alejandratrip

[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.)

[hidingfromthelackofreadingcomp]

I like how Captain Curly is written. He's a peacekeeper. I myself, am a peacekeeper, I can relate. I'm not saying it's a good thing, in some cases it's really not a good thing and I admit that. For example: the rape of Anya. Curly tries to play it cool and de-escalate the situation like he always does. But this is rape. This isn't an average, more tame problem. This is very serious and peacekeeping isn't usually an option in cases like this. Also take into consideration, there wasn't much time for Curly to act further about the situation before the crash. To my understanding, Anya only confirmed she was raped to Curly when she told him she was pregnant. (Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong in a polite and civil way). So if I'm right about that, Curly REALLY didn't have much time to fully process the situation and act accordingly. Also keep in mind, he's good friends with Jimmy. If you found out that someone you don't care for is a rapist, you would automatically take the survivor's side. If you just found out that one of your good friends had raped someone, you'd be in denial at first because you like your friend. You would hesitate at first, even if only for a second or a minute. Some people, depending on who they are and how close they are with the rapist, might need proof to fully believe it. Only after you've gotten proof that the survivor is in fact a survivor of your friend's assault would you stop giving your friend the benefit of the doubt. What kind of proof? Well, that depends on the person, some people need more proof than others, it also depends on how close the person is with the rapist. I believe Curly is in a situation where he needs more proof. He wants to inform himself on just how bad the situation is in order to make a decision. Which is why he talks to Jimmy. He talks to Jimmy hoping for humanity, any kind of regret, he's hoping that Jimmy will take responsibility for his actions. He's also secretly hoping it wasn't really Jimmy who did it. Also also, he wants to see both sides. Which is usually a good thing, but when it comes to rape, it should be pretty obvious that you should take the survivor's side. But Curly doesn't know that, he's used to smaller, lesser situations, so he acts as if it's a smaller, lesser situation without realizing that's what he's doing. He's trying to process everything. Maybe if he had time to process everything, it would hit him that hey, this situation should be handled more seriously and you can't keep being the peacekeeper to make it better. Because Curly does like and respect Anya, he has no ill will towards her, he's just plagued by his peacekeeping nature and bias due to his friendship with Jimmy. However, he doesn't have time to fully process the situation because, well, the crash happens and he loses all ways of communicating with others. I am in no way defending Curly, he's not a great person, but I recognize that he's trying to be, he's just not used to this kind of situation. He feels like a real person. Which is why I personally, don't dislike him, but I see why some do. And that's ok :). I just wanted to rant about him, honestly. If anyone comes at me in a hostile way, I will block you. If you're civil, I will gladly discuss with you!

[egirling]

one direction.

i think i’m still grieving what happened; ever since liam has passed there’s not been a single day where i haven’t thought about the 5 boys that overtook my life when i was 12. i was a diehard fan, still am. if it wasn’t for them; i wouldn’t of met my closest friend. they had such an impact on my life and i genuinely cannot process what happened.

i never thought that i would be this sad at a member passing; but i also think that i never ever thought to fully understand that it’ll happen one day. i handle death well but for some reason this death has struck me.

as a 24 year old, i feel for the 12 year old girl who started liking them. who had her walls covered in posters, wrote fanfiction, ran a 1D fan page on facebook and twitter, the one who cried when zayn left and when they all unfortunately split away from the band. i remember the little girl who would get salty when people typed ‘1d’ instead of of ‘1D’, the girl who stayed up late to watch songs be released, the girl who truly thought these 5 guys were the best thing to happen to her.

i remember listening to up all night and getting sad when stole my heart came on; because i knew the album was ending. but luckily i was fortune enough to own the physical album so i could just rewind it. i did that for years since i never owned another album on cd.

i also feel for that little girl; i remember being sad when i saw people attending 1D concerts knowing i never got the opportunity to as a child. as an adult; sure but… a reunion is unspoken for currently. i get sad when i realize that i’ll never see 5/5 live, but i saw a tiktok comment saying that i at least experienced the fandom at its prime and that i lived during it, and that’s enough for me to feel a connection to them. it makes me feel better.

i know that death is natural and happens to everyone, but i was not expecting to handle the loss of someone i worshiped as a child. i know he’s just a celebrity, would never know i existed and all of that but genuinely this has struck me in a way i never expected. it’s like part of my childhood has been torn away from me; like my younger self is heartbroken by liam and what happened. (maybe this has to do with the trauma ive dealt with in my life? but that’s something i gotta discuss with my psychiatrist.)

1D and all the members will always have a spot in my heart and soul for the chapter of my life that they were in, i’m genuinely so grateful for them in multiple ways. i remember when little things came out and that was in my peak of my self harming, and hearing them sing about things i hated about myself struck me when i was younger. obviously, when i was a child it felt more personal compared to being an adult, but it still helped. i don’t think i self harmed for awhile after that song.

i love the fact that i got to experience them as a band, and the fact that im living in a life with their solo careers as well. i’m ever so proud of them and how they’ve grown.

as for liam, i do miss him as weird as it might be. i never knew him, never would but he was … almost a positive influence on me and my younger self. i didn’t have much direction growing up, but i knew listening to their songs or watching videos of them that i would feel content. an escape maybe.

i don’t know. i can’t sleep and it’s almost midnight and i needed to get this off my chest. i think i just needed to vent and say my peace and words to accept what’s happened.

this blog started as a 1D blog 💀

i know there’s millions of fans who are deeply affected by this as well, and if anyone even reads this i just want you to know your feelings and thoughts are completely valid, grief affects everyone differently. he was a huge part of life for MANY people out there. take care of yourself. listen to some songs and cry; everything will be okay.

(i don’t think i can do this 4 more times)

there’s a day i’ll be older than him and that’s weird… i don’t like that thought. it was never supposed to be that.

i would like to believe that liam is content wherever he is right now.

all the love, sarah / egirling

[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

[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)

[sang8262]

in a yapping mood, and i cant draw well, so here's some *gasp*, self insert-OC related ramblings?!?!?

the elevator pitch summary is:

A fledgling author and researcher who becomes unwittingly enthralled in JP's schemes after visiting Nayshall for a thesis project.

Forced to work for his NGO (and later Neo Shadaloo) as an advisor after showing promise with Psycho Power.

Wrestles with doing the right thing and opposing JP's influence, yet unable to abandon her deeper emotions towards him.

...with more deets below-

I don't even have a proper name for her yet, since I'm bad with that lmao. But I guess as a sorta self insert, they could be Millon.. for now?? Eh I'll figure it out later.

---

The impetus and circumstance for which she meets JP is that,

she's researching Nayshall's rapid devlopment, and the public health problems its facing as a nascent country. Particularly, how the visitors and participants of the Suval'Hal Martial Arts Tournament (SMAT) have access to the best doctors and emergency aid available... yet the greater local population lacking reliable access to affordable health care.

She has the chance to interview and speak with tournament organizer, Johann Petrovich, about the SMAT and current issues. She surprisingly finds him agreeable, polite, and level-headed. Realizing he has a lot of power as the country's policy advisor, she tries to convince him towards implementing healthcare policies that would allocate more resources for those who need it.

Her mistake is trusting JP as someone willing to aid the suffering, someone who wants things to be better for everyone. Once she does though, it's far too late to rid of his clutches on her.

---

I'm imagining she initially is on good terms with him. She respects his investment into developing the country, and even finds his NGO, Terra Network Partners (TNP) potentially a place to work at. Of course, this is before realizing the money laundering and his connections with Shadaloo.

I can see JP convincing her into relying on him and being complicit in his schemes by offering her a stable position within his NGO. Or funding her research and writing. Having the support and endorsement of someone his calibur would be a huge boon to her academic career afterall...

Then, maybe it's either from her own prying, or after a not-so-chance meeting with Kalima and the resistance, but she eventually realizes the kind of person JP is.

By then though, she's far too entangled with JP and his organization to cut ties and escape. In fact, she realizes that her discussions with him have been helping him make more predatory decisions.

---

In a heated revelation of the truth, he might use Psycho Power to fully subdue her: mostly with expectations that she'd not survive it, silencing any incriminating publication about him in the future. And because even if she didn't die, she would now be dependant on him as a mentor, to continue surviving the awful power forced upon her.

Turns out she has a lot of disdain and despair, enough to fuel and sustain Psycho Power. He's not fully interested in helping her per se, but decides she will do less potential harm if kept close under his watch. And so she struggles now, to find a way to escape Shadaloo and quell her bloodlust. But it's not an easy influence to overcome...

---

I mean, it's a self SHIP afterall, so I'm having it be like a development of:

-wow this guy is GREAT, i respect him a lot! he's so kind! we could work together to do a lot of good things :)

-wow nevermind, this guy SUCKS, i have to escape/ stop him!! >:(

-Psycho Power makes it very difficult to think clearly and all my worst emotions are amplified a ton! i am also forced to learn under JP, and work for him, and woah did he always look so handsome :0

Then throw in a healthy amount of manipulation and sweet talking on JP's behalf and poor self insert OC is doomed to tragedy.

---

Design wise, I have no idea!!!! I guess I would make them The Cooler Me, but right now I got nothing. I'll come back to it lmao

[starsreminisce]

i was revisiting some os lucien's lines and at the end of acotar seems like rhysand grew fond of him, did u get the same feeling or am i going mad?

If you're going mad, nonnie, then so am I because I really don't believe in the Rhys slander that he hates Lucien. I feel that Rhys is disappointed with Lucien in ACOMAF because Rhys saw how Lucien stood up to him and Amarantha for Feyre but not towards Tamlin, even though we know more about Lucien's situation with Tamlin and how it's more complicated than that.

Rhys carries big grudges towards those who didn't do the right thing with Feyre and had a huge problem with Nesta for not stepping up as the eldest child, perceiving her as someone who should have taken more responsibility.

“I knew things were bad,” Rhysand said with quiet rage, barely audible over the freezing bite of the wind and rain, “but I thought Lucien, at least, would have stepped in.” “I thought so, too,” I said, my voice smaller than I intended.

ACOSAF shows Rhys's thought process regarding Lucien's loyalty to Tamlin, who he once saw as a kindred spirit before being betrayed. Rhys's biggest hangup was how he felt Lucien should have done more to help Feyre, but after visiting Tamlin, he realized that Lucien had done what he could. Rhys knew Tamlin's anger would be his downfall and how his visit would trigger that.

He didn't realize that Lucien would have been the outlet for that anger until Lucien brought it up to Feyre, for which Rhys apologized. While it wasn't explicitly spelled out, Rhys went from not wanting to forgive Lucien to realizing the aftermath of Feyre and Lucien leaving and how Lucien was in that environment, to witnessing Tamlin lashing out at Lucien for something Rhys did. Lucien reminded them of their positions, showing they couldn't afford to ignore Tamlin's position either.

Quotes under the cut.

ACOSF presents challenges, Lucien appears to be following the same directives, yet Rhys and Lucien have been having private meetings concerning Tamlin and the Spring Court. Even Azriel acknowledges that Lucien is the most suitable person to stabilize the Spring Court. Perhaps Rhys and Lucien's conversations extend beyond these matters, leading Mor to express doubts about fully trusting Lucien's perspectives on humans.

This could be due to Lucien's stance on the power dynamics between High Fae and lesser beings, which he might challenge Rhys on during their discussions.

Rhys and Feyre also invited Lucien to see Nesta's training and extended an invitation for him to join in the more intimate Solstice gathering and Starfall. They keep Lucien around when it would be easier to write him off, especially if SJM wasn't planning an Elucien endgame.

A lot of SJM's choices lean towards Rhys and Cassian being accepting of their future brother-in-law, and Lucien moving past his preconceptions to interact more authentically with them.

Also, this line just gave me chills about Lucien and Rhys battling together, given what we know about Lucien being the heir.

If Rhys was a flying terror crafted from shadows and cold moonlight, Helion was his daytime equivalent. Gold feathers and shredding claws and feathered wings— Together, my mate and the High Lord of Day unleashed themselves upon Hybern.

But, yes, it's harder to fully understand without being in their perspective, but I do believe Rhys and Lucien get along much better than people give them credit for. We'll learn more about how Lucien's friendship with Feyre and Rhys evolved when it's time for his book.

Thank you for asking!

ACOSAF Chapter 5

Rhys said at last, “I can stomach being around him.” “I’m sure he’d love to hear that thrilling endorsement.” A half smile that had me walking toward him, stopping between his legs. He braced his hands idly on my hips. “I can let go of the taunts,” he said, scanning my face. “And the fact that he still harbors some hope of one day reuniting with Tamlin. But I cannot let go of how he treated you after Under the Mountain.” “I can. I’ve forgiven him for that.” “Well, you’ll forgive me if I can’t.” Icy rage darkened the stars in those violet eyes.

ACOSAF Chapter 11

Though the great oak doors were undeniably worse for wear. Deep, long claw marks had been slashed down them. Standing on the top step of the marble staircase that led to those front doors, I surveyed the brutal gashes. My money was on Tamlin having inflicted them after Feyre had duped him and his court. But Tamlin’s temper had always been his downfall. Any bad day could have produced the gouge marks. Perhaps today would produce more of them.

Tamlin didn’t speak, didn’t offer any explanations for the vacant house. For the rooms we passed, some of the carved doors cracked open enough for me to behold the destruction inside. Shattered furniture, shredded paintings, cracked walls. Lucien had not come here to make amends during Solstice, I realized as Tamlin opened the door to the dark library. Lucien had come here out of pity. Mercy.

Hunting for dinner—because there were no servants here to make food. Or buy it. I couldn’t say I felt bad for him. Only for Lucien, once again stuck with being his crony.

ACOSAF Chapter 18

I studied the jacket he wore. I’d seen it before. Back in— “Tamlin sent it to our manor yesterday,” Lucien hissed. “My clothes. My belongings. All of it. He had it sent from the Spring Court and dumped on the doorstep.” Bastard. Still a bastard, despite what he’d done for Rhys and me during that last battle. But the blame for that behavior was not on Tamlin’s shoulders alone. I’d created that rift. Ripped it apart with my own two hands. I didn’t quite feel guilty enough to warrant apologizing for it. Not yet. Possibly not ever. “Why?” It was the only question I could think to ask. “Perhaps it had something to do with your mate’s visit the other day.” My spine stiffened. “Rhys didn’t involve you in that.” “He might as well have. Whatever he said or did, Tamlin decided he wishes to remain in solitude.” His russet eye darkened. “Your mate should have known better than to kick a downed male.” “I can’t say I’m particularly sorry that he did.” “You will need Tamlin as an ally before the dust has settled. Tread carefully.” I didn’t want to think about it, consider it, today. Any day. “My business with him is done.” “Yours might be, but Rhys’s isn’t. And you’d do well to remind your mate of that fact.” A pulse down the bond, as if in answer. Everything all right? I let Rhys see and hear all that had been said, the conversation conveyed in the blink of an eye. I’m sorry to have caused him trouble, Rhys said.

ACOSAF Chapter 23

“Your dinner is leaking,” I told him by way of greeting, nodding toward the mess gathering on the floor. No reply. The High Lord of Spring didn’t so much as look up at me. Your mate should have known better than to kick a downed male. Lucien’s words to Feyre yesterday had lingered. Perhaps it was why I’d left Feyre to explore the new paints Azriel had given her and winnowed here.

[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.

[velvetvexations]

Discussing race and my flailing at how to handle it in my writing. I don't mean to constantly just outsource my praxis but if anyone wants to comment or has suggestions they would be appreciated. I'm really hoping this is taken in the intended spirit of "I'm a white dumbass and fully admit I don't know what I'm doing". The point of this post is that I'm painfully aware of how inadequate my knowledge and ability to deal with these subjects is.

I'm gonna break down the racial makeup of the main cast of the current stage of my project:

C - White, which is critical because the entire work pretty much revolves around issues of praxis and him being white is a part of that even though I try very hard to mostly go around race and only really speak to queer issues I can more confidently address.

Z - White, and being white specifically is not especially critical but a big part of her whole thing is that she is much, much poorer and had a much worse home life than everyone else, so I am nervous having her be anything else even though, obviously, poor PoC with bad home lives exist.

J - I made the first inkling of J waaaaay back when I was a kid, as with every other character in this post, but J was the only one who had a defined race until the past two years. His original concept was an Asian martial artist who's a very devout Christian and while I've dropped the kung fu (he knows French kickboxing for complicated reasons but he's not any better at CQB than the other brawlers) he is still very spiritual and reserved and humble etc. and I'm like ahhhhh is this a stereotype? This is a stereotype right? Ahhhhh.

A - I've ran into SO MANY PROBLEMS with A where I keep having to change her race. I wanted her to be Mongolian but then I discovered the song Genghis Khan, really loved it, and was like "oh fuck this fits her too well, it would cause me physical pain to not include it on her playlist." So I said, okay, how about a quarter Black? Not for any particular reason, it just kinna came to me like a lot of stuff does, but then I was like, well, actually maybe she should just be Black? Not that quarter-Black people don't also need representation...so it was between those two until I realized an absolutely insane coincidence that made her being Black potentially offensive, so I switched her race with Z, but then Z being Black looked way worse and for way, way more obvious reasons, so I was like "okay that coincidence is bullshit and I'm probably the only person that would have even thought of that, I'm just going to commit to her being Black." but I'm still not entirely sure.

(That coincidence is that my writing adapts the Cthulhu Mythos and has a lot of really obscure references to Lovecraft, and since A is an albino whose mother was from Tanzania it suddenly struck me that people could see that as having been an intentional nod to The White Ape, which deals with someone's ancestor having been an albino literal ape-person from Africa. This would not be an issue if not for the tiny Easter eggs to super obscure Lovecraft Circle stuff I do in fact pepper everywhere.)

W - W was a biologically artificial creation that mixed the DNA of a white woman and her Native wife, but I changed that an outright clone of one of the latter to bump of the number of PoC who aren't half-white, but everyone would still be pretending that they're their white mother's biological child which could maybe be more fucked up than if I just let them be half-white? Is this just the progressive version of being anti-miscegenation?

I'm worried I'm overthinking it but idk! I have a lot of half-white characters it feels like, because my writing spans over a century with some ancestors rooted in canonical Lovecraftian texts and some of my own devising that require positions of privilege in white society, so have only been able to introduce more color in the work's "present day". But like I said, I know mixed-race people also exist and I don't want to erase them or act like they're less PoC or something, which I'm afraid is what I'm overcorrecting into.

[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.

[netflixonyourcouch]

So, since I can't sleep and I have time, I'm gonna go through this and unpack it the best way I can. And in order for me to do this subject the most justice, I feel like we have to start from the last slide.

Men too often grill women in what can be considered niche/nerdy or otherwise male-dominated interests such as video gaming, metal and hardcore, and men's sports. There's an expectation for women to prove themselves, they get subject to questions about their knowledge and their credibility is called into question. I fully understand this and its role in this situation, with perhaps the ease in which the heckler dove into the comments to disparage her.

This situation does have more angles to explore, so I'll put a "Read More" here:

Now let's address her chief complaint, which is being a public influencer and being subject to harsh criticism. The way I feel is that if you are a creator, in the very broad sense of the word, like anywhere from being a content creator to a music or visual artist, or even a creator of products or creator of cuisine - If you have *ANY* product that others consume, there will always be haters, and there will always be critics. Period. I think that's inevitable and I think you have to say fuck the haters and accept the critics.

Anthony Fantano faces similar backlash on his music reviews. His supporters often say, "But how are you upset? It's just his OPINION!" not realizing that his OPINION is also his PRODUCT, his BRAND. He's not simply doing this in a vacuum and neither is Kelsey. I think she is learning what it feels like to be scrutinized as a public figure, but I also think, like most other public figures, she should avoid reading the comments or she'll continue to find herself getting hurt by disparaging comments.

This doesn't contradict the first point I made. She definitely is coming under fire for being a woman and giving her opinion on Beloved Male Band #342 or whatever (I'm not even sure what band they're talking about, but it doesn't really matter as it could be any band really). I would hate to see these haters tear her passion away, and if she thinks these type of call outs will help filter her fandom out, then who am I to stop her? I'm just saying, if I started going viral for music opinions and I started getting racist microaggressions and overtones in my comments, I don't want to take time out of my day to address them. BUT I'm not saying she's wrong for doing so. EYE am just saying I have a difference of opinion in how I'd react to haters in my comments.

FINALLY. One last thing to say, and again, I need to work this as carefully as I can.

As a music critic, which Kelsey doesn't think she is (and we'll discuss that too), you have a certain duty of how you approach music that is revered in music culture. Now, this is perhaps not agreed upon except for the most hardcore music purists, many of them pretentious as fuck. But as a recovering pretentious music snob (I promise I've gotten better over the years!) there is a salient point to be made here.

I have older white friends who didn't really "get" Kendrick Lamar and their chief complain was that they didn't really like his music because it heavily features "the n-word." Imagine that. Pulitzer Kenny! He won the fucking Pulitzer Prize, but your perception of his art completely reduced to "oh, he uses the n-word."

It's not valid criticism. It's your opinion, one that I can't take away from them or try to argue differently but it is in fact REDUCTIVE of Kendrick Lamar and his accomplishments as an artist.

So there's always gonna be artists and artists' works you need to approach with a certain reverence and "show your work" so to speak that you tried to consume their art completely. Like if my white friends did that, they'd realize there are several phenomenonally written Kendrick songs that have a substantial amount of depth beyond the fact that he (as a fucking black artist, mind you) uses nigga in his songs.

Kelsey disagrees with this responsibility because she doesn't fashion herself as a critic. I agree somewhat. If she doesn't want the critic tag and she's purely making content for fun and engagement then so be it. *then why spend time getting angry at the trolls if you're not even trying to be what they are assuming you to be.* If your position is "hey, I'm not a critic, these are just my silly little opinions" then STAND ON BUSINESS THEN. If you listen to 8-10 minutes of Sgt. Pepper and you think it's too whimsical and too psychedelic, then if a hater blowing smoke in your comments about how you didn't listen to it long enough, STAND ON BUSINESS.

But even moreso than that is the philosophical question of *how* should one react to albums. My disposition is this: Critic or no critic, if you have a public platform where people are consuming your content, you have a duty of care to react in a way that says you understood the damn assignment. Once you reach a certain level, you simply can't hide behind "this is just me sharing my opinion" because it's not just your opinion. You are in a position of authority, like it or not. And Kelsey doesn't seem to really enjoy the position of being in authority. But I would argue that you better figure that out before you build out a viral platform, or you better stand on what you post and be able to back your shit up with the fact that you don't care to do it in a traditional way!!

It is my opinion that people who are spotlight music influencers give up their right to have opinions without consequences. In other words, you can say fuck everybody in the club, but you cannot then walk back to your car!!!

This sounds NUTS to someone who doesn't see music opinions as a big deal, and think opinions are just personal and "aren't that deep." Kelsey, you have hundreds of thousands of people following you. Like it or not, you're in showbiz now and your opinions hold weight. You are in the unique (best, very fortunate) position to inform the masses about a subject and have them actually LISTEN to you. You can't misuse your platform by saying (for example, she did NOT say this!!) that Joanna Newsom wasn't your cup of tea because you found her voice to be grating.

"BUT IT'S HER OPINION" you might say. "If she didn't like her voice, you can't force her to like it!" Yeah, and I understand that. I don't like Diamanda Galas because I think her voice is too intense. But I'm also NEVER gonna use my platform and say all that without also acknowledging Diamanda Galas being an important avant-garde artist and nobody should speak on Joanna Newsom if they don't address the complexity of her lyrics and music composition.

It's not just Kelsey. I don't think Gen Z values having a responsibility of holding a music opinion like older generations of music enthusiasts do. But it's ok. I think she'll be ok in the long run, but she's gonna have to shake the haters off and respond to criticism much differently than she's doing here. That's if she wants to keep her current approach of reacting to shit that people hold near and dear to their hearts with silly little videos (her words, not mine).

Like if I was starting a fun film platform, I'm not about to react to watching The Godfather and go, "Eh, not my cup of tea, it was too slow."

But that's just me. Some people would say that's a perfectly valid opinion to have, and I would say they are wrong. And though we might not agree on that, that vast difference of opinion is the entire purpose of this rant.

Also, it goes without saying that all of this would apply if she was a guy too. Like I said, Anthony Fantano faces similar backlash as your stereotypical white male music nerd.

[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.