Since Eren himself felt undeserving

Eren wasn’t being honest with them, but what depressed person is?

that doesn’t mean anyone else is to blame, Eren is fully responsible for his actions and we don’t know if talking out the mess in his head would help. personally, I don’t think it would. Eren craved an empty world(that’s up for another discussion) but i still feel emphasize with his self hatred, and the fact that he self destructed to the point of (rightfully) losing the life he could’ve lived and even regretting it in his final moments. (i can go into specifics if anyone feels confused)

so, did his friends ignore the visible changes in him after kissing Historias hand? yes. it’s like Hanji said, they were too naive and Eren felt he had to act on his own, (but then again, he chose to start hiding the truth from them even before kissing her hand, in court when he realized Dina was of royal blood.) HOWEVER, i don’t think that’s relevant to the eventual outcome as i believe Eren would do the rumbling regardless, but i do think it made his sendoff a lot more heartbreaking, knowing he spent his last years, trapped in a bundle of past and ‘future’ memories, a load on his shoulders that he never burdened anyone else with and no one bothered to do something about (Mikasa tried) and yes, i am fully aware they all had their own stuff to think about. i’m not trying to blame the rumbling on them

Mikasa reflected on the outcome if she had given him another answer that day, and we saw that they would’ve ran away from it all. in the cabin Eren says he couldn’t bring himself to commit genocide, that’s how we know it’s an impossible future. a desire he has but Eren wasn’t born to live a normal life. “because Eren and death, are inextricably inbound” -lost girls

he’s generally a very tragic character, which makes it hard not to feel for his humanity but there’s no ignoring the destructive part of him. sorry for reeling off but to get back to the point, i think he was very lost and that his friends ignored it until it blew he became someone that couldn’t be saved, but in the end it might’ve not mattered. “you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved”

thanks for reading!

(since i can’t add any more panels i’ll reblog with the ones i want to share)

[sleepypsyducks]

I'm working on a fic right now and slightly exploring Larry and Geeta's work relationship / friendship and honestly am having fun. So...headcanon time!

I just...I really like the idea that they have known each other for a long time and that Geeta is fully aware of Larry is capable of. She struggles, and has struggled for years, to understand how he just...changed to being normal. She has seen him at his best and finest hour and watched as he just...accepted normalcy and wears it like he has for his whole life. She watched how he traded fine trainer clothes of the highest quality for a few mid-quality suits and silk dress shirts. However, despite all of that, their dynamics never changed. People may think he's being serious about how she is as a boss and she thought so at first once his behavior changed but then she realized his humor is just...incredibly dry and flat. (She thinks she misses the sarcasm at first until it's directed at her in the blandest of tones. Then she finds she still hates it.) But she likes it because it compliments hers. She knows people are unsettled by her, that they have their views of her management skills and her person. Her blank gaze scares them, her attitude and behavior alienate her from people, and her smile is often misread. Yet she can pop into Larry's office with a grin on her face and stare at him as he tells her whatever is bothering him on his Spreadsheet of the Day.

Larry is one of the few people that Geeta can really just be herself around. She can let her stare become distant while she talks to him, can sit up a little straighter and become rigid as she discusses League business. She can let her words become a little sing song-y, let her body sway like it's floating when she tells him about her day. She can let Glimmora float around his office and Larry won't mind when she tries to bite his hair or burrow into his walls. She'll threaten to dock his pay for working overtime past acceptable overtime because she wants him to go home and not being a workaholic. (She knows that a lot of his money goes into Medali, goes to random trainers to pay for snacks and supplies, goes to Poppy's fundraisers and pays for Rika's obscene amount of magazine subscriptions. She knows that he has a frankly large amount of losses to bets against Hassel and that the money he gives Hassel goes to the Academy to help low income students. She knows that a large chunk of his money is also sent to another region of which she cannot figure out. She also knows that his money is spent on Pokémon clothes that she has never seen his team wear and also on gems and jewels that she knows for a fact sit in a jewelry box she got him when he accepted being the Medali gym leader. She knows that he's a man who cares not for anything but a good meal, so money doesn't actually mean much to him.)

She can put her socked feet on his lap while he glares at his computer, complaining that as his work wife she feels neglected. He'll dryly respond that there are divorce papers in his desk but please wait until Thursday to fill them out he has deadlines he needs to finish. He'll sigh when she hands him another file on an up and coming gym challenger yet they will spend the next several hours battling just so that Larry can take out his frustrations of having to stop his work to battle. She'll smile when she catches the way Larry smiles ever so slightly when he sees the diamond on Staraptor's head and the balloons on Flamigo's. She'll watch as he sits with Flamigo after their match and discuss what they need to do better next time while Glimmora floats over to say hello to her best friend. He'll not comment on how Flamingo was extremely close to successfully beating her team while she calls for repairs on the room.

Geeta may not understand why Larry chose to accept normalcy as his way of life, why he stopped battling with the passion he once had as a younger man, but she has slowly come to accept it, even if it's hard for her to do so. She doesn't understand how her rival, the one who brought out the best in her battles and of her, could just turn away from all of that to a life of letters and numbers. However, she is forever grateful that despite that he didn't end their friendship and alienate himself.

Larry struggles to understand Geeta's management style and why she has turned away from her worldly goals to focus just on Paldea. While he himself understands his dislike towards her at times, a fact she is well aware of and it brings her joy to know he can express his dislike, he doesn't fully understand why other leaders do as well given that she is very upfront with her expectations and goals. He doesn't understand why she insists on him using flying type for his Elite Four team when that was just the silly dream of a child. However, he is grateful that there is someone who understands him, who has sought to continue to understand him.

So yes, they don't always see eye to eye, they snark and get on each other's nerves, but they are the only two people who really understand the other.

However, Larry would really like it if Geeta would just let him work overtime. It's not harming anyone and it's less work for her to do.

[longsightmyth]

I'm curious: do you think, if R/hysand either did not exist as a character or if he was drastically changed to not have acted so abusively in ACO/TAR, that we the audience would have noticed T/amlin's red flags easier without the clear contrast of R/hysand to make him appear better?

I mean I noticed Tamlin's red flags immediately in acotar so I am perhaps not the person to ask

I think Sarah Janet's writing depends heavily on her audience not having read widely prior to reading her novels and then growing up with them. I am in fact not convinced moving them to YA wasn't a marketing tactic of her publishers even beyond the implosion of NA: younger and/or sheltered readers won't have as many books or as much life experience under their belts in order to pick these things out. As with Twilight, not seeing these things relies heavily on not understanding they are problems in the first place, OR on not realizing that the telling and the showing don't line up.

(There is another category, in which people who read, for instance, dark fantasy romance, are fully aware of the tropes and engage with them on that level, but those are not the people who *suddenly* noticed Tamlin's red flags, those are the people who are fully aware that the flags are there and part and parcel of genre convention, as I believe @bookishfeylin has discussed elsewhere, re: do we apply real world standards of behavior or work within a stated fantasy framework)

So in a roundabout way, I guess I'm saying no. I don't think without Rhysand people would have noticed Tamlin's problems easier, partly because, as many of us discussing the book have mentioned, Rhysand and Tamlin have the same red flags up until acosf, and the people who didn't see Tamlin's the first time around also don't see Rhysand's.

Also because so many of the same fans don't see the grossness in ALL the relationships in Throne of Glass.

[easypeasylindyvesey]

I Think it’s Strange We Never Knew: Jimmy Vesey x fem!OC

Summary: After the unforeseen death of Abby’s boyfriend, one of the NHL’s star defenseman and her teammate, she severely struggles with managing her grief. She confides in Jimmy Vesey, who is not only another teammate of hers, but is one of the very few people she has a strong friendship with. That is until that night and the days that followed. Does this life-altering news change the trajectory of their personal perceptions of each other? Or does it entail a chance of crossing boundaries for the risk of moving on?

Word Count (excluding title and heading): 15,745

*(General) Warnings: (foul) language, mentions/discussion of death, suicide attempt (brief, closed door description), eventual confession of feelings, grief, panic attack(s), angst, eventual sexual implications but no smut, age gap

*Note: This story takes place in the future. Abby is 24-25 and Jimmy is 33-35.

MAY 2027  (Warnings: angst, grief, mentions/discussion of death, suicide attempt (brief, closed door), (foul) language)

I am confined to this state of nothingness. I feel like I am passing through each day without any purpose. There’s nothing to do, nothing to distract myself with. The hours take so long to pass. It’s probably because I spend them in my room.

I’ve fallen into a pattern where I only leave my room to use the bathroom and to get food, otherwise, it’s my little private habitat. I don’t even attempt to talk to Jimmy. He’s forcing himself through the exposed cracks that happen to be parts of my soul. The forced conversation does not work. I see it as a little tactic of his. I hate to break it to him, but he’s not going to get anywhere with his strategy. If it’s not going to work with anyone else, it sure won’t with my roommate. God, it still feels so weird to call him that.

Ever since the argument about the panic attack, we haven’t had any others that have escalated to that point. A few quick arguments here and there, but he’s done better with not verbally attacking me. We didn’t even have a discussion about that fight. There were no apologies or anything. It was kinda shoved aside and forgotten about. Well, I wouldn’t say forgotten about. More like something that didn’t want to be revisited. After that, we’ve still talked to each other, but it’s more short-term, if anything. I think we’re both avoiding the elephant in the room. The meals are shortened, quick pleasantries are said half-heartedly, little to no quality time is spent together in the same place. I don’t mean to shut him out. I really don’t. I’ve always craved my own space, and he’s starting to realize that now. It doesn’t change the fact about previous encounters, but he’s being cautious. It’s as if he’s walking on eggshells. Now again, I don’t want him to feel like he has to do that. He’s probably afraid of saying the wrong thing, which he’s actually never admitted before. Hey, there’s a first time for everything. He’s not getting an out.

I’m watching how I talk to him, too. I have to remind myself that he is still hurt and upset by everything. It just might take him a little while longer to fully express it. The thought of him exploding at any minute never leaves my mind. I’m not prepared. So in order to avoid it in the near future, guess I’m walking on eggshells too.

The room grows dark as the evening sky makes its way to settle in. I’m watching the HGTV channel. It’s been my hyperfixation for most of the month. The shows are calming and have great personality among the hosts and guests. There’s no mystery, no uncertainty. It’s there to boost your spirits and keep you engaged. It sure has kept me focused. It has definitely not boosted my spirits, that’s for sure.

Out of the corner of my eye, my phone lights up next to me on the duvet. It’s a text message, and who else would it be from than the man that’s about 10ish walking feet from me right next door? I quickly gaze at it. Sleep well, it reads.

I unlock my phone and tap my fingers on the screen. you too, I answer, hitting send. I lock my phone and turn it camera side up. A new alternative the both of us have silently came up with is engaging more in text than verbal conversation. It gives us the choice of actually wanting to respond without being forced when we’re stuck in front of each other. It’s not like we go all day without talking, but you can tell there’s some sort of weakened part in us being able to hold a dialogue. Then again, it’s a touchy subject, and I’d rather not talk about it. One of us will end up getting hurt. Both of us are used to it by now. At least we’re making the minimal amount of effort to maintain contact. It’d be nearly impossible to ghost him and vice versa. It would’ve poured out in an argument at some point or another.

I end up watching TV for another hour before shutting off the lights and getting comfortable to go to bed. The only problem is that I’m wide awake. My eyes are completely alert and show no signs of rapidly closing. It’s probably because my brain is racing. It’s racing with the thought that tomorrow is going to be a very tough day.

Tomorrow was supposed to be Ryan and I’s second year anniversary. I know my last year self was so excited about getting past 1 year. When it comes to relationships, whether you’re still with the person or have ended it, the time you were together matters. Even if they were the biggest asshole to walk this planet. You wouldn’t be able to consider it time really wasted. At one point, you meant something to them and were prioritized. The unsatisfying part is never being fully aware of when it started to spin sideways. Where it started to slip away from which both of you would not be able to fully recover.

The thought of never being able to find out if the two of us were going to stand the test of time is one of a million thoughts that is going to forever haunt me. Then, I’m reminded of Jimmy’s comment saying that it was a blessing in disguise. Even though it didn’t come off as sincere, he really wasn’t wrong. Who knows what the universe had in store? Who knows if we were really built for a future? Who knows what his true, bitterly raw feelings about me were? If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I never regretted the time we had together. It might have been cut short, but it was evident that we were always going to share that special bond that no one else would ever be able to understand. It’s somewhat comforting.

What’s not comforting, however, is the fear of having to replicate another close bond with another man. It’s not going to be the same, not that I want it to be, anyway, but to open up my heart and soul again will be even more daunting than I might realize.

Okay, that’s enough thinking for tonight. I hit my head on the pillow and shut my eyes, hoping that the task of faking to be asleep will eventually pay off. I can’t be kept up all night. Not by him, anyway.

I’m awoken again, this time not by noise, but by what feels like bright lights. I squint my eyes open and look to the carpet floor. I don’t see any outside light pouring in. My curiosity decided to get the best of me and I find myself dragging out of bed to open up the curtains. 

Well, now I know the source of the “bright lights.” It’s cloudy.

So much for a good day. Even the sky knows it’s not time to celebrate.

“Well, that’s just great,” I say aloud. I discard my unmade bed and head straight for the door, taking a quick peak to see if Jimmy’s awake. By the looks of his closed door, I can tell that he’s not. It’s either that or he’s doing his morning social media scroll. I wouldn’t blame him because I do it too.

I use the bathroom and wash my face, spritz on the perfume, roll on the deodorant, all that jazz. I tiptoe into the kitchen and do everything I can to be quiet while making breakfast. I’ve always been known to act like a mouse when it comes to wandering around places. I don’t draw too much attention to myself and I’ve got tiny feet, so it doesn’t really count for much noise. Jimmy’s kinda the same, I’d say. I mean, he can’t help his tall stature, so he can be a little loud when moving around, but he does his best to maintain my mouse-like quietness. Although, there is one time where I recall sleeping within the last couple weeks, and since I’m a light sleeper, I heard footsteps approach my door and it creaked open, shutting several seconds later. This is under the assumption that he was either watching me sleep, which is really creepy, or he wanted to see if I was awake and wanted to have a conversation. Should I even give him credit for trying?

I settle for scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast with a side of store-packaged fruit, specifically the assorted containers with cantaloupe, watermelon, pineapple, honeydew. That’s the good shit. I take the fruit out of the fridge and keep it out on the counter while looking through the newly organized cabinets for a decent sized pan to cook the eggs in. I decide to double my workload and make breakfast for him too. I hope he appreciates the sentiment, even if it’s through expressions rather than words.

I crack the first 2 eggs into the pan and prepare the toast by dropping the slices of bread into the toaster. It’s only 9:10. A little earlier than I get up, but I guess both my brain and body had different plans today. While waiting for the food to get caught up to speed, I decide which fruit to pick out. The package isn’t even open yet, so I have first-hand advantage. I pick one of everything, arranging it on the paper plate and pushing it off to the side. My attention returns to both the eggs and toast.

It’s too quiet in here. I don’t hear any shuffling or evident signs that he’s gotten up yet. That’s okay. I’ll just take the time to think, collect my thoughts. Maybe by the end of it, I’ll have my shit together. Oh, who am I kidding? Everyone knows I won’t.

I continue folding the eggs around on every corner, every crevice, every edge there possibly is until I’ve gotten them all yellow and scrambled before I remove them from the pan with the spatula and place them onto the crisp, golden brown toast. I reach into the cabinet above the pots and pans, moving my hand around blindly to grab the salt and pepper. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t hard because they were right in front of me. I sprinkle a small amount onto each slice before I locate them to their own spot on the counter. I reach bag into the egg carton and grab 2 more and crack them above the pan, watching them fall out of their shells and sizzling underneath the flame. At least that one can be retained. Mine’s upgraded into a wildfire.

Conversation has continued to be limited with the team. There hasn’t been much to really discuss, other than the fact that it’s technically summer vacation and we’re free to do whatever we want without the constant routine of showing up to the rink and practicing almost everyday. With that temporary absence of a consistent schedule, it’s been difficult figuring out how to spend my free time. Then again, I’m having several solo parties a day in my room. It really cannot get that much better, right?

I’m so adjusted to the drastic decrease in communication that I don’t even realize another voice infiltrating the room. “Morning.” It’s said in a sleepy voice, just like the one in Minnesota. I hear the scrape of a chair on the floor.

I turn around and meet his gaze. He was already looking with my back turned to him, wasn’t he? “Hi.”

“This for me?” He points to the full plate I pushed away earlier.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m making my own now.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Killing two birds with one stone.”

I immediately regret using that phrase, as it brings me back to the night of that argument. I remember him saying he wished I would’ve died with Ryan, hence, the two birds being us and the stone being that drunk driver and his stupid fucking truck. Sometimes, I wonder if he really wanted it to end up that way.

Returning to the eggs, they look perfect. I shut off the stove and take the toast out of the toaster, unplugging it right after. I arrange the toast on my plate and gently put down my eggs on top, sprinkling the salt and pepper for a perfect finish. I decide to take a fork out from the drawer and just eat the fruit straight out of the container. I turn back around to face him, my forearms leaning down on the counter. “Got anything planned today?” I say, attempting to sound as honest as possible.

Jimmy shakes his head. “Not really,” he responds. He points to the plate with his fork, a diced piece of watermelon taking up its space. “This is really good, by the way.”

“I’m a good cook.”

“Hell, you’re better than me.”

“Don’t I know it,” I reply sarcastically.

“Alright, stop that.” He flashes me his little smile.

I can’t help but flash one back at him.

“What about you?” Now it’s his turn to pry into my personal mental journal of thoughts.

“Nope. Got nothing better to do than just sit here.”

“That’s fair.”

I give him a little nod.

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry about today.” He flashes me those sparkly puppy-dog eyes, that even I, too, can really see they are filled with sadness.

I look down at my plate and then look back up, glancing everywhere around the room that isn’t directly into his eyes. “It’s fine,” I mutter.

“Is there anything you’d like to do today, to uh, like, commemorate it or anything?” He’s sincere when he says that, too.

I shake my head. “No. It’s not the same without him here.”

“For what it’s worth, if anything, I thought you two were a great match for each other.”

I finally gain the courage to look at him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he continues. “You both really cared about what was best for one another. It was evident there was some other level you two had unlocked that no one else could’ve cracked. I don’t want this to come off as creepy or anything, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happier than when he was in the room. I know you didn’t have to be everywhere with him, and you were fine with that, but he just generated a different aura, you know? I’ve never seen you not smile when he was there. It made me happy to know he was treating you well.”

A rare sighting of sweetness?

“He did,” I admit. “There were rarely any arguments, and even if there were, it’d be over stupid things, like where to go get ice cream after a day on the beach or what music to play when driving. He was never too serious. I mean, he obviously was about his career, that’s a given. Don’t get me wrong, he was serious about us too, but I never had to question if he truly enjoyed it. If he could make me laugh at least three separate times during each time we saw each other, then maybe it was something worth my time.”

“Never made you cry?”

I stare him down. “Not until recently. He never made me go to bed wondering if I wasn’t an important part of his life.”

“Sounds like he was the perfect guy for you.”

I scoff. “Well, he wasn’t perfect, by any means. He obviously had flaws, just like you and I do. However, he did put in the effort. That’s what mattered.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s always going to matter.”

Jimmy clears his throat and gets up from his chair, retreating to the fridge and grabbing the jug of orange juice to place on the counter. He takes a cup out of the cabinet and pours himself some to go along with his breakfast. He looks in my direction, jug in hand. “Want some?”

“No thanks. Orange juice is dehydrating.”

He scrunches his eyebrows. “What do you mean? No, it’s not.”

“Uh, yes it is,” I sarcastically argue. “I don’t know how anyone drinks it God-willingly.”

“You’re so weird,” he replies back.

“Damn straight.” I give him a devious smile.

Now it’s his turn to scoff and shake his head. “You want anything to drink?”

“I’m good.”

He puts the orange juice back in the fridge and shuts the door, walking back to where he was sitting. He takes his piece of watermelon and pops it into his mouth.

“You excited for Wednesday?”

He finishes swallowing and looks at me. “I guess so, yeah.”

“You don’t wanna turn another year younger, do you?”

I get him to crack a smile, and with teeth. Damn, I’m good. “Not according to you, no.”

“But, like, do you have an idea of what you wanna do? We can’t just do nothing. Maybe, we can do a team outing or something.”

“Not everybody’s here,” Jimmy corrects me. “Lots of the guys went back home for the summer, remember?”

Oh crap, I forgot about that.

I exhale a frustrated sigh. “Alright, fine. I’ll go buy a tiny cake from the store and stick 34 mini candles in it. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a fire hazard.”

I wave my hand away in his face. “I’ll keep it under control.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will. But seriously, we don’t have to do anything crazy. We can run to Dunkin to get breakfast and then maybe come back here and just lounge. We could walk around the city if it’s nice out. Just wanna keep it lowkey, okay?”

I nod. “Got it. Your parents aren’t gonna be in town?”

He shakes his head. “Not this year. It’s not a big deal. You didn’t celebrate your birthday with yours, either.”

“Well, yeah, but I did it with another family instead.”

He nods in agreement. “Have your parents checked in on you at all?”

“Yeah. I call my mom once a week. I’m tired of her constantly texting me, asking if I’m okay. She should know by now that I’m not. My dad hasn’t thought to formulate a sentence, but that’s how he is.”

“When did you last call her?”

I finish the last bite of my toast before moving to my fruit. “Yesterday. It was only like 15 minutes. It’s the same old shit. There’s not much to talk about.”

“Does she seem worried?”

“She’s always gonna worry about me, even if I’m in the happiest mood ever,” I retort. “She was a nonstop mess when I moved here and had to live on my own, but she feels slightly better that I’ve moved in with someone.”

“Has she said anything about me?” Jimmy wonders.

I pretend to think. “She told me to thank you for being there when she couldn’t.”

“Well, tell her that it’s my utmost duty.”

“Okay, now you’re just being a little shit,” I laugh, closing the fruit container and putting it back in the fridge, then throwing my plate in the trash can. “You done? I can take it for you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Oh, it’s my utmost duty to serve you, James.”

“Okay, enough of that,” he laughs. “What do you wanna do?”

I look around the apartment. “Actually, I think I’m gonna get organized. Make the bed, put away laundry, maybe start shifting some stuff into the other closet so that it doesn’t come crashing down on me the next time I open it.”

“Sounds like a great idea. Today’s probably not gonna be a good day to go out, anyway.” He gestures to the windows behind the TV.

It’s started drizzling. That’s great! Perfect weather for a somber day!

“Well, thank goodness for our lives being boring and having no plans!” I reply. “And with that, I’m going to go distract myself with plans.”

“Let me know if you want any help.” 

Oh, like he’s ever done that since that night? He cannot be serious.

“I will,” I respond. It’s the only thing I can say that won’t start something. I make my way to my room, shutting the door behind me.

I start off with making my bed, propping up all the pillows so they look fresh and totally not worn out. I brought my pillows to sleep on and kept Jimmy’s boring ass white shams. Same thing with the duvet. To make the room a little more interesting, I placed a couple throw blankets at the end to add in some color to make up for the lack thereof. The next task was perhaps the most daunting of them all as an adult: laundry. The basket was heavy because I let it build up, and Jimmy always wanted to take my basket down when our laundry had to be done so he could separate our clothes. He has not yet made the mistake of throwing in one of his own articles into my basket yet. I’m still waiting for the day.

After the longest 25 minutes of flipping shirts inside out, finding unoccupied hangers, hooking them on the closet rail, folding all of my pants and putting them in the drawer, repeating the process with my bras and underwear, which now, it got me thinking. I wonder if he ever peaked at them longer than he should’ve when I wasn’t around. Oh, who am I kidding? He most definitely did not. He’s too innocent for that. Although, he was guilty of calling me a burden, so I wonder if he’s gonna reverse his charges. Wait, what was I alluding to? Oh, yeah. My laundry’s done.

I move all of my hockey gear, equipment, all of its corresponding bullshit to the empty closet. It’s not one that I want to open in the near future. I forgot how heavy my duffle bag was, so I literally had to shuffle it across the carpet because I really don’t want to throw out a shoulder right now. Not that it would matter because we’re not playing, but it would make my life just the tiniest bit easier. I go back for the skates, stick, and gloves. Only they’re not mine. They’re his.

The other option was that they get discarded in some deep, dark closet that no one would ever open again, the lock being kept in place. I drove up to the practice rink one day to get them. Of course, I chose not to tell Jimmy where I was going, so when I got back an hour and a half later, when I opened the door, I found him sitting on the couch and immediately turning around to give me one of the most disapproving looks. We quickly bickered about how I need to let him know where I’m going, yet I’m a grown adult just like him and that he doesn’t need to become a helicopter “parent” and know all of my whereabouts. The good news is that he hasn’t had to worry since. I have not stepped foot out that door probably since close to the end of April. The closest I count to escaping is standing out on the balcony for a little while until I start to feel claustrophobic, and then I make my way back inside. I finally got an apartment complex parking sticker, so I did end up bringing my car over, but it’s never left its parking spot since the day I came back from Greenburgh. I don’t know where to go. I don’t know who to go see.

Exhaustion begins to set in after moving everything around and rearranging my space. I don’t even make a run for lying down on my bed and instead settle sitting next to the deep, dark closet on the carpet. It’s not even 12 yet and this day is already going by too slow. I need it to be over. The goal is always getting to the next day without feeling the need to perish. Has it gotten easier? No. Am I starting to come to the conclusion that this accident was probably the one thing the universe did to me on purpose? Yes.

I hear a faint knock. At first, I think it’s at the bedroom door, but I hear footsteps make their way from the room next door all the way across the apartment. Someone’s here. Who is it? What do they want?

There’s a distant sound of voices. Are they conspiring on something? Does someone know I’m here? Are they coming to kick me out? Are we being invaded? Are they here to tell me that someone else is dead?

Now is the time when the footsteps approach the bedroom door. I hear a light knock. If it’s actually him on the other side, kudos to finally taking the hint at knocking. Every time that I’m in here, he never feels the need to. I could be standing naked in the middle of the room and he wouldn’t be able to burn that image out of his head. That would be the day where his embarrassment would’ve created a permanent fixture of remembering the importance of knocking on a door. It’s courteous. It’s considerate. It’s smart.

“Who is it?” I call out.

“It’s me.” Ah, yes, Mr. Boston boy!

“Come in.”

The door opens and he emerges onto the carpet, keeping his hand on the knob. He notices me sitting on the floor. “You, uh, you okay?” 

I cock my head at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re sitting on the floor.”

“Because I couldn’t find the energy to flop down on my bed after moving everything around.”

“I see.” He looks skeptical.

“Still find me weird?”

“Yeah, definitely. Hey, listen. Laf’s here. He says he’s got something to give you.”

“Laf?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know. You gotta go see it for yourself.”

What is this? What could he, out of all people, have to give me?

I gather myself off the floor and drag my feet on the carpet, following Jimmy out into the hallway. He was right. Gosh, I haven’t seen him since the funeral. It feels like years.

I walk past Jimmy to approach him first. He’s standing by the far side of the island. “Hey.” It comes out as a combination of curiosity and surprise.

“Hey, Abb.” 

“How, uh, how are you?”

Alexis looks around the apartment before back at me. “Good. I’m, uh, I’m flying back to Quebec in a few hours, so I’m not gonna be back in the states for a little while. I was cleaning out Ryan’s apartment for the new tenants and I came across this.”

I don’t even pay attention to what he’s holding. I ask the more important question first. “Wait, what do you mean you were cleaning out his apartment? They just decided to end his lease?”

He coughs. “Well, yeah. I mean, he’s not there. Landlord needs to clear out space.”

Yeah, I’m not buying it.

“Since I had his spare key, I spent a few days cleaning out what I could. I was looking through his room, and it took me forever, but I found something stored away in the back of his dresser.”

It’s when I look down at his hands and notice he’s holding a light blue bag. It’s got white tissue paper sticking out and a lime green envelope.

It’s my birthday present.

The one he forgot because he was in a rush.

The one he promised he would give to me after practice the next day.

And he broke that one, too.

I stare at it, wondering if I should even accept it. It’s two months overdue. I meet Alexis’ eyes. “You didn’t think to give this to me sooner?” My voice is riled with hesitation.

“There was never a right time. The funeral, the wake. Everything was happening so quickly that I wasn’t sure if I was going to bother. I had it sitting in my room for the longest time before I remembered that I was leaving, and it’s not like anyone else would’ve been able to get it. That’s why I’m here.”

“Did you peak?”

“No. It’s wrapped up pretty good. Your guess is as good as mine.”

I outstretch my arm to release the gift bag from his grip. I continue looking at it, as if there’s an unwanted surprise that’s going to jump out and scare me.

“You don’t have to open it now,” he says. “It’s whatever you want.”

I turn to look at Jimmy. He’s sitting against the back of the sofa. “Yeah, Abb, you don’t have to do it now. It’s probably something that would mean more if it were just you that opened it.”

I sigh, thinking over my options. I’ve done everything on my own for this long. This should be shared with someone else. It was the original intention anyway.

“No, I’ll open it now.” I pull out a chair from the island and sit down, deciding if I should focus on the card first or the actual gift at hand. I settle on the card. The writing will probably throw me in for a quick waterworks show. Shocker.

If you ever looked at Ryan first glance, you would assume that his physical appearance would indicate that he was very tough and manly. You could indicate based on his tone of voice that he was always so stoic and serious; never had time to joke around, didn’t seem like the type of person to let themselves have fun. Oh, you would’ve been so wrong.

I wouldn’t say that he was the absolute best at giving gifts, but I told him to never go over the top, whether it be for Christmas, Valentine’s Day, my birthday, our one and only anniversary. Did he ever listen to me, though? No. I’m about to be proven that.

I tap my fingers on the envelope, flipping it upside down and opening it. I wiggle the card out and turn to look at the front. It’s got an animated illustration of two cats. One’s playing with a ball of yarn and the other’s watching from afar on the couch. I don’t realize the destroyed birthday cake in the bottom corner. The cat on the couch has a speech bubble above its head, saying “The sweetest of lives are lived with you.” 

Alright, here it goes.

I open the card to read what’s in the middle. “Here’s to the rest of them. Happy Birthday.”

I drop it on the counter, head already in my hands. I let out a tiny squeak. This really is hitting a lot harder than I thought it would.

But it’s not over yet.

He filled up the whole card. Both sides.

If I’m being honest, Ryan would sometimes be an annoying little shit because he would choose not to communicate his feelings verbally, so that’s when he resorts to writing it out, whether through a card or a quick text or even on a Post-It note. He never ignored me deliberately. I’d give him some time for him to sort them all out, and then when he was ready, he would come find me and we would talk about what was bothering him. He would always start off with “It’s not because of you.” And he really meant it.

I direct my eyes to the top of the card and begin reading.

Dear Abby,

Happy 24th! It feels as if I’ve known you in a past life, and it’s given me the privilege of replicating in the real one. I’m gonna be sappy real quick. Where do I start? Oh, yeah, thank you for literally being the BEST girlfriend, the BEST person, the BEST human that I have ever had the pleasure of getting to know. I’m aware that I don’t tell you as often as I should, and that’s my fault, but you are everything to me. I’m fortunate to make you the happiest I’ve ever seen you, and you’re fortunate to make me the luckiest and most blessed man. I appreciate your mind and your heart; the way you care for everybody and only want what’s best for them, the way you’re never afraid to say what you want/need, the way you’ve become more comfortable as a player and a person, dealing with the consistent pressure to do well. You’ve handled it with such grace that I’m almost jealous, only because I wish I could do that. You are the greatest gift I could’ve ever received, so the one that I got you might finish in second place. Here I am to say that if not for you, I don’t know where I’d be. I guess the extra time of just remaining teammates and friends really paid off. I’m excited to celebrate with you and everyone else, and I can’t wait. You’re perfect. Just as you are. And to me, you always are. Excited for the next one. There is truly no one better, and there never will be. At least, not for me.

Love always,

Ry

I shove the card to the far edge of the countertop, distracting myself by ravaging through the gift bag like a hyper kid rushing through opening their presents on Christmas to see if they got the toys they asked Santa for. There’s two things. One is placed in a skinny, rectangular box, and the other is standing up, wrapped in blue tissue paper. It seems like it could be fragile, so I place it down gently on the counter without having it hang too close to the edge.

It almost seems like I’m opening the gifts by myself until I hear a shuffling noise in the background. It causes me to turn around in my chair. Laffy’s moved over to sit with Jimmy on the back of the couch. I furrow my eyebrows at them. “Why don’t you guys come over here and we can open it together?”

“We don’t wanna impose,” Alexis pipes up. “It’s not our business to know what he got you.”

“You’re not,” I say. “C’mon. Please?”

Both of them stand up and make their way to the kitchen area, still maintaining their space by hovering near the pantry. Good God, what are they so afraid of? What’s the worst they’ll have to do? Comfort me? Watch me cry? Grow up.

I start off with the box. I lift up the cover and my eyes are immediately drawn to the two presents inside that I don’t even know what to pick up first.

How about with tickets to Country Fest in Detroit Lakes in August?

He told me this was one of the reasons he always looked forward to summer. He went every year with friends and always had the best time. I kept mentioning that I would gladly go with him, even though I don’t religiously listen to country music like he did. Every time he’d drive us anywhere, it would always be on. He stuck to his true Midwestern roots, and never once let them go.

Is there even a point of using them now? He spent a good amount of money. I don’t want it going to waste. Maybe I’ll sell them or something. Why would I go when it’s not going to be intended quality time?

I reach to the second gift. I speculate on how to open it; that’s even if there’s a right way. I move the tissue paper, pushing it down until all of it hits the counter. The good news is that it’s not glass. Essentially, it’s two things in one. The first thing, giving way to its tall stature, was a rectangular pillow. It was red and white. Embroidered in large font and large letters, it read Abby & Ryan, and on the bottom, it read 05/22/2025. It had tiny red hearts protruding from each side. It looked stitched to perfection, handled with so much care. 

I stare at it for a couple seconds before snapping myself out of my trance and looking to find the next part. I scoff. As if it couldn’t get any worse than a personalized pillow.

It’s a personalized photo blanket.

With what looks to be several 4x6 and 5x7 photos all meshed into each other.

On the top, it reads A different type of warmth that will never die.

On the back, this time in smaller font, it reads Happy birthday. You’ve warmed my heart, and now it’s time for me to return the favor. -R

Just when I think it’s over, it’s not.

A container of something spills out from the middle of the blanket and onto the floor. I reach down from my chair to pick up. I see a tag attached to what looks like to be a bottle. I turn it over.

It’s his favorite cologne.

I look at the tag.

In case for when you start to miss me.

My lip starts to quiver, but I bite it so hard to prevent myself from a meltdown in front of one more person. I look over at the two men still lingering by the pantry. They’re looking along as well.

“Those are really nice, Abb,” Jimmy says. “Guess he meant it when he said you should’ve opened it in front of him.”

“Are you glad to have gotten them?” Alexis asks. “He really knew you like the back of your hand.”

I turn in my chair and face the both of them, one eye focusing on each. “Yeah, he did,” I mutter. 

I stand up and grab the gifts, stopping myself in my tracks before heading to my room. I look at Alexis and attempt to sound as grateful as I can. “Thanks for stopping by,” I say. “I’ll see you around. Be safe.”

He folds his mouth into a grimace and nods his head. “Of course,” he responds quietly. He reaches past me to retrieve the card off the counter. “You almost forgot this.”

I take it from his hand. “Thanks.” I walk past him and into my room, shutting the door. I let out a long, frustrated sigh. I quickly walk over to the deep, dark closet before I can change my mind, and lackadaisically throw the pillow and blanket on top of his equipment, shutting the door immediately. As for the card, cologne, and concert tickets, I walk in a different direction, this time to my nightstand drawer, and toss them in, closing it loudly. Sliding down the side of my bed, I find myself present on the carpet again, staring out at the balcony. It’s stopped raining, but everything is wet. Dreary. Diminished.

“You stupid son of a bitch,” I whisper under my breath. “You stupid fucking idiot. Can’t use this shit now. Couldn’t have held on for one more day, right? Took the easy way out, like Jim said? Forget how I feel. No one could understand. I mean, I’m sure you could. But you’re not here, so it doesn’t fucking matter.”

I hear mutters of conversation from the kitchen before I hear the door close. An exasperated sigh escapes Jimmy’s mouth. “Goddamn it,” I hear him say.

Well, at least we’ve finally agreed on something.

The unfortunate yet familiar footsteps creak outside my door. Another knock.

“What?”

“Do you want me to come in?” He sounds sad.

“Leave me alone.”

I don’t hear anything.

I try again. “You just gonna fuckin creep out there?”

“I was just gonna ask if you needed anything.”

“I need you to go the fuck away.”

“I-”

“JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO!”

The door opens.

Alright, time to kill him.

I hear his footsteps on the carpet. “Where are you?” his voice calls from behind me.

“Dead.”

He follows the trail of my voice and finds me sitting next to the nightstand and up against the bed. “Nice try.”

I shrug. “Not like it’d be hard.”

“Abb-”

“I told you to go away and you still don’t listen.”

“Because you’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, I think you are.”

“I literally just said I’m not.”

He kneels down on the carpet, sitting on his right leg. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Now, see. That’s a lie.”

“Oh, what the fuck do you know?”

“I know that you’re upset.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not.” He sounds legitimately serious.

“Yeah, I am. I think I can manage.”

“Have you, though?”

The tips of my ears start to burn.

“Not in the way you want me to.”

Got him there once again.

“I think you should talk to someone.”

What an absolute abomination.

I heavily focus on the balcony, shifting my focus to the trees in the distance past the buildings. “I absolutely do not. I already talk to you.”

“Yeah, barely.”

Okay, it was in due time he returned the hypocrisy back to me.

“It’s like you don’t wanna talk about it. You can’t let it eat you up for so long. Everything’s going to come out one way or another.” Wow, how inspiring for a man who went to a fucking Ivy League, Daddy’s money funded institution. The advice can seriously not get any better.

“Is it finished eating you up, or has it never bit you to begin with?”

Jimmy sighs. “It lingers around from time to time.”

“Then you can’t tell me to spill it all out. I don’t have anything to say.”

“So all of your underlying feelings are gone for good?”

Pause.

“You’re brave enough to leave out the pillow and blanket on your bed?”

Another pause.

He motions to stand up. “That’s exactly what I thought. Seriously, though, you should talk to somebody. It doesn’t have to be me, but I think it’d feel a little less heavy if you expressed how you feel. You know?”

I look up at him, my eyes seething with rage that is invisible to him. “No, I don’t know,” I snap. “Maybe you should talk to someone to help with your nosiness.”

He laughs.

“I’m not kidding, Jim. You need to give me space. Still haven’t learned that, either. Who ever knew you were so stubborn?”

“I give you space. You’re always locked away in here. It’s like there’s nowhere better you’d wanna be.”

Actually, there is one alternative.

He continues. “You do know you are allowed to leave here, right? You can go out and drive around the city for a little bit. You can go to the park and feed the ducks. Hell, we could maybe go out and get dinner once in awhile. Have you ever thought about the idea that we haven’t spent any time together?”

I roll my eyes. “That’s all we do.”

He shakes his head quickly from side to side. “No, Abby, I mean really spend time together. I’m talking about actually walking around Manhattan and spending the afternoon acting like tourists or going for a quick run around the block. I feel that I’m somewhat confined here too because you refuse to leave.”

I blink at him, then look away.

“Just think on it, okay? Remaining trapped in here isn’t going to make anything easier. I think it’d be good for us to go out and get some air. Obviously, not today, but sometime in the near future.”

“You have no idea what’s good for me.”

He sighs frustratedly. “You’re right. I don’t. But I think a step in this direction might have us both uncover what actually is.”

I don’t say anything.

“Wanna give it a shot?”

I lift up my hands and slap them against my knees. “Fine.”

“Okay. And with that, I will now leave you alone.”

Finally.

He walks across the carpet again and grabs hold of the door, shutting it quietly behind him. The footsteps disappear.

I have to admit, he’s not wrong. I have been making the decision to stay in the apartment. It’s not helping me, but it’s what I’ve adjusted to. Why change the routine when it’s working? No one else needs to agree. No one has to support it. No one has to approve. I’m choosing how I deal with it. And it’s enough.

The rest of the day is spent in my own head. I don’t even attempt to start another conversation with him. All he’s gonna do is talk about what he thinks I need to change. I don’t wanna say that he’s trying to force it on me, but I just feel that constant pressure to be over it by now. Every single day has not been easy since. The saying “Try to be a rainbow in someone else’s cloud” is exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s anything but a rainbow. More of a category 5 hurricane trying to wash everything away and take me with him.

It’s dark out now, the stars illuminating the sky. The post-rain air has made its way in. I’ve opened the balcony doors to cool down my room. The distant sound of traffic makes me temporarily miss being stuck in it. The bright LED lights on the store signs makes me tempted to go down and walk through the doors of one. The sturdiness of the black railing makes me want to sit on the edge and drop from it.

But I won’t. That’s too easy.

In fact, I know an easier way.

The closet has made its return. I open the door and grab the pillow and blanket, tossing them to the floor behind me. Stepping over them, I walk in the opposite direction to the nightstand where I placed the card, cologne, and concert tickets. I take all three and place the tickets inside the card. As for the cologne, I wrap it up in the blanket. I pick everything up off the floor and make my way out to the balcony. I stand there for a few moments, clutching it all tightly against my chest. I can’t bear to hold onto it. My arms are getting tired. Everything about me is just tired. It never seems to end. Two months later and he’s still finding a way to haunt me, this time through gifts that I cannot utilize. You know what? Maybe it was a good thing I had to wait so long to get them. They sure weren’t going to help me anyway.

I drop everything over the balcony, watching it fall to the concrete. Then, I shut the doors and close the curtains. I do the same thing with the closet and crawl my way into the bed, turning off the lamp. If I am not allowed to enjoy these things to my fullest potential, then no one else will be allowed to. Fuck him.

As I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but think about a random stranger finding them on the sidewalk and just stealing it for themselves. All of that is personalized. It was just for me. Doesn’t matter. It can make someone else happy now. There’s no coming back from that, and I don’t think that I’m ever going to.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chirpy birds serve as my alarm as I keep my head buried in my pillow. “God, leave me alone,” I mumble.

The sun has returned, as I see it peaking on the carpet. There’s only so much light that can protrude through before it becomes an eyesore. Aggravated weekend traffic has resumed, given the nonstop honking. It helps to know that other people must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed, too. Dragging myself out from under the covers, I sit on the side of the bed and vigorously rub my eyes. It’s clear the eyebags are still there. I’ve thought it would’ve become a permanent part of my physical appearance by now. Strands of hair fall next to my eyes, temporarily interfering with my ability to see. I push it out of the way and grip the bed, my feet landing on the carpet first before I stand myself up. Ignoring the closed curtains, I open one of the balcony doors and overlook the city before looking down at the spot where all of the gifts landed.

They’re gone.

Well, that’s a relief, I think to myself. The worst case scenario would have it still be lying there. At least it held enough value for someone to take it. Whoever that person was, they definitely hit the jackpot. Enjoy.

I walk back into my room and shut the door, keeping the curtains where they are. Making my way toward the actual door, I handle the knob before emerging out into the kitchen. There’s something on the counter. It looks big. It’s definitely taking up space. However, it doesn’t look edible, so it’s not breakfast. I walk a little further to get a better look.

First, I’m met with the judgmental eyes of the man of the year. His hands are planted on the counter. I can see his veins. I’ll go under the assumption that he’s building some type of tension there.

And then I’m met with the pillow. And the blanket. And the card. And the cologne. And the concert tickets.

“You’ve got some explaining to do.” I can tell he’s so over it. You’re not the only one.

“No, I really don’t.” I walk over to the living room area, looking out the window so that I don’t have to face him. “How did you even find it?”

“I’m not an idiot, Abby. I was taking out the trash and I saw everything lying there. I mean, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking to get rid of it.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because I don’t need it.”

“Hey, you know how much he must’ve spent on all of that to give it to you?”

“Yeah, well, he never did, did he?”

Another deafening silence.

“You could at least store it so that it’s not just lying away.”

“Oh, yeah, for it to only collect dust? What a real smart idea.”

“It’s better than having it spread out on the concrete in Manhattan.”

“I was doing myself a favor.”

“Which was what?”

“Getting rid of him.” I move to the other window on the other side of the TV, still avoiding any type of contact.

“I don’t think that’s the right way to do that.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think.” I raise my voice in the slightest octave. “Why can’t you just let me do things the way I want to? You keep trying to save something that’s already gone. There’s no need to salvage it.”

“You can’t replace these things.”

“It’s not a matter of replacing. It’s a matter of letting go. Something you’ve already done.”

“And something you’re not even remotely close to doing, so why start now?”

Ouch.

“Abb, you need to get help.”

Here we go again.

“I don’t need help.”

“Yeah, you do. If you were thinking clearly, you wouldn’t have even thought of throwing away those memories.”

“They’re not memories, they’re pity prizes.”

“Fine, call them whatever you want. In the meantime, I’m gonna call someone who can work this out with you.”

“No.”

“You have not left this place since the day we got back from the funeral. Go out, get some air, and I’m not talking about just standing on the balcony. I mean really go out and take some time for yourself.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna join me?” I reply sarcastically. “That’s a first.”

“I’m worried about you.”

Those words cause me to turn and look at him. “Now you’re worried about me? A month ago, you wished that I was dead, but all of a sudden, you care? Your empathy’s been restored? Your heart’s finally started beating again?”

“Your’s hasn’t.”

Ouch again.

“I can’t stand to see you like this,” Jimmy says. “We need to figure something out.”

We? I thought this time, it’d be me. You know, since it’s been us against each other.

“Not now.”

“Okay, fine, not now, but soon. I don’t wanna go out one day and come back here and see you passed out on the floor.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

“Jim, I promise that you don’t.”

He lifts his hands from the counter, moving them to his hips. “How do I not know that you throwing that stuff off the balcony was alluding to someone else doing the exact same thing?”

“Because it’s not.”

He rolls his eyes. “I give up with you. Really, I do.”

I just stare back at him.

He walks over to the direction of where I’m standing by the window, positioned toward the door as if he’d leave. “I am letting you know right now that if you ever, ever, ever try to pull something like that on me, and I’m the one that finds you, and they’re not able to get you back, I will never forgive myself. You understand? I know that I seem like a helicopter whirring over you, but seriously, it’s in my best interest. I know that you don’t trust me right now, and that’s fine. I’m just gonna put it out there and say that doing what you might want to do as a last resort and getting away with it, if you fail, it’s going to take a long time to earn my trust back. I’ve always been here for you, and it’s only fair you do the same. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Directing himself back to the kitchen, Jimmy reaches into the pantry and pulls out a brown paper bag. He got bagels again.

“Pick the one you want and I’ll throw it in the toaster,” he instructs.

With slight hesitancy, I make my way to the island, peering through the bag. It smells so good, so fresh. I think Sunday bagel breakfasts should be a little tradition that we start. I’ll ask him at a better time. Choosing the sesame seed bagel, I give it to Jimmy, who cuts it down the middle and pops it in the toaster. He does the same to his bagel. This time, he chose an everything one. I’m surprised he deterred from the plain. You’d think it’d be impossible for him to give up that consistent routine of picking it, but I won’t call him out. I always thought plain bagels were boring, and the man that loves them is surely not.

“Jim?”

He turns around, not even looking at me. He’s handing me a plate. “Yeah?”

“Are you really that worried about me?”

A disgruntled sigh leaves his mouth. “Abby, I literally did not sleep that night because even I couldn’t figure out what was really going on. Frequently, I can’t sleep because I think about how you might not wake up after I find out you’ve done something to yourself. I don’t like the change in mood. I’m not blaming you by any means, but I’ve noticed that it’s become a little more drastic and I just wish that I could have a bigger role in stopping its growth.”

“Then just watch me sleep from now on,” I reply. “You’ve done it before.”

He scoffs. “C’mon, I’ve never done that.”

“I once heard my door open while I was sleeping and then shut like 20 seconds later. It would’ve been impossible if someone wasn’t there to twist the knob.”

Another sigh. “Okay, fine, it was me.”

I smile. “No shit, Sherlock. Do you want me to move in your room, share a bed? I call left side.”

He laughs. “I’m good. Plus, it would be your turn of invading my privacy.”

I bat my eyes at him. “Yeah, but I’d only be trying to help you, right?”

“Fuck off,” he responds, and I giggle.

The toaster dings and Jimmy turns around, taking out both bagels. He hands mine over to my plate and slides the cream cheese over. “I know you’d never voluntarily take butter.”

I take a knife and open the container, sticking it in and spreading it on the first half. “You know what’s funny? I always thought you were a butter guy.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s too much sodium for my liking. You can buy several flavors of cream cheese, while butter just remains the same. It gets redundant after awhile.”

“Like me?”

There goes the puppy-dog eyes. That’s when I know he’s about to be serious with his words. “Anyone but you.”

Anyone but you.

Anyone but me.

The world could end tomorrow and he’d probably want to spend the last few minutes with me, wouldn’t he?

I don’t think so. Nice try.

Breakfast is quick and quiet as always. I don’t even end up finishing all of my bagel. I tell him that I’ll save it for later. Both of us know that’s not true.

I get up from my chair and motion toward my room. That is until I forget the gifts are still sitting on the counter. No. I don’t wanna bear the weight of them in my arms again. I’d be carrying the burden right back in when I don’t need it. However, I’ve somewhat succumbed to the thought already. Would it really make a difference?

Picking up from where I left off, dead in my tracks, I lift my feet again and head toward my place of solace. Again, it can’t hurt me if I don’t see it. Well, that doesn’t apply to everything, but whatever.

Shutting the door, I walk over to the nightstand and grab the remote, turning on the TV and flipping through the channels. Brain rotting for the rest of the day sounds better than talking about nothing.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday was the same.

Tuesday was too.

Wait, what day comes after Tuesday? Last time I checked, I was repeating the same cycle over and over.

I’m awoken not by my alarm, but my phone lighting up my home screen. It sent me a notification. It’s a message.

And of course, who else would it be from?

It reads Ran out to get us Dunkin. I’ll be back in a little bit

How long is a little bit? Ten minutes? Thirty minutes? An hour? Ten hours? Hell, not coming back at all?

I drag myself out of bed and head straight for the door, opening it to walk the short distance into the bathroom. I shut the door and turn on the light. Staring at myself in the mirror, I evaluate my reflection. She’s unrecognizable again. The hair is too messy, the face is forming boarders of stress zits (at least that’s what I suppose), the eyebags look a little heavier, skin a little paler, brain more foggier.

I grip my hands on the sink and wander my eyes down to the counter. Jimmy was obviously in here before he left. His toothbrush looks to be drying and a razor sitting on the marble countertop.

I pick up the razor, looking down at the shiny blade with what feels like not a wave of exhaustion, but a wave of dehydration coming over me. It occurs that I never filled up my water bottle before I went to bed. I could always get up in the middle of the night and refill it, but I don’t wanna wake him. Besides, I’ve never felt comfortable being active in the late night hours. How weird to be awake when everyone else is asleep.

My vision starts to blur, and I immediately grab the counter for support. I crouch down onto the floor an lay my legs down on the bathmat and my head back against the wall, shutting my eyes. Gosh, I’m freezing. It’s not like the A.C. is on. I blindly fumble for the razor that’s still sitting on the sink, feeling it fall into my lap. I press the blade to my face, feeling the cool metal rest on some part of my body. Surely, it will help.

But it doesn’t.

I move it to my kneecaps. Nope, not there, either.

I pin it to my wrist. That’s the spot.

The feeling of goosebumps take over my body, legs shaking at the sensation. I still can’t see clearly. Shutting my eyes again, the blade traces around my wrist. I still feel cold.

One slow, steady motion.

And then another.

A rapid gasp escapes my mouth, settling into the intruding warmth. Now I feel better.

Until I don’t.

Between the dizziness and the absence of sharp metal doing everything it can to keep me warm, my head slides off the wall and hits the floor. It’s at a cool temperature. I don’t feel myself starting to slow down, but my eyes are pressed closed. I can feel my lips slowly part.

I see him. He’s smiling. He’s been waiting for me. “There you are, babe. I hated waiting this long. Let’s go finish the story we never got to write.”

I take a weak yet deep breath. “Okay.”

And then he’s guiding me past the gates.

Or so I think.

He disappears. Where did he go? I guess this pattern of leaving continues in the afterlife.

Or so I think again.

He comes back with his A bracelet. He smirks. “You really thought I left without it, huh?”

I shake my head, smiling. “But I did.”

“Don’t worry about that. That’s what this place is for. It’s all about fresh starts.”

A fresh start, you say?

“I can’t believe you’d do that for me,” he continues.

I look into his bright blue eyes. “I had no other choice.”

“Of course you did.”

“And what was that?”

“To live.”

I look back at him with a blank stare.

He grabs me by the hand. “Live for me.”

I sigh. “But I already did.”

“No, you didn’t. You’ve barely even started.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. You’ve done it for 2 months already. It’s just the rest of your life to go.”

“That’s a long time.”

“You know what? Maybe it is. Soon enough, you’ll be here when you need to. But not right now.”

“What do you mean?”

I see the gates open. He turns around, dragging me by the arm.

“Go live for me, will you?”

I try to escape his grip. “No, no, I can’t do it again! Why can’t I just come with you?”

“Because that’s not how this is going to work.”

“Well, then, how is it going to work?”

“It starts with you waking up each day and me not being the first thought. You’ll move on from there.”

“But I don’t want to!” I yell in earshot.

“Gonna have to, babe,” he responds. “You’ve got people waiting for you.”

‘Yeah, like who?”

“Your family, the team, anyone that you have ever known is anxiously awaiting your return.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Then why do I see you lying down on the gurney in the back of an ambulance?”

What?

“Why does Jim’s face look red, like he’s just finished crying?”

But he’s never cried. What is he even doing here?

“Why are you intubated?”

I don’t know.

“Why did your heart stop beating again?”

It’s never beaten since you’ve left.

“Why are paramedics pushing down on your chest?”

It’s a lost cause.

“Okay, never mind, babe, you came back. Whew! That was a close one.”

Damn it.

“Oh, the ambulance stopped! I think we’re here!”

Great.

“Hey! New York Presbyterian! I died here! What makes me think they’re gonna save you?”

I hope they don’t.

“You know what, Abby? You might have actually gotten your wish.”

God do I hope so.

“Aw man, do you see Jim’s face? Look at it. He looks scared out of his mind, like he saw a ghost or something. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Me either.

“Yeah, you might wanna turn around and walk back through these gates. Once you wake up, he’s gonna kill you.”

I’d dare to see him try.

“You’re really brave for doing this on his birthday. What a great present for him to have, right?”

Oh, no.

Wait.

Wait.

Oh, my God.

I forgot about that.

“Still wanna go back?”

No.

Anywhere but there.

“Help me,” I manage to say.

“Oh, honey, I can’t help you,” he begins. “But I can guide you, make sure you don’t do anything like that ever again.”

“I wanna go with you.”

“No, you failed this time. You’re not ready.”

“But I am.”

“You will be very soon.” He kisses my hand. “I gotta go. Do me a favor and wake up, yeah?”

And that’s exactly what I do.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My eyes struggle with fluttering open, but I feel another cool metal surface beneath my hands. It definitely doesn’t feel like the bathroom.

It’s quiet. I can hear distant murmurs, but none of them can be picked up on in a close distance.

I wiggle my fingers and then my toes. My vision slowly starts to come back, too.

The first thing I notice is the grippy socks that are covering my feet. They’re blue. They barely fit. Something’s not right.

After that, I look at the closed door. There are signs on the back of it, depicting a pain scale and informational resources. Physically, my pain is a 10. Emotionally, my pain is a 10 too, thanks for asking.

On my left side, there’s a sink with a long countertop and numerous cabinets. I wonder what’s in them.

I start to feel like I’ve been stripped of my clothes. That’s because I have been. 

I look down ay my legs and notice I’m covered in a cotton gown. It’s got blue and white designs. I’m starting to feel warm again.

My wrists feel tight, and that’s because of the bandages and gaws that are taped down. It’s difficult to move them around. Wait a minute. Why do I have bandages on?

I take a deep breath and divert my gaze into the corner. I see a shadow sitting in a chair. It’s slightly hunched over, their face buried in their hands. I don’t think it’s crying, but it sure looks discombobulated.

I don’t even know who it is.

The shadow lifts itself up from its bent position, sitting up straight now. I can hear the tapping of one of their shoes on the floor. A shaky breath, rubbing their hands on their thighs. A sniff of the nose. The feeling of their eyes watching me.

I look down at my right wrist. It’s got a bracelet on it. Only it’s not the one with the R in the middle.

It looks like an admitted bracelet.

It’s got my name, birthday, and unit that I’m placed in.

Emergency.

What happened?

I look back up to the shadow.

Only it’s not a shadow anymore.

There’s an actual person sitting there.

An actual person has come to see me? Oh, how sweet.

That is until I get a better look.

At him. 

Ryan was right.

Jimmy. 

He’s actually sitting there.

RIght where I can see.

And it looks like it’ll be his turn to kill me.

His face is red, his body completely on high alert. He might just bounce out of that chair if someone opens up that door.

He doesn’t say anything. He looks at me with the darkest set of eyes I have ever seen. It’s like they’ve lost their sparkle, their shine. Let’s just say they’ve gone lifeless.

He’s not the only one.

I stare back at him. I can feel my glasses on my face, helping me see him better. Come to think of it, I’m not sure if I’ve ever noticed him look so utterly hopeless. Not until this moment, at least.

I don’t say anything either. I’m waiting for one of his sarcastic, knife-stabbing words to take a dagger at my heart. You know, the one that literally stopped beating? That’s a first occurrence where I don’t have to live in a figurative state of mind.

Everything about him looks absolutely disheveled. His face, his clothes, his hands that are holding so much tension right now, given that I can see his veins, that I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to strangle me and have me go for another round.

But he doesn’t budge.

And with sudden abruptness, as the door starts to open, he quietly says these three words.

“You promised me.”

I just sit there, no change in expression. Wait, what did I promise him?

Both an ER doctor and nurse emerge from behind the door. The doctor is a middle-aged man, probably not too much older than Jimmy. The nurse is a woman with her shiny blonde hair in a slick ponytail. She’s got pink and purple pens sitting in her coat pocket. Neither of them look excited. Instead, sad.

The doctor opens his mouth as the nurse shuts the door. “Hi, I’m Dr. Sanderson.” He points to the nurse. “And this is Dr. Rileston. She’s gonna take some of your vitals real quick.”

I adjust my sitting position on the bed, watching Dr. Rileston listen to my heart, both on my chest and upper back, “Elevated, but steady,” she reports.

Then she takes my blood pressure. “Elevated, but steady,” she repeats.

Then I have to follow the pink pen waving in front of my eyes. “Alert and functioning. Doesn’t look like there’s any signs of brain damage.”

Guess she’s a woman of few words. Concise and to the point.

That’s how I wish our conversations would go.

It’s time for Dr. Sanderson to possibly interrogate me. “Can you recall what you were doing before the attempt? Do you remember what happened? Anything helps, even if it’s the smallest detail.”

I swallow the saliva in my throat. “I don’t know,” I squeak out. “I was in the bathroom and then got dizzy, so I sat on the floor.”

“And you don’t remember taking anything with you?”

I pause. “No, but I did get cold.”

He clears his throat. “There was a profuse amount of bleeding from both your wrists when paramedics arrived. Not before your friend here found you.”

I’ve just made his most recent nightmare an actual reality.

“He said,” gesturing to Jimmy, “that you were pale and your lips were dry. Could it be that you were dehydrated before this?”

“That explains the dizziness, I guess,” I reply soft spokenly.

“He found a razor in your right hand. That was yours, I presume?”

I don’t answer.

“Based on the extent of the injury, we can assume that this was intentional?”

I don’t answer again.

“Yes.”

That didn’t come from me.

Dr. Sanderson turns his attention to Jimmy. “It was?”

He meets his eyes. They’re not glassy, but they might as well could be. “I’m completely positive.”

I hate him even more than I ever thought I did.

“Has she ever had thoughts of killing herself?”

“Yeah, she’s joked about it a couple times.”

I hate him.

“She lost her boyfriend in a car accident 2 months ago. Hasn’t been the same since.”

I hate you.

“Any changes in mood, appetite, lifestyle?”

Jimmy answers for me again because God forbid I should. Who cares? Let the man blabber on.

“She has her own place, but she’s been living with me for the time being. Appetite’s been the same, but I’ve noticed her not eating as much, let alone finishing her meals. I’ll say that her mood tends to differ, but honestly, she’s been upset and sounds a little hopeless that nothing will get better. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have done this.”

It feels like a knife being stabbed to the heart.

“Are you concerned about her inflicting harm on yourself or others?” Dr. Sanderson asks.

I look at him, and then at Jimmy.

“She’s already done so, just not physically. But to answer the question, no, I am not.”

Did he really have to mention that first part? Of course he did.

“Well, we have two options here,” Dr. Sanderson continues. “We can keep her here under 48-72 hour watch and then refer her to grief counseling, where they’ll prescribe her treatment, or we can get someone in here to clean and bandage up the cuts, give you the referrals, and then you’ll be on out of here.” He looks at Jimmy. “It’s up to you.”

Wait.

It’s not up to me?

“Given her current status, we’d feel more comfortable if someone else were to make the decision. The situation can account for not being in the right mental space to think about something like that.”

Seriously?

“If I were to keep her here, she’d have to be admitted, right?”

Oh, don’t tell me-

Dr. Sanderson nods. “We’d admit her to the ICU, have a nurse check in on her about every hour or so, perhaps bring a psychiatrist down and speak with her about options to seek help.”

God, I hate that word.

I can tell that Jimmy’s concentrating. I don’t think he’s even afraid of saying the wrong thing. If he wants to get the hell away from me, get some temporary freedom, maybe it’s his best choice to have me stay.

He catches me looking. Please, please don’t do what I think you might. However, he has every option to do so. As we’ve already established, I’m not in control of this decision because I’m too weak, too empty minded. What kind of patient care is this? I swear it has to be some sort of hoax. It’s gotta be, right? No.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll let her get bandaged up.”

Oh, thank God.

Dr. Sanderson tilts his head, perhaps in uncertainty. “You certain?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy replies. “She’s not a danger to anyone.”

“But do you think she is to herself?”

“I don’t think she ever will be again after this.”

He sighs. “Alright, then. We’ll have a nurse come in and clean the cuts, then stitch them up.”

Jimmy clears his throat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dr. Sanderson replies. He and Dr. Rileston walk out the door, shutting it behind them.

The sound of noise coming from the hallway is the only one that fills the room. I hear a loud, frustrated sigh, face buried in hands again.

I stare up at the clock. It’s a little past 11:30. It feels like we’re here at night, but my mind is playing tricks on me. I want to get out of here.

Neither one of us thinks about talking. He’s too distraught, and I can’t take back what I did. I can’t justify it. I will say this, though: He is definitely having a harder time at grasping this than I am. Did he seriously think it wouldn’t happen? I literally warned him.

There’s a knock on the door. A woman enters. She’s got curly brown hair and glasses. “Hi, I’m Dr. Cole,” she says. “We’re just gonna clean and sterilize these cuts and then bandage them up good as new. I’m just gonna remove these gaws, okay?”

I don’t even nod. Instead, I zone out on the posters plastered on the wall. Then, I decide to close my eyes. Perhaps I can transport myself into another world where I meet with him under different circumstances. That was until I feel the rubbing alcohol make contact with my left wrist, making me wince.

“Yeah, it might sting a little bit. Just gotta hang in there.”

Oh, I’ll try.

Jimmy can’t even bear to look at me. He’s got his phone in between his hands, probably texting the group chat (you know, the one without me, of course) about what happened. Then again, it is everybody’s business, right?

I don’t know it took me this long to see this, but he’s got my purse resting on his lap. He seriously thought to bring it? Okay.

Dr. Cole moves her spinny chair over to my right wrist, starting the cleaning process. I turn away from the both of them, staring at the cabinets. I wonder what hospitals really keep in there. I’ve never seen them open, let alone be touched. Are they just there for show? The rubbing alcohol burns my skin again, so I clench my left hand into a fist, digging my fingernails into my palm, forming tiny crescents. It’s only a few seconds before she applies this cream onto my cut, taking away the uncomfortable sensation. She goes back to my left side and does the same for my other one. Finally, she takes the bandages resting on the tray and unwraps the roll, cutting it with scissors at an appropriate length before lifting my wrist and rolling it around tightly until it ends. She repeats the procedure once more.

“Given the depth of the cuts, there is a possibility they might scar if you don’t take care of them,” she says. “You’ll want to clean them out with rubbing alcohol and any kind of anti-inflammatory cream. It will decrease the current bits of swelling and the risk of infection.”

Great. Another thing to keep on top of.

She gives me a sympathetic smile, but I barely look at her. “You’re all set. One of you will just need to sign out at the front desk, and then Dr. Sanderson told me to remind you about doing research on certain grief counselors in the area. He’s already got a list printed out.”

Jimmy nods. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” She shuts the door behind her.

I sit up from the bed, my legs dangling off of it. I hold on to the tiny bit of courage I have to speak. “Do you know where my clothes are?”

He reaches underneath his chair, my pajamas scrunched up in a plastic bag. Yeah, that totally doesn’t elicit a similar memory.

He extends his arm out for me to grab it. “I’ll let you change,” he mutters, not even looking at me, as he stands up and opens the door, shutting it quietly behind him. I don’t hear the footsteps fading away. He’s seriously trying to guard me? When will it end?

I notice that he took my purse with him. Does he not know I could easily wear it myself? Why can’t I just get through to him? It’s exhausting.

I undo the knot on the back of the gown and shimmy my way out of it, the only thing remaining on being my underwear. I open the bag and fumble for my bra, T-shirt, and shorts. Oh, and don’t forget the slippers (Yeah, he totally picked those out. I guess those would be the easiest to put in there). After I’ve put everything on, I take one last look around the room. It’s a miracle he chose to let me leave. Someone in their right mind would have me remain here against my will, but I don’t think it would do him any better if he wouldn’t be around to check on me. Guess I’ve signed up for more of his helicopter “parenting.”

Opening the door, I slowly walk out, looking around for him. Where the heck did he go?

And then I spot him at the front desk with the receptionist. I would assume he’s signing me out. In his right hand, he’s holding what I believe to be Dr. Sanderson’s list and a bunch of brochures. Damn, he’s really not gonna give me the chance to explain myself, huh?

Then again, I’m not sure if this can be worth an explanation. 

He turns around and notices me awkwardly hanging by the door, motioning his head toward the exit. Ah, I see we’re on no speaking terms again. I walk as quick as I can in my slippers and remain behind him. He’s literally walking so fast that it’s freaking me out. I’m afraid he’s actually planning on abandoning me.

Just as I think that, he stops dead in his tracks on the pavement outside the hospital. Turning around again and looking at me, I’m expecting him to start a scene. No, he wouldn’t do that. His self-control is too high. He walks a little closer, my heartbeat picking up speed, the opposite of what it did just around two and a half hours ago.

“I rode in the ambulance, so obviously, I can’t drive home. I’m gonna order an Uber, ‘kay?”

He sounds impatient, if anything, the tiniest amount of pissed off. I don’t even bother to respond.

We find a bench to sit on that surrounds the flowers growing in their own little corner. They’re so many different colors. The miniscule attention to detail when it comes to those things do not usually go unnoticed. They’re always so pretty that I wish I could pick one up from the dirt and take it home. I’m obviously not going to do it now, but it’s just a thought. It’s a nice distraction.

He’s looking out at the parking lot, watching cars roll on by, pull into an unoccupied spot, people entering and exiting. Anything he can do to avoid me. I don’t blame him.

“Could I have my purse, please?” I ask.

He flings it over to me, hitting me on the thigh. I bite my tongue, doing my very damn best not to cry. That action alone can signify he’s already given up on me.

I clutch it in my hands, my eyes already starting to burn. No. I will not let him win. Not today, at least.

Side-eyeing him, I can see he’s on his phone again, probably telling the group chat ‘Oh, hey, she’s walking free! Without being given any time to think about her decisions! Isn’t that great? Fuck yeah!’ His leg bounces like it’s an out-of-control bug that’s buzzing around a room. I wanna hold it down so it can stop, but I’m sure he’d lose his mind at the thought of me, out of all people, attempting to provide any comfort to him right now.

Our Uber shows up about 5 minutes later. At least it wasn’t too long of a wait. I don’t know how more I could’ve continued sitting next to someone who has all of their emotions bottled up and slowly leaking from a powder keg. If it won’t happen today, I’ve delayed the inevitable. And that’s my fault. I know.

Entering the backseat, I sit down quietly, putting on my seatbelt and listening to Jimmy giving the driver the address before we take off. I try to remove all of the voices in my head by staring out the window. The sun is shining at perhaps its highest angle of the day, and I’m not even halfway through it yet. It’s almost blinding, but maybe it can cleanse my eyes, help me see in a different light. Bad joke, sorry.

The drive is dead silent that you could hear a pin drop. I wanna jump out of a moving vehicle again. It feels like I’m suffering, as this could’ve been the worst punishment the universe chose to grant me. However, I think the worst punishment has already occurred. There’s no need for another one.

When we make it back to the apartment, both of us get out of the car and walk through the parking lot to get up to the entrance doors. He doesn’t even wait for me. That’s deserved.

I see him get in the elevator and watch the doors immediately close. It’s okay. I’ll wait for the next one. When the next one does arrive, I step in slowly, pressing the ‘4’ on the keypad. As the doors close again, this time around me, I have never felt more alone. I’m so used to him being next to me that I recently started to push him away without totally realizing it. It’s not like I reached my goal, but my actions and attitudes are continued catalysts for it to actually become a thing, where I’ll have to listen to him telling me to pack my things and go back home and to never come here again. Because I didn’t promise him.

The doors open and I walk out, tiptoeing down the hallway. The apartment door is still open, so at least he didn’t forget that I was still trailing behind. I thought it would be in his benefit to not let me in at all. Luckily, I have a key. Unless he actually locks it with the latch. I won’t have so much luck then.

Walking through the entrance, I notice the Dunkin sitting on the counter. He’s got his regular, bland, boring coffee, and for me a matcha latte. He knows how much I love it. There’s a corresponding bag next to it. I think there’s donuts in there, but at this point, I don’t think I’ll ever get to know.

He’s sitting on the couch. The TV’s not on, so I’m not sure what he’s staring at. I shut the door behind me and lock it. That’s enough to grab his attention and shift his frame to intimidate me once again.

“Get the hell over here,” he says gravelly.

I kick off my slippers and walk over hesitantly. I stand on the rug that’s beneath the couch.

“Sit down,” he continues.

I sit on the coffee table in front of him.

“Look at me.”

Again, why should I?

I do it anyway. His face isn’t red anymore, but you can tell the life has been drained right out of it. He doesn’t look relaxed; in fact, kinda the same way he did after we drove back from packing up my things at my condo.

“What-,” he begins, “in the hell,” he pauses, “is wrong with you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He scoffs angrily. “You don’t know? I’ll let the blood on the bathroom floor do the talking then.”

“I’m s-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” He seethes through his teeth. “You are not, and you sure as hell ain’t getting out of it this time.”

I look down at my bandaged wrists.

“How could you be so selfish?”

I continue looking down. “I wasn’t.”

“Really? That type of action doesn’t scream selfish to you?”

“No,” I whisper softly.

“What was that?”

“No.”  I say it a little louder.

Another frustrated sigh makes its way out of his mouth. “Do you wanna hear my side of the story?”

I don’t, but I know he’s going to tell me anyway, rubbing more salt in the wound.

“I walked through the door, put everything down on the counter, and saw your bedroom door was open, so I thought you were in there. It didn’t take me long to see the bathroom door, though, was closed. So, I had to make a choice, figuring out where I thought you were. I chose the bathroom. I walk over to the door, knock on it, call out your name. No answer. I knock on it again. No answer. I notice it’s unlocked, so I open it, bracing myself to accidentally walk in on you using the bathroom as worse case scenario. I don’t even get to move it halfway before I just see you lying there, motionless, my razor in your hand.”

Can’t even imagine how he feels right now.

“It takes me a quick minute to notice the blood trickling on the floor, trying to figure out where the hell it’s coming from. I thought you might’ve accidentally ran into the wall or something and passed out.” He smiles as he scoffs. “Oh, boy, was I wrong.”

Can’t even look at him.

“So I back out of there, my hand literally shaking as I grab my phone on the counter, dial 911, speak to the operator, telling her my name, my address, why I’m calling, waiting for paramedics to arrive. They knock on the door. I let them in. They rush into the bathroom, hook you up to the Lifepak. The lead paramedic tells me you’re not breathing. He says it’s perhaps due to the amount of blood you lost. I watch them lift you up on the gurney, buckle you in as I’m running into your room to grab your things. The bed’s not made, the blinds aren’t open, nothing’s the way it should be. I grab your slippers to make sure you have shoes to walk in. I grab my things off the counter and follow them out. My heart is beating one million miles a minute. I feel like I might as well have a heart attack in that moment to be dramatic.”

Still can’t.

“And we’re in the back of the ambulance, literally clenching your purse in my hands, wondering if this is all I’m gonna have left of you. They got your heart back, and then you flatlined. Four minutes.”

I can feel his eyes burning into my face somehow.

“Pushing down on your chest, fighting to get you back. And they did. The only thought I had in that moment was having to attend another funeral.”

Well, good thing you don’t now.

“Got to the hospital. They dragged you out of the back and onto the pavement, rushing you in while I slowly followed behind. Heck, I was so close to just not walking in at all. But, if I remember correctly, I said that we have to be there for each other, and I can’t go back on my word. You did.”

I know that.

“The emergency trauma unit brings you to your own room. They unstrap you from the gurney, get you changed out of your clothes, get you your own bracelet. Meanwhile, here I am, sitting in the chair, you sitting in the bed, eyes closed, an IV jabbed into your arm, hooked up to monitors so that your body doesn’t get another chance to crap out.”

I didn’t even hear the sound of a monitor when I woke up.

“The paramedics bandaged you up in the bathroom. I’m looking at them. They’re almost blood-soaked red. It makes me wince. It makes me wanna wake you up myself and take that knife I pointed at your chest and move it to your throat.”

We’re really bringing that back? I thought we were past it.

Guess not.

“And I got to wondering: how do I make the best of this situation? There’s always a silver lining, right? Wrong.”

Damn.

“You could’ve fucking died, and I would’ve been the last one to see you. I thought that maybe I shouldn’t have left the apartment. I should’ve stayed. I feel responsible, even though there’s no logical reason for me to.”

I stare down at the carpet, distracting myself with the patterns.

“Finally, like the grace of God, and the grace of the universe, you woke up. I knew you would. You had to. Why? Because I was not letting you leave without hearing from me first.”

Of course you wouldn’t.

“By the way, the reason I didn’t let you stay is because for these past two months, you have never been good at doing things alone. I don’t wanna get a call in the middle of the night to find out you’ve flatlined again or worse. We’ve already been here on the other side of things, having to wait for news. This time, we were part of the actual event. Again, I still waited. You, however, were tired of waiting.”

Jimmy shifts on the couch, sitting up from what was his lackadaisical posture, and sits up straight, moving toward the edge of the cushion. He takes his hands and places them on my kneecaps. His palms have taken their turn to start burning. That gesture alone reluctantly makes me break the avoidance and I look straight at him, brown eyes lacking so much life. I grip my hands on the table.

His voice returns to normal, less agitation and still the same amount of seriousness, but it’s somewhat shifted elsewhere. “I’m going to look through those brochures, and the names that Dr. Sanderson has on that paper, and I’m gonna research and see which place has the best reviews, the best people to see, the best outcome they can give you. This is non-negotiable. No more excuses, no more outs. No more hospital visits. I’ve only been saying it for so long. You need help, and now you’re getting it.”

The only thing I can manage to do is blink. “Sorry.”

He looks at me apologetically. “But you’re not. If you were, you never would’ve done it. We both know that.”

I can’t even nod. I just look away.

“C’mon,” he says, removing his hands and standing up. My knees are hot. “You gotta drink something.” He motions over to the counter, holding my matcha.

I get up and walk over to him, taking it from his hand. I rip the paper covering off the straw and poke it through the middle of the cup, taking a small sip. I could say that matcha does cure all sadness, but right now, it doesn’t.

Jimmy takes the donuts out of the bag. One’s double chocolate, the other’s strawberry frosted. He folds the bag over on the counter. I guess we’re using it as our plate. The strawberry one is definitely for me. Taking a bite, I savor the feeling of the icing and sprinkles relishing in my mouth. Some of them are definitely gonna get stuck in there, but they’ll eventually find their way out.

He’s sipping his coffee while staring at the top brochure, then moving his gaze to the window. The wind is moving the leaves around in a swift manner. It’s calm. His mind is definitely not.

I feel the need to remind him. I still keep my quiet tone. “Happy Birthday.”

There is no reason for me to even say that after what just happened, but I can’t wait another year. What if everything’s different then? We might not speak, I might be moved back in. There’s too many possibilities. There’s one action I already regret, but this one, I don’t.

He just looks at me with the slightest of frowns. It’s a combination of dissatisfied and sad. He does the right thing by not responding.

So we sit in silence, eating what we could consider our lunch, given it’s already the afternoon, with the brochures becoming more appealing. At least he now gets to do his favorite thing.

Helping me.

[edupunkn00b]

Ours, Ch. 3: Your New Seasons

Prev - Your New Seasons - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Roman meets Ire and learns more about the Hunters. WC: 2279 - Rated: G - CW: discussions of thrall and vampires, injection - A day late but here! Day 3 of @royalityweek, Flowers and Seasons -

The inky grey sky shifted to a thin, pale pink as they made their way downtown. Roman still held the Hunter’s hand, fingers comfortably locked together as Pathos matched his pace. He moved with a confident grace, not delicate and light on his feet like some a dancer or a cat. More like a big draft horse or a…

“Is it true?” Roman whispered, thumb still absently stroking the soft fur on the back of Pathos’ hand. It had receded somewhat, but was still thicker than most men’s. And impossible for Roman to ignore any longer, no matter how soothing it was to touch.

Pathos smiled gently as they walked, waiting for his question. The tiny twitches in his gaze as they crossed streets and passed alleyways, told Roman that, despite the attention he gave him, the Hunter was still vigilant for dangers.

Roman broke eye contact. “Are some Hunters really werewolves?”

“Hmmm…” Pathos hummed, low and gravelly, almost a growl. No—a rumble. When his old dog had pups she used to do that, a quiet sound at the back of her throat when her pups drank. Roman should be terrified but he found himself moving closer. “Werewolves are impervious to a vampire’s thrall,” he said instead of answering directly. “The first Hunters in the Carpethian Guild were all fully human…” He shook his head, sunny features drawn tight. “Dracula turned them into his pets and used them for his pleasure.” He met Roman’s eyes. “Dracula and his spawn.”

Ice crackled in his veins. “The one who turned my brother?”

Pathos nodded and squeezed his hand as they walked. “It’s safer this way, both for the Hunters and for the people we’re protecting from those monsters.”

“But aren’t—I—” Roman looked away, clamping his mouth shut. Are you about to call him a monster to his face?

Instead of showing anger, Pathos smiled and stopped. Clasping Roman’s hand between both of his own, he hummed thoughtfully. “The earliest Wolves in the Hunter’s Guild couldn’t control their transitions. It’s true. They required… handlers.” 

His smile grew and he turned his hand, backside up. When Roman looked, the hair there grew thicker, right before his eyes. “We’ve developed new hybrids with infinitely more control. It takes a little practice, but…” 

Pathos’ voice had changed, deeper, with a wet rasp to it. Roman forced his eyes up and shuddered. The Hunter’s face had changed, his blond curls spreading down his forehead and along his cheekbones and over his neck. Soft fur tufted up at his collar and Roman swore he was taller, his overcoat tighter at the shoulders.

Sharp teeth glistened in his mouth, grown in both size and number. In fact his entire jaw had elongated. Not entirely wolfish. But not entirely human, either.

But his eyes… his eyes had kept their soft blue shimmer. And he smiled down at Roman. “I am a better Hunter this way. A better protector,” he murmured. The Hunter’s low, rumbly voice melted away the fear growing in Roman’s chest. “Can you trust me like this?”

“Yes,” Roman said immediately, surprising himself. “I—I don’t know how, but…” He took a deep breath, watching Pathos’ eyes soften even further. It was then he realized the Hunter had been afraid. Afraid he’d lost his trust? Roman smiled. “Yes, I trust you.” Pathos nodded and, still smiling, shifted back. Not all the way, but enough that his teeth were left looking mostly human, and his claws retracted, leaving blunt, plain nails. Roman played at the edges of his fuzzy hand.

“You have good instincts. I pledged to protect you, Roman, and I meant it. Wolves are fierce fighters. We are also fiercely loyal.” He turned and they resumed their walk. “Just as you were loyal to your brother.”

Pathos’ use of the past tense sat heavy in his stomach, but Roman nodded. “I can’t let that bloodsucker hurt anyone else. I won't.”

“Neither will I.”

~

They walked in near silence for several more blocks. Roman’s feet grew heavier with each step, his brother’s steel-toed Docs dragging against the dirty concrete sidewalk. Re would kill him for borrowing them without asking. Each night Roman had laced them up it was a silent plea to the universe that he’d find him so his brother could chew him out for scuffing the edges of his favorite boots.

He shivered, his own mental mental image of his brother chewing him was suddenly way too… real.

“We’re nearly there, Roman,” Pathos said as he drew closer. He squeezed his hand, not-so subtly checking his nail beds and flashing a pointed look at his eyes. “Do you see the brownstone up there by the dogwood trees?”

The corners of Pathos' lips quirked and Roman tilted his head as he looked back at the Hunter. “Dogwood?”

Pathos grinned, his entire face blooming with joy. “Mm-hm,” he hummed, laughter buzzing just beneath his words. “Fitting for our headquarters, don’t you think?”

It was probably little more than delirium, but a laugh bubbled up from Roman’s chest and he shook his head. “I figured puns like that would make you barking mad.”

Armed to the teeth—and with the inch-long canines to prove it—Pathos grinned impossibly wide, a delighted giggle bursting out from his dangerous looking mouth. “Oh, I’m never one to raise my hackles at a good pun!”

“I am,” a low voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. Roman’s head jerked up. A tall man with long, bright carrot-colored hair plaited down the center of his back glared at him.

Pathos stepped closer, one hand sliding up to Roman’s shoulder. “Ire, I’d like you to meet my new friend.” He raised both eyebrows at him and Roman suddenly recalled Pathos’ promise to protect his name.

Nodding to Ire, he smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Roman.”

Ire looked unimpressed. “You said you were hunting the spawn, not picking up some random human.”

“Now, Kiddo, be nice.” Pathos led him up the stairs as though the 6 foot… 6? 7 inch tall man was a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “The new spawn was Roman’s brother.”

Embers smoldered in Roman’s gut and he forced his jaw to unclench, hoping to hide the rage simmering just within his control. Ire still caught it.

“This is not a social call, then?”

Pathos shook his head and Ire looked between them for a long moment before suddenly smiling at Roman, canines poking into his bottom lip. He offered his hand and hummed in approval when Roman gripped it with equal fervor. “Welcome, then.”

~

While Ire had been gruff, even angry out on the porch, he softened once the door closed, drawing Pathos close and rubbing the side of his head against him. “I’m relieved you’re home safe, Pat,” he murmured, nearly too quiet for Roman to hear. 

Pathos made that same little rumble, touching Ire back. Afraid of intruding in their intimate moment, Roman looked away, eyes tracing the little vestibule where they stood. A small wooden shoe rack sat in the corner and Roman crouched to unlace his—Remus’—boots and set them side by side on the rack.

“Thank you, Roman,” Ire said, dark brown, almost black eyes trained on him. He frowned then, and Roman stiffened, the disappointment in Ire’s eyes sending an almost physical ache through his bones.

Pathos inhaled deeply next to him and, like he had outside the bloodsuckers’ den, Roman had the sense the Hunter was… smelling him. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he murmured after a moment and reached for his hand. “Well, not to us.”

Roman felt foolish but he was too tired to keep up a confident front. He simply looked to each of them and waited for these new… friends? Teachers? The sparks zinging across his skin each time Pathos touched him fit neither of those roles.

The two Hunters exchanged a look, elastic expressions holding an entire conversation without words. In the end, Pathos smiled and nodded, then turned to Roman. “Would you join us for some tea and something light to eat?” He glanced again at Ire, then added. “You have some decisions to make and…”

“What…” Roman shrank back, regretting his now bare feet. And the way Ire and Pathos stood between him and the front door. “What kind of decisions?”

Ire smiled and bowed his head. “If you’ll excuse me. This might be an easier conversation one-on-one.” Pathos nodded and moved to Roman’s side as Ire stepped down the hall. As though they'd heard his thoughts, both Hunters had spread out, leaving him a clear path to the exit. Ire waved. “I’ll be back with the tea.”

“Let’s go sit down in the den.” Pathos took his hand, the barest hint of his wolfish fur sprinkled over his knuckles and spilling up the back of his hand to his arm. Stroking his thumb over Pathos’ fuzzy skin, Roman realized he missed it.

Since when was he comfortable with werewolves?

Apparently, ever since he found out a bloodsucker murdered his brother.

Pathos led him to a dim, comfortably warm room at other end of the hall. An old grandfather clock, the real old fashioned kind with weights and a pendulum, ticked steadily in the corner, and an electric fountain bubbled at the opposite wall. The sun had risen during their walk and golden light filtered through the gossamer curtains adorning the big, floor-to-ceiling picture window.

The centerpiece of the room, though, was a giant circle of brightly colored pillows and cushions and blankets. A few small tables were scattered around, some with roses and wildflowers, others with coasters, ready to hold a drink. Pathos sat down near the middle of the cushions and tugged gently on his hand, helping him settle on a soft pile of pillows next to him.

Roman sank down into the fluff, a low sigh escaping his lips. The fatigue he’d been pushing away since he’d gotten Re’s message pulled him down to the floor and it took a moment for him to notice the blanket Pathos draped over his shoulders. And that lovely quiet rumble from the back of his throat.

But he couldn’t relax completely. He squeezed Pathos’ hand and met his eyes. “You said I hadn’t done anything wrong to you or to Ire…” The Hunter nodded, still smiling. “Who did I wrong? Re?”

“Oh, Roman, no…” His face fell and he scooted closer, arms wrapped around him. “No, you’ve wronged yourself. You look exhausted… and…” A hint of a smile tugged up one corner of his mouth as he tapped his ear. “Even without the fur, I’ve got the wolves’ senses. I’ve been listening to your stomach growl for the past hour or so.”

“Oh,” Roman said, looking down at his hands. He’d assumed his decision would be about what amends he would make to whomever he’d wronged. “So what do I need to decide?”

“If you really want to join us,” Pathos said immediately. “Now that you know…”

Roman traced lines over the back of Pathos’ hand. “Ire is a werewolf, too, isn’t he?”

“All Hunters are now.”

“So… H—how does it work?” Roman squirmed in his seat, fear dueling with the insistence that Pathos would protect him even from himself. “Do you… bite… me?”

“Roman, of course not!” Pathos almost laughed. He reached for Roman’s face, shaking his head gently. “No, no we are not the animals the bloodsuckers are. No… a long time ago, that was the only way. We’ve made advances since then. You get an injection. It…” He swallowed but kept his gaze. “It is painful for the first couple of days,” he admitted. “But that’s why you have your pack to care for you.”

“My pack?” Re had been the closest thing he had to a pack. And now he was gone. “I…" Roman's throat closed and he pushed out the rest of his words. "I don’t have one.”

“Of course you do,” Pathos smiled and rubbed the side of his head against his temple. “Ire and I are your pack now. If you want us.”

“You don’t have to decide immediately,” Ire said from the doorway. “We’ll have some time before…” He drew closer and handed each of them a tea. It was hot and sweet and eased the buzzing in Roman’s head.

Pathos nodded. “It's still a few days the new spawn will need to feed.”

Ire sipped his own cup. “Unless V finally puts his pet out of its misery and lets his spawn drain it.”

“Pet?” Roman asked. He was now leaning against Pathos’ shoulder, but the Hunter didn’t seem to mind. And frankly, he was too tired to sit up on his own. “You said that before about the… the humans at the bar.”

Pathos opened his mouth, but then closed it, sharp teeth digging into his lip. Ire answered instead. “The bloodsuckers need it to survive. But… when they leave enough in their victims that they’re still alive a feeding, well… a lot of people get addicted. Not just from the thrall, but the feeding itself.”

“And… V… the one who killed Re, he… he keeps one of these humans around?”

“For years,” Pathos’ lips curled in disgust. “And if… when we finally stake V, his pet will be released from his hold. V will be vulnerable after spawning.”

Ire nodded. “And his attention will be split. That’s when we’ll strike.”

“I want to help,” Roman sat up straighter. “Please?” He met each of their eyes, shoving down his fatigue, his grief, his weakness. He could be strong, he could help them. Pathos smiled, excited. Proud, even. Ire… Ire was harder to read, but he slid closer and rubbed their heads together with a tiny rumble.

“I’ll get the serum.”

~

Minutes later, Roman’s sleeve was pushed up and he lay curled in Pathos’ lap in the center of the den. “Are you ready?” he whispered in Roman’s ear.

“I’m ready,” he said aloud. He hardly noticed the prick of the needle, but the serum burned as it spread through his veins. He shuddered, fingers tangling in Pathos' sleeves.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Pathos murmured. Roman realized he'd begun to whine. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Cold followed the burn and Roman’s eyelids grew heavy. “It’s not so bad now,” he mumbled.

Pathos tightened the blankets around him and settled him close to his chest. Eyes closed, Roman felt Pathos reach for Ire’s hand. “We’ll be right here with you through it all, little pup,” Ire murmured.

Then the room went black.

[unknown-lifeform]

I have been having plenty of thoughts regarding this matter as of late and so here it is, a whole post

Cloud Strife: an Aromantic Reading

...and now you're all going to tell me, "don't you have hundreds of thousands of words of fanfiction about Cloud Strife being in love with various men?" which, yes, I do, I would say I am fairly invested in making Cloud kiss dudes. But, for starters, I'm not the kind of person who always has a single fixed headcanon about a character's sexuality. An interpretation of Cloud as gay is to me just as valid as one where he's aromantic. Second, aromanticism is a spectrum, and a greyromantic or demiromantic Cloud would be both aromantic and very much capable of being in love romantically with someone.

Lastly, and most crucial, I am aromantic, therefore, literally any media analysis I do is technically an aromantic reading even when it doesn't talk about aromanticism. And I today want to discuss why I believe it makes perfect sense for Cloud to be aromantic, and what parts of his character make him compelling from the aromantic point of view.

Note: this post is very, very long. Like way too long. Also it assumes a general familiarity with both FF7 and the concept of aromanticism. And because this is an analysis it also includes me discussing why I believe that certain relationships between Cloud and other characters which are often seen as romantic do not in fact have to be romantic at all. You have been warned.

The dating mechanics

Let's start with getting this out of the way.

The game allows you to go on a date with one of four characters, depending on your choices: Aerith, Tifa, Yuffie, or Barret. Aerith and Tifa have the highest base probabilities of being Cloud's partner. Yuffie's base chances are much lower, not to mention that she is an optional character that not everyone even obtains. Barret has the lowest base probability of them all, and I would say it's fairly hard to have him as the partner unless specifically trying to get him.

Because most people will end up on the date with Aerith and Tifa, given the highest chances of it. After all, Aerith and Tifa are also often presented as Cloud's "canon" love interests, and every day we thank Squenix for all the shipwars they brought upon us.

Before I continue, let me state that I do not care what you, person reading this, ship. I'm sure everyone here is partial to different ships. We all have different interpretations of the characters. This is my personal opinion and analysis, not some kind of shipping manifesto, and I fully realize that some people will disagree with what I say.

With that out of the way, let me just say that I've always found the romantic chemistry built between Cloud and either Aerith or Tifa to be fairly lukewarm. Which is understandable, because Square Enix wants to sell both options as potential ships. They have always presented both Clerith and Cloti as potential relationships in the Compilation, and leaning too hard into one side would risk taking away the potential for the other relationship to occur. Allowing the player to pick their favorite girl has been an integral feature since day one, and now they have to commit.

For example, I'm considering the date scenes with either girl. Note that I will base myself on the English version of the game, not the original Japanese, meaning I could very well missing some nuance present in the original version.

If the date happens with Aerith, she will be the one to show up, propose it, and then basically drag Cloud out of the room, who for his part seemed more confused than anything else. Some shenanigans happen, and then the two ride a gondola, where Aerith tells Cloud that he reminds her of Zack (albeit never using his name) but she has now realized Cloud is very different from him. She then tells Cloud she wants to meet the "real" Cloud, either meaning she wants to get to know him better or that she has realized something strange is up with him.

At the end of the date, she asks Cloud if he doesn't like being with her. Cloud's dialogue options are "No, I don't" or "That's not it". At this point Aerith says to go on more rides next time they come here, and we cut to Cait Sith being shady and the plot moves on.

This entire date is overall... pretty one sided. Cloud didn't want to go at first, and mostly plays along. His dialogue options seem to suggest that at best, he likes being with Aerith, but something of this situation was making him uncomfortable.

Tifa also essentially pushes Cloud out of his room for her date, but never uses the word "date", rather asking Cloud to hang out, which fits with her personality being in general less outgoing than Aerith. In fact, later in their gondola scene, Tifa decides to tell Cloud something, and states Aerith would probably be able to be more open about it. Tifa proceeds saying that it's hard being old friends, that timing is everything, and from her words one can imagine she wanted to confess to him.

Just then the ride ends, and when Cloud asks Tifa what she was about to say, she says it was nothing, leaving Cloud confused.

This date also seems pretty one sided, with Tifa appearing interested in Cloud and Cloud being pretty clueless about it. He even agrees with Tifa that being old friends is hard, but doesn't seem to catch on that she is interested in him.

Overall, as an aromantic person, let me say I relate to Cloud so much in both instances. I have also completely missed other people's interests in me, despite it being kind of obvious in hindsight. And if someone took me on a date, I would be very uncomfortable. Note that Cloud's apparent unease is only apparent in Aerith's date, the only one that was openly stated to be a date, while with Tifa he was simply told they were spending time together. Of course his uneasiness with Aerith may also be because of her strange words regarding to wanting to know the "real Cloud", but it's just as possible to interpret his line to be about the date itself.

And if someone wants to tell me that it should be obvious Tifa wanted it to be a date... It isn't. We, the audience, can guess she might have a crush on Cloud, but Cloud clearly didn't pick up on it. A girl asking a boy to spend some time with her doesn't always mean that she's interested in him, unless we want to pull the "men and women can't be just friends" card.

I've also taken a look at the various dialogues which in game allow you to determine which character you will go on a date with. The majority of these just amount to being kind to one person or prioritizing them over the others, but not in ways which are openly romantic. There is one dialogue where Aerith asks if Tifa is Cloud's girlfriend and he can confirm or deny, and another where Marlene asks if Aerith likes Cloud and he can say he doesn't know or that he hopes so. Both of these dialogues allow the player to make Cloud act uninterested.

Now, Yuffie and Barret aren't usually seen as Cloud's potential canon love interests. Yuffie's date features Yuffie giving Cloud a kiss on his cheek, which she is immediately embarrassed about and Cloud basically ignores that it even happened. Barret's date is the least romantic, given, well, I guess Square Enix didn't dare make it gay. Paradoxically it's also the one Cloud seems to have the most agency in, because he was the one to suggest they take the romantic gondola ride, which Barret wasn't a fan of. But in the end, it's awkward more than anything else.

Aerith & Tifa: relationship with Cloud

Given the girls are seen as the potential love interests, I'm gonna now focus on them specifically.

Again. I'm not trying to prove or disprove your favorite ship. I don't care. I'm doing my own analysis here.

Tifa is the one Cloud has known the longest. Their relationship is actually kind of weird thinking about it. They always call each other old friends, but they weren't that close in childhood, what with Tifa's father keeping Cloud away from her.

While Tifa's feelings on Cloud can be discussed, Cloud's relationship with and view of Tifa doesn't have to romantic at all. Remember, she is the only survivor of Cloud's hometown, basically the only real connection to his past Cloud has, that's in itself a very powerful bond to share with someone. Tifa is the only person alive who remembers Nibelheim, and the only one who can truly understand what Sephiroth's rampage was like. It makes sense for Cloud to be drawn to her, protective too. Plus, Tifa was also the one who found Cloud while he was still in a confused state, there might have been a certain level of imprinting there.

Also. We know Cloud didn't have friends in Nibelheim, that he didn't get along with other children. Tifa was the only one who was kind to him. That's another reason for him to be drawn to her.

So we have Cloud, who has a thousand reasons to be attached to Tifa, and all of them in addition to the fact that, you know, they're friends. Because, they are friends. Cloud's affection towards Tifa can be well explained by friendship and all the baggage that comes with their past, without having to drag romance in.

Someone may point to Advent Children, where Cloud and Tifa live together (at least, when Cloud isn't off being sad and emotionally repressed somewhere). That does seem like a couples thing. Furthermore, in the One the Way to a Smile side novel, Tifa basically explicitly says she loves Cloud (not words on Cloud's feelings tho). This doesn't however take away from the potential for an aromantic Cloud, and in fact makes my aromantic brain go brrrr with excitement.

Living together isn't exclusively something romantic partners do. Friends can do it as well, especially in circumstances where it's more convenient to do so, and for Cloud it would be better to room with Tifa than to find another place in Edge.

But also... found family. God, how I love found family, and in my experience it is in general a trope beloved my a lot of people in the aromantic community. Cloud and Tifa are raising two children, an orphan whose feelings towards them are unclear, and a girl whose father is not romantically involved with either Cloud or Tifa, this is in itself a very strange situation, and it doesn't become more "normal" if we assume those two are a romantic couple.

I personally adore the idea of two people who are not romantically in love taking care of children, becoming a family because of their own choice. Being platonic friends, or queerplatonic partners too. Because Cloud and Tifa are never stated to be officially a couple, they are a perfect example of a situation to which the queerplatonic label may apply. And in fact the idea of a queerplatonic Cloti is in my opinion spectacular. The devotion, the history, the complicated connection which cannot be explained as romantic but isn't close to friendship either? That's the kind of non-romantic partnership I want to see in media.

Let's look at Aerith now. The early relationship between her and Cloud was mostly driven by her, with Cloud kind of going along with her antics. Aerith is a whirlwind, and he is basically swept up by her. Given Aerith's bluntness and personality, I wouldn't be surprised if she were able to get almost anyone to follow her around the way Cloud did. And yes, she was flirty with him from time to time, but again this is her side of things, not Cloud's.

Their time together was unfortunately cut short by Aerith's death, and Cloud's reaction to it was heartbreaking. Her death scene is justly known as iconic, and it leaves me baffled that I have seen in the past Cloud's reaction to it being treated as "proof" he had romantic feelings for her. She was his friend, and she was murdered in front of him, while he was busy fighting against Sephiroth's mind control. Cloud's devastation is understandable, and in itself isn't enough to be connected to romantic feelings, unless someone want to try and convince me friends don't grieve for friends.

Aerith's presence continues to haunt the game - literally. She determines the ultimate victory from the Lifestream, and continues to act as a spirit even in Advent Children. In On the Way to a Smile she also says she loves Cloud, quite like Tifa does. Again, Square Enix cannot push too far in one direction without evening out the playing field.

Cloud, for his part, is drowning in guilt about her death by Advent Children. The same guilt he has for Zack's death. Now, his pain about both seems to be of the same magnitude, and we can't grab the grief itself as proof that he had romantic feelings for one of them without saying he must have also had them for the other. And I doubt Square Enix wanted us to think Zakkura is canon either.

All in all, Cloud's approach towards both girls can be read as platonic or romantic depending on your personal interpretation. Nothing ever says he was never in love with them, but nothing directly says he was either. His devotion can be seen as non-romantic in either case. These characters are in the end people who have gone through terrible things together, and it's reasonable to think their bond will be powerful regardless of its nature.

Devotion in FF7

It's common in fandom circles to hear the sentence "those two can't be friends, they are too devoted to each other to be friends". This is a wretched sentence. The idea that romantic love is far deeper and more powerful than any platonic friendship derives from amatonormativity, and it has plenty of issues which basically boil down to it's fucking wrong.

Romantic love is different than platonic love. That doesn't mean it's always stronger or better. Depending on the circumstances, it can be fully justified to put a partner above a friend. If an individual person feels that their romantic partner will always be their most important person, that is their prerogative, but people can love their friends just as much as they love a partner.

Insisting that only romantic love can push people to go to certain lengths for others honestly make me extremely perplexed. Don't get me wrong, everyone works in different ways, and I have no doubts that for some people romantic feelings will be more intense than platonic ones, but it's definitely not every single person in the world. The devaluation of platonic connection is something I have a lot of feelings about, and it's probably better if I move on with the analysis.

FF7 has plenty of instances of depictions of devotion between characters that we aren't supposed to see as romantic partners. Zack's love for Cloud comes to mind, he went above and beyond what anyone else would have done for another person, giving his life to protect a best friend after having spent months dragging Cloud around despite his coma.

And then... Barret spends his life raising the daughter of his best friend, and when Dyne dies Barret is broken by it. Cait Sith may be just one robot among many, but he also appears to have some degree of intelligence, and the first Cait Sith's last words make it clear he didn't want to be destroyed, but still did so for his friends. Zack in Crisis Core did everything he could to save Angeal. The Turks in Before Crisis put each other above everything else, even if they should in theory be a bunch of cold hearted assassins.

This is a whole other analysis, but FF7 is to me a game that fundamentally talks about people caring for each other or for an ideal. The positive characters, who care about the world and their friends, are placed in opposition to Shinra, full of people that care for nothing if not themselves, and to Sephiroth and Jenova, willing to sacrifice a whole planet just for their own sake.

Saying "Cloud treats X character in a certain way, therefore he must be in love with them, a friend would never" does to me an enormous disservice to both the game and to how strong real life friendships can be.

In short, none of what Cloud does has to be connected to romance to make sense. Doesn't he say so himself in Advent Children? There's nothing that he doesn't cherish. He's not fighting for X specific person because of romantic love, he literally tells us that everything is on the same level for him.

Because of this Cloud is so appealing as an aromantic character. He never claims to love something more than other, he fights in the same way to protect his best friends or the whole planet. Someone who never falls in love, and yet loves with such apparent intensity. It's not a kind of character that every aromantic person in the world can relate to, but he's still so compelling.

Remake scenes

Remake has given us plenty of new scenes concerning Cloud and romance. Mainly, approximately every character in the game flirting with him, from Aerith and Tifa to Jessie to whatever the fuck was going on with Roche to Sephiroth asking to be hugged (look I know embrace me is meant to be metaphorical but come on).

And every time, Cloud looks... quite uncomfortable. At least most of the time. To be fair at various points of the game he looks to be more at ease in ambiguous situations when it comes to Aerith and Tifa, who are both the main romance options and also the people Cloud knows the best. For the most part Cloud tends to brush off people who act flirty with him, even trying to get out of Jessie's hug that one time.

Again, it could be just his general tough guy persona, which is even more evident in Remake than it was in the OG, but it might also be that he genuinely disliked being approached in romantic ways.

When it comes to Aerith and Tifa, there are much more potentially romantic scenes with both, and many of them also do look more ambiguous. Remake is a much larger game than the OG, with a lot of additional content, it's obvious that Square Enix would add more scenes that build the relationship between various characters. Possibly also because it's easier to build tension between realistic models than it is between polygon people. Plus, with the success FF7 has enjoyed, and Clerith and Cloti both having plenty of fans, Square Enix might have decided to lean heavier into that side of things to please the fanbase.

My general impression of many scenes being more ambiguous than strictly romantic stands, because once again, Square Enix cannot validate either ship too much, and even if they keep the dating mechanics I doubt they will make any route "too canon".

That being said. I do agree that some of these scenes lean more towards being romantic than some scenes in the original game. Some are situational - like Cloud physically protecting both Tifa and Aerith from bad falls - but there's also plenty of additional dialogues implying Cloud may have feelings for one or the other. I still don't feel they are enough to say "Cloud 100% has romantic feelings for this girl", but I can admit they can be taken as a stronger indication than some of the OG scenes.

Now... So far I've always spoken of Cloud in terms of the no romance, no romantic feelings ever, kind of romance repulsed flavor of aromantic. However, as I said at the start of the post, aromanticism is an umbrella. It includes things like greyromanticism, demiromanticism, and in general identities where one may on rare and specific occasions develop romantic feelings for someone. And there are people who may be both grey/demi/any identity that implies occasionally feeling romance, and simultaneously be romance repulsed and unsure of what to do when they do have a crush on someone.

Tifa and Aerith are both people Cloud has very strong emotional connections with, regardless of the nature of said connection. He and Tifa have known each other a long time, and he becomes very attached to Aerith very fast. He is objectively annoyed by a lot of people flirting with him, and while he warms up to the two girls he still acts awkward and unsure around them. One could very easily make a case for a romance repulsed demiromantic Cloud, for example.

Considering also how many people say Remake!Cloud and OG!Cloud have different personalities - not getting into this argument now, I'm just saying that it is a common interpretation - one could also say that Remake!Cloud and OG!Cloud have different flavors of aromanticism. It's also a possible interpretation.

In conclusion

Can any of the things I have discussed so far be taken as definite proof that Cloud is aromantic? Not really. It's all up to interpretation, and my interpretation is heavily informed by my own orientation.

However, it's also not any less acceptable than any analysis speculating what Cloud's actual orientation is. Unless Square Enix decides to make Cloud officially state what he identifies as, every option is a possible option. Overall, as an aromantic person I find that many of Cloud's actions are very relatable, and that it doesn't feel at all like a stretch to consider him motivated always by non-romantic feelings of affection.

Anyways I want more aromantic Cloud in my life, and if you are thinking something along the lines of "hey, you're a writer, you know you can just write it yourself?" I want you to know that yes you are right about that but also I am allowed to wish that things would just spontaneously manifest in my life without me putting in any effort to make them happen ok

[clairefoyanttt]

Chapter One

I filed for short term disability for burnout about two weeks ago. I'm still waiting for final approval from the leave group, but I'm reasonably certain it will be.

Step one was ensuring it was an option with my company. I reached out to HR, who is required to keep these conversations and inquiries confidential, and they confirmed it was an option but would need a doctor to say it was medically necessary.

Step two was getting my doctor on board. She grilled me, hard, because saying this is medically necessary when it isn't is fraud and if I was trying to pull a fast one, it's her ass on the line. She was, understandably, concerned as my previous anxiety self test had looked like an improvement and the one I took the day of our disability discussion was a drastic change for the worse. I think she probably thought there was a chance I was artificially nudging my scores. However, the day of my last appointment with her, I had an interview scheduled for that afternoon for a company that I thought was going to be a great change for me. They offered me great pay, the recruiters swore they were a family-friendly company, that they would be accommodating to my kids schedule, and it was closer to home. What actually happened was learning that the job was going to be significantly longer hours, zero opportunity for remote work, and a significant drop in paid time off. So yeah, I had been really hopeful in her last appointment, and still scored fairly high on anxiety but not as bad as I did the day I walked in there realizing that I either had to figure out a way to make things work with my current job, or I was going to be unemployed.

In fact, that's what I told her. I said that one way or another I was not going to be working as of February 23rd, either because I was on disability leave, or because I quit. I think that was when she realized that this was legitimate.

I also agreed to up my therapy sessions to weekly as opposed to the current bi-weekly schedule, I shared with her the steps I had taken to mitigate my depression and anxiety (gratitude journaling, meditation, taking walks in nature, eating better, exercising more, spending less time on my phone, socializing more frequently, sleeping better, etc) and assured her that I'd seen improvements at home, but work was still a disaster.

After our appointment, she and my therapist worked together, and the result is that my doctor has approved the request and believes it is medically necessary.

Yesterday I had my last day in the office, and my last day of work. I also had my annual review with my new-ish boss. The conversation was wonderful, if a bit uncomfortable, and I am genuinely excited about the goals we have set for this year and the projects I'll get to work on upon my return. That being said, it was hands down the worst annual review of my life. Inconsistently met goals, failed to meet goals, standards not set, it was a disaster. Luckily I fully expected it to be a disaster, so it wasn't a surprise and I didn't get upset.

You see, 10 years ago this year I joined the Army. Less than a year later, I was set to run my final PT test on a knee I had injured 6 months prior. I passed my push-ups, I passed my sit-ups, and all I had to do was pass a two mile run. Within a half mile, I knew my knee wasn't going to make it. Around the 3/4 mile mark, my knee gave out and I hit the deck hard. It took a second to breathe, popped up on my feet, and sprinted. My knee gave out again, and I fell. Then I got up, sprinted, and fell. I did this for about a half mile. I wanted everyone who saw me to know that I pushed myself. That I was strong. That I was determined. I thought that made me a worthy person. I failed my test that day, but it wasn't my fault. My knee just couldn't keep up.

Unfortunately, pushing through that pain also gave me lifelong knee problems. I am currently in physical therapy once again due to meniscal fraying because my knee was already weakend and unstable from my decade old injury and exacerbated by pregnancy, and carrying a child who now weighs 26 and a half pounds. I might have made a good impression on the people who saw me running that early morning in Arizona, but in my desire to be seen as someone who wasn't a quitter, I gave myself a lifelong injury.

This time, I failed again, and it still isn't my fault. My mental health is fractured after years of frequent change, the stress of COVID, the stress of being a full-time working mother, the stress of having an injured spouse, the stress of having no family nearby to chip in when things get tough, the stress of difficult bosses, the stress of living with a traumatic brain injury, the stress of ADHD exacerbated by TBI and mom brain... However, I can take ownership of my mental health and work to improve it so that I don't fail again in the future.

And that's my plan. During the coming weeks, I will try to rest a lot. I will try to stop beating myself up based on perceived expectations. The only opinions that matter to me, in order, are mine, my son's, my husband's, my dog's, and my boss's (and that's a distant fourth during this recovery time).

So, I will be a potato. I will sleep. I will binge comfort shows and video games. I will take long walks with my dog and have dinner with my family. I will play with my kiddo and spend tech free time outside. I will remove the things in my house that stress me, and show off the things that bring me joy. I will find rhythms for personal and home upkeep that I can maintain when I go back to work. I will go back to my creative roots and be happy creating things again.

I woke up this morning with my jaw clenched and my back on fire. For now, my goal is to wake-up rested instead of stressed. And that's enough for now.

[rachelsfav-queer]

(my original apology, not really relevant anymore I guess)

Hey!

I uhh disappeared for a little while, huh? Sorry about that. I just needed some time to recollect myself, work through some things, and just generally better myself enough to feel like I was ready to return.

So, this is already gonna be wordy enough and I know large texts of speech aren’t for everyone, so I’ll do my best to be concise, but no promises.

I want to say before I get into the meat of the issue that I in absolutely no way condone abuse in any way. Physical, emotional, verbal, or any other form. It is despicable and it is unacceptable. I myself know the effects of abuse as I’ve not only been on the receiving end of it for a large portion of my life, but I’ve also been witness to it happening to people I love. Most significantly, my mom. When my biological father pushed her and she hit her head on my metal bed frame, a fight I did not see firsthand, but experienced the aftermath. I have seen many forms of it, including when my legal father had spanked me, only once ever, but I felt the effects of that experience change me in small ways. All of this I say not for pity, but to make very clear what my stance on the topic is. Especially with a certain “comedian” making a “joke” about the topic and how intense arguments online have been about it.

Okay, now to why we’re here. On Monday, December 4th, I made a post here that included a question about fictional characters involved in a caregiver/little relationship engaging in a certain form of physical abuse, specifically spanking. Now, all characters are 18+ in this fictional scenario and are all fully consenting. But that does not change the fact that spanking or any form of physical violence is not acceptable between caregiver and little. And an anonymous asker pointed that out in a harsh but correct response to the question I had posed.

Now, if this was under normal circumstances, I would’ve felt guilty but would have just apologized and then moved on. But, at the time, I was deep in little space and had gotten excited about discussions related to the fictional characters mentioned prior. That led to me asking an inappropriate question that at the time, I didn’t fully understand the weight behind it. Now, none of this is an excuse for my actions, simply an explanation and I take full responsibility for any harm I may have caused.

But, we move on to my side of the story and I explain what happened and why I disappeared. So, as I said, I was deep in little space when I received the anonymous ask and when I read it, I immediately dropped out of little space, and hard. I was already feeling immense guilt but that was piled on by the intense experience of a headspace drop. I was not in a good mindset at that time and I couldn’t deal with any of it. And then I received yet another ask addressing the previous one that straight up defended child abuse. I obviously blocked that anon as I was not going to allow my blog to yet again become a nest for anger and arguments.

But, it was then that I realized that I needed a break, badly. So, I said goodbye and left with no explanation. I worried a lot of you and for that I am sorry. I am genuinely sorry for all of my actions that night that led to others getting hurt. But I left for a reason. As it became clear that night, I was getting far too deep into all of this. I wasn’t thinking about what I was doing anymore and again, that led to someone being harmed.

Now, I want this to be very clear. Absolutely no hate is to come to the anon who called me out. They were correct, abuse of any form is not acceptable. It was simply a matter of bad timing and that is not their fault. So any negativity towards them will get you blocked, no exceptions whatsoever.

And as for the future of the blog, I want to get back into the VampRavenWolf stuff, if everyone is still interested in talking about it. I understand if it’s been too long or if everyone saw what I posted and have decided that it was too much to forgive. If this ship is over, then I guess that’s just how it’s going to have to be. I’m sorry that my actions have destroyed something so amazing. I know how much this meant to a lot of people and to think that I could’ve ruined that, the thought destroys me.

But, if there are still people who want to talk about it, then I’m ready to get back into the fold! Either way, it’s been so much fun interacting with everyone this past month or so and nothing can ever come close to the amazing experiences I’ve been gifted here. Thank you all, so much.

Much love, Rachel❤️

[alostlittleriverlotus]

A jumble of thoughts after I had a talk with my mom.

Basically my dad is retiring this year and things are going to really change income-wise. It's not something that can be helped since he is at a normal retirement age so yeah.

★Okay! Content Warnings/Trigger Warnings time!

Mentions of abuse, emotional abuse, talking about toxic parents. Minor mention of homophobia/transphobia/racism (subtle) but not giving direct details just pointing out someone is. Slight delving into my childhood trauma. It's not super detailed, but it may be triggering to some so please be careful.

This is largely personal thoughts and personal details as I rant and get my thoughts out. Particularly a mention of my abusive dad and focus on WHY I don't like talking to him. Ableism/internalized ableism. Nothing outright really, but I discuss ableist expectations around people expecting me to work especially since my disabilities are invisible. Also mention of fatphobia/health mention aka everyone thinking just working out and being a normal weight cures body pain.

I think that covers it. I tried my best to list everything. If anyone reads it and thinks I should add another trigger/content warning, let me know and I'll add it.★

But I'm expected to support myself. My mother is more willing to listen to me now, much better than before. I can actually manage a conversation with her and she actually apologizes for pushing me to talk. And she's incredibly sympathetic about dealing with doctors since she's had bad experiences with them too.

It's just. Even with all that, she doesn't understand that I cannot work. She thinks it's something I can work to overcome and I don't know how to describe it to get her to listen. I am frazzled, I dissociate far too often, I struggle with chronic fatigue, paranoia, delusions and hallucinations, BPD episodes and mood swings, hypomanic and depressive episodes. I am easily fatigued, I get hungry far too easily (fast metabolism) which leads into low blood sugar levels. I have IBS, but also have a peculiar diet cause of my being autistic and having safe foods. I can barely focus, I can only do things I want to do cause of ADHD and executive dysfunction. I forget to go to the bathroom, to eat, to drink, to grab my food. I lose hours of my time and barely even realize cause of hyperfixations and dissociation. And this isn't even including the triggers I live with that can cause me to become messed up for a while. Hell, just seeing children in public is a trigger which is something I've realized recently. Everything is so much. And this also doesn't include the fact that my being autistic/ADHD just doesn't allow me to function on a normal schedule as most jobs require. I can only work an hour and a half of Door dash before I'm fatigued for weeks. It's been over a month since I last worked. And I explain this, in a way that doesn't mention trauma cause my parents won't understand especially since they still don't see they've done anything to hurt me, in the nicest way possible and my mother still cannot comprehend it.

Even spending time with my girlfriend. I forget to text her for hours and it doesn't feel that long. She's been getting that a lot lately. She's understanding even if she misses me a bunch (online relationship), but it just sucks. Even spending time with MA, I can barely function and end up dissociating or just fully out of it. Even when spending time alone and relaxed, it's just not right.

And I can't do job interviews. I've only had two job interviews (one of em lead to me getting a job, it was seasonal during the Christmas holidays) and I just. The thought of a job interview causes me to shut down.

I can barely cope. I spent so many years in survival mode, pushing just to make it out of school that it's traumatized my body. It's traumatized my mind. I still have flashbacks, nightmares, my body shuts down at the thoughts. By the end of my two month job, I was losing sleep and not eating. I pushed through being triggered, through having painful cramps, through feeling sick just to get through the job.

And I don't know how to explain it cause I know my dad especially will see it as an excuse. My mom may be sympathetic, but she still hopes we can find a way to push through it. But even if there WAS a way, that would take years and years of therapy and treatment. I can't even find a therapist that will listen to me or be geared towards my disorders, let alone one that I can actually get help from. I try to make her understand, I try to have her understand, but she just can't. It's something she needs to see with me. I can't go shopping without being fatigued and needing to chug water. And I love shopping. I know I'm not exactly physically fit, but I also know that if I go see a doctor, they'll bring up my weight. My weight isn't ideal, I'm chubby, but it also ignores the fact that I am still healthy in ways. I'm chubby, but parts like my legs and abs are muscular even if they're fatty. And nobody even believes me. Even my more physical issues are invisible. I'm regularly told I should try walking more. I'm regularly told I should get up and go out. It completely ignores the issues with my breathing, the issues with my knees, the issues with my needing water, the issues with how hungry I get quite easily. Even just an anxiety attack which is 30 minutes will burn through my food so fast. How overheated I get. I have all these issues and no solutions. Yeah, they're getting better with the help of Vitamin D supplements and my birth control, but there's many more issues. And nobody can see them so nobody listens. My friends are the only ones who understand and offer me support and patience.

It's just frustrating. Cause my mom is trying to be sympathetic and trying her best to understand which is a BIG change compared to the past. But because of her internalized ableism, her own issues, and just how I can't be honest with her, it's not possible. She won't understand the trauma I've been through. She thinks that even if we are autistic and have ADHD that we can work through it cause her and her family did. That we should mask because that's what society expects. And there's the whole fact she's transphobic and homophobic and like kinda racist (it's the subtle racism) and she's more republican so she wouldn't understand a lot of issues and I can't fully share because of that. I can't open up about planning to live with my girlfriend. I can't open up about my gender identity and how it affects me. They can barely pay attention to buy me clothes that fit since I've gained weight. Most of my wardrobe is thanks to MA. I appreciate that my mom is trying, that is a big reason why I'd consider not going fully no contact, but there's other issues. And I'm aware of the fact that me living as who I am would probably make her want nothing to do with me. I don't mention my dad cause A: he still doesn't believe me about my trauma. My mom sympathizes like "oh you've been through so much" but he just goes "I believe she believes it" as if I'm delusional and making it up. Considering I do have delusions, that is so painful to hear. B: My mom has an off mode when it comes to politics, my dad really doesn't. He watches stuff making fun of leftists and SJWs occasionally and even watches Ben Shapiro a bit if I recall so. Plus my mother was more independent or even more democratic before they met and she became more republican/conservative thanks to my dad. C: My dad is bad with emotions. He thinks he's some empath that feels everything others do (he has flat out said that to me and my brothers) when even my mother agrees that he's not and he can be cold towards emotions. He was far more aggressive during our childhood and he was the one that yelled more and got angry and would be far meaner. My mom isn't perfect and she got angry too, but my dad was worse. Hence why Lucifer from Obey Me, one of my fave characters, can be a trigger especially since they have similar hair colors.

This turned into a rant about my childhood trauma, I apologize. But I wanted to give insight into my parents and what I'm dealing with. It's not like my parents can help it, my dad is in his 60s so it makes sense why he's retiring. It's just this big change and it's what my parents expect. And I know my dad will see it one way, but my mom, try as she might to sympathize, just cannot understand someone like me, that appears able bodied and able minded, to be unable to work.

(Also when I bring my mom being problematic, I am in no way excusing her actions. Some of what she has said is disgusting, but I also acknowledge that she is a victim of abuse with her family and marrying my father has impacted her as well. No way in hell am I gonna try to defend her cause "she's nice to me sometimes." I merely wish to bring up that it is a complicated situation and I have very complex feelings for it. Cause even if I see her getting better, the reality is she will probably not change her views. I don't know if I'll fully go no contact or just go very very very strained contact. It's a lot I'm having to go through. Either way, it has ALWAYS been my plan to get far away from them. They're not people I want in my life hence why even if I had contact, it would be incredibly strained and distant.)

It's just a lot and has me thinking. I wish I could make them understand, but they're also boomers and come from the generation of "everyone has to work whether we want to or not." And since I APPEAR able bodied and able minded and they deny my trauma, my parents think I can just overcome my struggles. I don't even want my dad around when discussing this tbh cause I know he just won't listen or believe me. He resents me. He thinks I'm the one who's changed too much and wants me to act like I used to without putting in any effort. My mom is trying and even getting help herself (she's on anti-anxiety meds too.) But it's just. A lot. It's a lot of my mind, my emotions. My mother wishes we had a couple more years, but we don't. Again, this is mostly a circumstance thing with my dad being in his 60s. They had us very late and had me specifically in their early 40s so. It's mostly cause of that which can't be helped.

And it's just a huge reminder of how invisible my disabilities are. My physical issues get almost entirely ignored or just turned into a weight issue. For instance, my weight is affecting my knees, I believe that, but I also come from a family with knee arthritis and knee problems. And even years before I had big boobs or extra weight, I had knee, ankle, and back pain. But now everyone chops those pains down to my big boobs and my being overweight. Yeah, they're making it worse, but I've also had these pains since I was like 6! I've had sleeping troubles since I was 11, but it was chopped up to low Vitamin D. Which yes, my sleep is better. But I still have horrible nights of sleep or insomniac nights. Especially when I'm in a hypomania episode where I'm too energetic to follow a normal-ish schedule. Or my breathing difficulties. It's gotten better since being on regular medication and especially having a humidifier (I have constant allergies cause of dust and such), but there's still problems with me overheating, becoming fatigued, having difficulty breathing, getting slight fevers or fever-like symptoms cause of being too cold/hot. Showering exhausts me. I've always been told to just work out more, walk more, practice and make your muscles stronger and all your issues will be fixed. I've been more fit. I've had these even when I was thin.

Sigh. I just. Having these invisible disabilities suck. I didn't even know I had IBS for the longest time and just thought it was how my body works. But now I have to be careful of what I eat/drink cause of it triggering my IBS. Like yeah there's my mental health and neurodivergence and that's all invisible, but having my physical issues ignored has been something I've so normalized over the years. I'd push through pain, I'd be told it would go away, I'd be told that being active and eating healthier would fix it. My weight gain wasn't even something I could control! It just happened! 70 pounds in a few months then 70 more! When nothing changed about my diet and if anything, I started eating even better. My diet right now is the best it's ever been cause of me watching out for me being prediabetic. It's not perfect, but it's better. And yet nothing. And yet I'm told to go on Keto. It's just so tiring. Having any disability sucks cause of especially how people treat you, but I think for me, my physical invisible disabilities are the worst ones. Cause everyone just writes off my pain and such as "bad health" and needing to exercise more. And no one will understand that I have tried that. I've been several different weights. I've been thin, I've been fat, I've been average. I've been physically active regularly. I've done all this and still it hasn't changed. And people just can't comprehend that. It's so exhausting.

This really is just a huge personal rant especially about living the way I do and how my disabilities affect me. But I'm glad I realized I was disabled. Cause now I have been working to stop guilting myself. I understand more of why I can't do things like others and even if no one believes me, I'm at least standing up for myself. And my friends and such are willing to help me with my disabilities and be patient. And even my girlfriend is so amazing and understanding. She has her own struggles too, but I'm glad she's understanding. And even with my BPD, she lets me know when she's in a bad mood and how it isn't cause of me. 🥺 Cause she knows I'll instantly wonder if it's my fault. I'm glad to have her and my close friends. It's gonna be scary for a while, but I know it'll end well. I got my deities, I got my friends, I got my beautiful girlfriend. It'll work out somehow. Even if it means things will be scary and different for a while.

[beautiful-someones-treasure-gem]

On Death

“The sooner you can come to terms with death, the better your life will be.”

This is typically what I say whenever the subject of death comes up, rarely though it does. In fact, if it is to come up in conversation, I’m more often than not the one to broach it. Even so, I have to be mindful that though I find death to be an interesting topic to philosophize about, it’s one that the majority of others would rather avoid than discuss. It’s not to be brought up with people unless they indicate they’re likewise interested, so this topic is typically saved for friends and family - the ones that are amenable to it, anyway. 

I find it unfortunate that the subject of death is largely avoided, but I’m in no way surprised by this. There was a time, as I’m sure there is with all people, when I would rather not think about death as well. It’s a taboo subject for many, only spoken about when there is no other choice in the matter, such as the passing of a loved one. This happened to me for the first time when I was around 15 years old, when my Mema passed away. I was incredibly close with her. She spent most of her life in a wheelchair due to polio, and since I lived with her I was, from a very young age, accustomed to helping her. I would lift her legs into their supports on the wheelchair in the mornings, and I would water the flowers in her garden where she couldn’t reach. She’s the reason I love flowers as much as I do, inspiring the way I name certain things, placing hidden meanings behind each one. This very blog and its name is, in a way, inspired by her. She’s also why I love hugging my loved ones so much. Every day after school she would be outside watering her garden when the bus dropped me off, and I would run from the bus straight into her arms.

When she passed away I remember being ridiculed by my birth mother, among other family members, for not crying. It was a strange thing to be made to feel like something was wrong with me after such a saddening event, as if I was somehow making it worse for them. It was one of the many ways my family mistreated me as a child, which I wouldn’t recognize as mistreatment until I grew older. Regardless, I did end up crying several days later for quite some time. I remember that day clearly, because it was the thought that I would never be able to hug her again that got me crying, finally understanding just what it meant for her to be gone. I’ve skipped over some details for brevity’s sake - my grandmother’s death was a long and disturbing event that could have been prevented with better care, which is one of the many things I resent certain family members for - but this is all to say my first experience with death was far from quiet and simple. Even so, it would be some time before I fully accepted that death was something to be discussed and accepted. In the years that followed, I tucked my Mema’s death somewhere I couldn’t easily reach, yet it affected me greatly on the surface. It wasn’t ever brought up again, and I didn’t know enough to realize that I needed to talk about it. As a result of this and other family issues, I became depressed, directionless, and made plenty of unwise choices that are still difficult not to look back on and regret. 

I’m sharing this to convey that death is a subject that should not be avoided, no matter the circumstances. Death will affect all people, and since it’s such a significant, oftentimes upsetting event, it can only benefit our collective mental health to address it as soon as we are able. So many live in fear of something that every human in the world can relate to, and I find that to be a shame. It will only hurt ourselves and others to go through life pretending it does not exist, because it’s all around us, all of the time.

As I am now, still possessing that innate fear of death that all people have, I can say that I’ve come to terms with my own death as well as I can, and I live a better life for it. I don’t fear that it may happen, I simply know that it will sooner or later. Perhaps it’s the fear of the unknown that most people are concerned with. When will it happen? What will happen afterwards? To the former, I say don’t waste your energy fearing the timing of death, because life is chaotic and messy and unfair, and you’ll only run yourself ragged with fearing something you cannot predict. To the latter, I think that’s too personal a question to answer. I believe people may want the concept of the afterlife to not be personal - for there to be a definitive answer, so that it’s no longer unknown. Unfortunately, as things stand now, there is no way of truly knowing. So again, I would recommend against spending energy on that path of thought.

It is the fear of death that I want to see expelled from people through discussion, as much as it can be, at any rate. Acceptance of death can ultimately be comforting, and perhaps more importantly it can be motivating as well. It’s part of what motivated me to start this blog, to share my thoughts and opinions on certain subjects. I’m not sure anyone will read it, but it comforts me to know that people could chance upon it, and to know that there will be a record of my thoughts out there to be found, hopefully even after I’m long gone.