#( she moved. do the thing if you want a quality oc in your life! )

[labeteenmoi]

Kings of the Subura

Part 2

Fandom : Those About To Die

Pairing : Tenax x OC

Warnings : Mentions of violence, rape and slavery

Summary : Wavering feelings and power teachings

Note : if you want to be tagged for the next chapter, just raise your finger

The bell rang.

“The race is on! Bets are over!” the man behind the counter shouted as he closed the jar filled with betting odds amid protests from the latecomers.

Another chariots race Tenax already knew the results of. He didn't even have to fix it anymore; he had the greatest power in the Subura: information. Tenax knew all there was to know about anything race related: who runs for money, who runs for glory, who runs for life. He also knew about all the power struggles involved: who owed who, who owned who, who fucked who. Incidentally, what the horses ate for breakfast and how much quality shit they had had mattered too, and he knew that too.

However, all that power, his pride and joy, mattered a little less lately. As he was distractively watching the chariots enter their second lap in a cloud of dust as they passed in front of the stable’s door, his mind shifted to the creature that roamed his house like a caged tiger, yearning for freedom, or at least for a hint of it in the streets of Rome, something he had always denied her.

Almost a month had passed since he had brought her home and the least he could say was that this woman’s pride was beyond imagination. No matter how good the care and security he provided to her, she resisted fiercely and that was probably the very reason she was growing on him. He liked it, her irrepressible spirit of rebellion—not in deed, she did what she was told, but her attitude was untamed, her eyes insolent, her repartee sharp on the rare occasions she bothered to answer him. Briga was far from purring while rubbing against his leg — she still seemed constantly tense, on alert, watching his every move whenever he got too close to her, but Tenax could see a change in the way she looked at him, a formal coldness had slowly replaced the ostentatious hatred she used to address him, and sometimes, he could swear, there was even a hint of curiosity.

It was only in the quiet, soothing moment of Claudia's bath that she seemed to find real comfort. The occasional glances he threw at her at that moment, a moment far too tempting for him to constantly be able to hold back, gave him the opportunity to witness a few rare moments when she let her animal sensuality express itself. In the incandescent darkness of that room, she looked something like a snake, undulating and glistening. Then she would see him and stare as if she had spotted a prey; fascinatingly deadly.

What never ceased to amaze him was how oblivious she seemed to all of this, oblivious to this aura of danger that emanated from her, unconscious to the attraction she exerted on him. Either she had no clue, or he was extremely good at hiding it. Anyway, it could be of use for his business. Not that it was his plan all along, he wasn't the kind of man to do things on a whim usually, except when it came to her apparently. Tenax could recognize an opportunity when he saw one.

The last silver fish tipped over to a cheer from the crowd announcing the final lap. Tenax's eyes widened in the ray of sunlight that streamed through the door's skylights as if suddenly coming to. The rider of the blue faction, Scorpus, had taken the lead, as usual. He didn't seem very happy about it though, whipping his horses with rage.

Tenax didn't linger after the race ended that day, each time a little less than the last. His home had gained in appeal lately, in a way, he wanted to return there more and more as the days went by.

At this twilight hour, it was bath time, so it was not surprising to find the first rooms empty. However, the quiet of the place struck him as soon as he passed through the door. No light came from the kitchen which was unusual, and the slight whispers of Claudia and Briga's conversations in the bathroom were muted.

Tenax stiffened, moving cautiously towards his room. He pushed the door open wide with a slight creak. The air that reached his face was thick, loaded with humidity and floral scents. Someone had indeed used the bathroom but as he moved a little further into his bedroom he saw the bathroom was empty.

When he turned again, peering into the darkness at the back of his room, a movement of air made the hair on the back of his head stand on end, immediately followed by the cold contact of a blade on the side of his neck. He froze for a couple of decisive seconds. Gritting his teeth angrily, he suddenly stepped back, hitting hardly the body of his assailant that he carried in his momentum against the wall behind him. The knife bearer let out a slight hoarse gasp under the heavy shock. Tenax immediately realized that this body was much lighter than he had anticipated. It was her, of course. He turned around quickly, pushing aside the hand that held the blade with one arm and grabbed the slave's neck, who didn't seem surprised.

"What are you doing?" he growled sharply.

Briga grabbed the hand on her neck.

"...You should have knocked." she muttered sarcastically under her breath.

Tenax took a breath, trying to calm down a little. He loosened his grip on her throat just enough to let her gulp.

"Drop the knife now." he snapped with a hint of worry in his wide opened blue eyes.

Her eyes narrowed as she formed a slight smirk before letting go, the kitchen knife fell heavily to the floor with a loud clatter.

Tenax sighted lightly, she could have pressed a little harder on that knife if she had really wanted to, cut just a bit at this exact point of his neck and he would have bled to death at her feet no matter how quickly he had reacted. She knew how to kill, now he knew, and it could be useful in the future, well, since she had chosen not to end his life on the spot of course. He should have felt dread but instead, he felt somehow aroused. The aftermath of gambling with his life when the odds seemed quite off. Suddenly, his thoughts interrupted: something on his peripheral vision seemed strange, there was way too much skin.

Lowering his face, his eyes fell on a damp chest to which were stuck soaked strands of her black hair that heaved with each deep breath she made. He moved away a little, realizing that he was still pressing his all body against her, and then saw her stomach and further down, her legs; she was naked and still wet. Tenax's hard gaze faded little by little, as it travelled the firm contours of her body.

The fine grain of her skin, tanned no doubt by the sun of her native province, appeared clearly to him now that he saw it so close. Claudia's care had borne fruit; she was immaculate, as if she had never been bruised. Despite the dizziness of such a magnetic vision, he began to feel observed and suddenly raised his head and met her piercing gaze. Briga was indeed watching him in silence, without any sign of embarrassment at being thus exposed to Tenax's eyes, without any sign of aggression despite his proximity and the contact of his hand on her neck, the elbow of which grazed the tip of her breast. She was too busy scrutinizing his reactions to her nudity to care much.

Briga still didn't know if she could trust him and somehow, she needed to prove to herself that he was just like these others perverted men who caused all her troubles. She needed to confront and kill this increasing attachment feeling he had awakened in her over the weeks she had spent with him. She had seen his haunted eyes when he thought he was alone in the room, the inner struggles he sometimes seemed to have when coming home. She had heard the screams at night, his wanders in the darkness of the apartment trying to catch his breath. He had secrets and dark thoughts that usually seemed to disappear as soon as he laid eyes on her. Do vile men ever feel remorse?

Maybe he was different after all, and that mere thought was enough to make her mad. More than once, she had trusted a Roman only to be painfully played in the end, how could she still be so naive? So, she often looked on his face for the same scornful looks that she had seen on the faces of her Roman delinquents. His occasional, not-so-accidental glances while she was taking her bath couldn't be that innocent.

Tenax suddenly had the feeling he was somehow being put to the test. That was some vicious way but certainly the most effective one, clever girl. He did want to feel more than just her neck under his hands, he wanted to smell these scents of rose oil all over her body which turned out to be all the more intoxicating once applied to her skin, to kiss her lips, but above all, he wanted her to want it too. He was closer than ever. So close, and yet, that enticing creature was expecting to see him losing control. He would hate not to disappoint.

He raised his head in a controlled inhale, hardening his expression.

"Where is Claudia?" he curtly asked, closing a little harder his hand on her neck.

She startled slightly, blinking at the pressure.

"She’s resting," she let out looking him straight in the eyes, "she felt ill.”

Tenax sustained her look, he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. After all, she had just reminded him that she wasn’t as harmless to him as she had let him believe lately. He searched her face for any signs of a shifty glance but saw none, she seemed sincere enough to reassure him. He asked more calmly:

"Where is she?"

"In the guests room."

As she had answered in a soft voice, veiled by the pressure on her trachea, his eyes had landed on her lips. She talked so rarely that he had barely ever seen them moving. Fleshy velvety dark-rosed lips that never smiled, only sometimes grinned disdainfully at him when not firmly shut. But now they were parting slightly under his sudden hypnotized glance. Briefly looking up, he saw a glimpse of confusion in her eyes as she witnessed his softening mood, felt her breathing becoming barely perceptible under his hand but her pulse quickening.

Strangely, his own pulse caught the same rhythm as hers. A warm sensation invaded his own chest, a shiver ran up on his skin and before he knew it his hand was no longer holding her neck but simply laying on her collarbones, still held by hers.

It was as if time had frozen, the surroundings had disappeared, and they were all alone in the middle of an undefined mist. Their gazes travelling over their faces, he slowly leaned in, uncontrollably attracted towards her mouth that trembled a little at his approach when, suddenly, the walls of the apartment began to shake from violent blows.

Tenax and Briga opened their eyes wide in surprise, abruptly emerging from whatever spell they were under. The knocking started again, someone was banging on the apartment door with their fists and shouting "Tenax!! I know you're here!"

Tenax suddenly turned his head towards the door behind him:

"Scorpus!" he breathed shortly. "Get dressed," he addressed Briga eagerly.

She took a few seconds to react, her mind still foggy from what had just happened, then hurriedly grabbed the dress lying on the bed. Tenax opened the door without waiting and at the same time Scorpus burst into the apartment in front of a dazed Claudia who had rushed from the corridor.

With a quick glance, the man caught a glimpse of bare legs in the half-open bedroom door as Tenax was closing it.

"Scorpus! What's going on, my friend?" Tenax said hurriedly, opening his arms wide to the newcomer with a faked smile, pretending to ignore his rudeness.

The man had stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the closed door behind Tenax with a disconcerted look, before looking back at his host who was advancing. He seemed to regain his senses and pointed an accusing finger under the latter's nose:

"Where's my money?" he barked.

"Scorpus, I warned you not to bet on the lap," Tenax sighed, "the white faction has been running new horses that are younger than yours..."

"What?!" Scorpus shouted indignantly, "You didn't tell me anything!" he bellowed.

"Of course I did, you were probably still drunk…" Tenax retorted, shaking his head in disapproval.

The man sighed heavily, ostentatiously rubbing his eyes in disappointment. He looked up at the closed bedroom door, holding his hips, and seemed to ruminate for a few moments before fuming loudly:

"I lost big on that, Tenax!"

Tenax approached him, opening his arms again in a gesture of comfort as the man cast furtive glances at the door. Ignoring his friend’s approach, he kept on:

“And who’s in your room there?” he asked suspiciously, pointing toward the bedroom.

"Nobody." Tenax hastened to answer as innocently as possible.

Scorpus wasn’t listening, he walked around Tenax who didn't have time to hold him back, and pushed the door open, revealing Briga inside who suddenly sat up. Seeing that she had had time to get dressed, Tenax let out a discreet sigh of relief.

The newcomer stared at her for a few moments, stunned, while Briga, motionless, gave him a stone-hard look.

"Who are you?" he finally asked, visibly intrigued.

Briga remained unmoved, eyeing the visitor up and down.

Scorpus tilted his head, seemingly offended by the girl's silence.

"Who is she?" he insisted to Tenax behind him.

"No one," he sighed as he stamped his feet on the ground, "just… a slave..."

"A slave!" Scorpus exclaimed, a smile growing on his lips. He looked back at the girl, ogling her without shame. "What's your name?"

Silence still as the only answer, the man was starting to look seriously upset.

"Briga is her name, and she won't answer you..." Tenax intervened.

"Why? She can't talk?" he asked curiously before returning his interested gaze to the girl. "I bet this pretty mouth can do other things though..." he mumbled to Briga, whose eyes narrowed in return in a murderous glare.

Tenax heard it too and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Because she hates you, Scorpus. She hates all of us, don't take it personally." he sighed heavily, shooting a complicit grin at Briga whose fierce eyes oscillated between him and the visitor. It had been a while since Tenax hadn’t seen such a fierce look on her face, he could tell a cold anger was slowly rising in her, her knuckles were turning white.

Scorpus stamped his feet, hesitantly waving his body towards Briga but held back in the face of the hostility emanating from her.

"No one hates Scorpus, I'm not a fucking Roman." He retorted in a mock-outraged tone, ostensibly giving her a smile of the kind he usually gave to his future conquests. Nothing seemed to stop this rake in front of a beautiful woman.

The thought of the knife left on his bedroom floor crossed his mind; Tenax started to fear for his friend’s life if Briga ever remembered it as well.

“What else can I do for you, my friend?” he cut in impatiently, loud enough to catch both their attention.

“Oh, well…” Scorpus mumbled, trying to stall for time before being openly dismissed from the place, “you’re not going to help me, then?”

"There's nothing more I can do Scorpus…"

"You should take her to the races one of these days," Scorpus unexpectedly eluded, "I'm sure she'd appreciate seeing the great Scorpus at work!"

He puffed out his chest, a display that still didn't seem to impress Briga whose gaze had not softened one bit.

"Or else you introduce her to your debtors, Tenax, if she looks at them long enough like that, they'll quickly settle their debts!" Scorpus noisily laughed.

Tenax chuckled. Of course he had thought of it, he had realized her silent hard looking presence could indeed have a certain power of persuasion. Surely others besides him could perceive this feeling of danger that her attitude gave off, Scorpus did seem to feel it as well or he would have been closer to her already, Tenax believed.

“I’ll consider it Scorpus,” he answered, “now I have things to do.” He concluded firmly, tilting his head towards the door.

Scorpus bit his lip in frustration, nodding at Briga with a salacious look.

“Of course, my friend!" he eventually gasped, "I’ll see you at the Circus in three days!”

Slowly stepping back without taking his eyes off her, he added with a wink:

“See you soon, Briga…”

Tenax accompanied him through the entrance door, holding his breath for any new try at poking at his slave. Scorpus passed the door but suddenly turned back and whispered in his face with a dubious look:

“What were you doing in there with her?”

"Goodbye, Scorpus" he replied with a contented smile, closing the door in his face.

Tenax held the door for a little longer, taking some time to recollect his thoughts. Finally turning around, he caught eyes with Claudia, holding her hands together in a confused expression.

"I’m sorry, Master, I…"

"I know." Tenax interrupted gently, "Are you feeling better now?"

"Hum… yes, thank you, Master."

He glimpsed at Briga, just long enough to see her staring into the void, when Claudia kept on:

"I’ll prepare supper right away, Master. Briga, please come, child." She called in a still sleepy hoarse voice.

Her name came to her as a distant sound in the air, only after some instants she seemed to have heard it and raised a confounded face to see Claudia and Tenax looking at her in puzzlement.

The way this man had looked at her had shaken her core. All these weeks locked in the security of Tenax’s apartment almost made her forget what it was like to be preyed upon like this, submitted to the depraved eyes of men willing to abuse her.

Regaining her senses, she saw concern in Tenax’s eyes, and it reminded her that she could breathe, he was there. Swiftly seized by the soft and warm sensation of being so close to him only instants before, for a mere instant she wished he was holding her again, leaving her all the more stunned.

"Briga?" Claudia called gently.

She shook her head and walked across the room quickly at the renewed call, unconsciously avoiding all the eyes on her; a confusion that first left Tenax speechless. It seemed so unlike her to appear overwhelmed like that and something told him it wasn't just about him and the unexpected letting go they had experienced a few minutes before. In some way it was bothering him and that was so unlike him.

Briga had eaten with Claudia in the kitchen as usual, mostly in silence from what Tenax had perceived from his sit at the table, only to reappear in front of him for the sole purpose of clearing the table. He tried to cross her eyes that she seemed to avoid.

"That will be all Claudia, you go rest home, the cleaning can wait." He announced suddenly, staring at Briga who finally met his eyes with a hint of suspicion; it was unusual for him to send her home so soon.

Briga immediately stopped and waited by the table in silence, staring at Tenax, both wary and curious about what would happen once Claudia left. When she did, the heavy silence between them lasted for a moment until Tenax calmly ordered:

"Sit. Please."

Please? That was new and rather intriguing to her. She was more used to him showing who the master was than that. Further arousing her curiosity, she complied and took a place at the table in front of him, keeping her hands on her lap and her eyes firmly locked on his.

He took a slow sip of wine, pondering how to address the elephant in the room.

"You didn't like the way Scorpus looked at you." Tenax finally let out.

Briga took a breath.

"I've seen this filthfy look on Roman's faces before." she bitterly said, thinking back to what these men had done to her.

Tenax nodded slightly, showing he knew well what she was referring to.

"Hmm… You see, I’ve learned in the streets that rage arises from fear, it’s like a defence mechanism. As impressive as your rage mays appear at first sight, it mostly reveals weakness."

She slowly tilted her head and intensely glared at him, unsure to appreciate the direction Tenax was taking there.

He softly smiled at her expected reaction; calling her weak and getting away with it was probably a privilege all his own and he certainly appreciated the sensation it provided. But beyond that, he mostly wanted her to understand his point, it was key to the purpose he aimed for. So, he resumed, calmly but more firmly than before, imposing her to listen through.

"When men look at you like Scorpus did, it means they covet you and that, Briga, gives you power; the power to either refuse… or accept, at your own terms. In my world, that is called an opportunity. You could use that to get what you want. You could use them..."

"Refuse or accept?" she interrupted sharply with an ironic frown, his voice almost hissing, "As when you have the choice? What power do you have when you are held by both arms… or chained?"

For a split second Tenax felt his mind on the verge of wandering; finally, there was a chink in her impenetrable armour, willingly giving away an ounce of what might have happened to her. He felt the urge to know more, but now was not the time, so in a controlled inhale he simply nodded thoughtfully, holding her stare with a surprising intensity:

"We are all bound to something."

Briga narrowed her eyes, wondering in what way could a man like him ever feel restrained. It just then occurred to her that outside these walls she did not know anything about him. She didn’t know much about him even inside these walls for that matter.

She observed him silently for some time. Being used by people, using other people… This would have never occurred to her before, not in the simple life she used to have back in Lusitania. But now she was in Rome, very far from her home, her way and her life. Adapting may well be her only way out of there someday.

"So, does that mean… I could use you?" she finally addressed him, biting her lip in an equivocal way.

She was getting it. Tenax rejoiced inwardly. He grinned back and playfully answered:

"You are free to try."

"Am I? You do want something from me… but you’ve never looked at me like that." Briga dared, eyeing him up and down ostentatiously. There was indeed a shift in the balance of power between her and Tenax, she could feel it now; something about domination that felt quite pleasant.

Tenax straightened up imperceptibly, a contented pout on his face. He knew the feeling that Briga was displaying, maybe a little too much. She still had a lot to learn though, he had to put her back in her place. He stared deeply in his slave’s eyes and softly said :

"Hmm…Well, that must be because I don’t covet what I already own."

[tragedybunny]

Love Fool

༺Summary༻

Serafina is having trouble sleeping and Astarion does his best to help her relax.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Warnings༻ Completely terrible nicknames for body parts, sexual innuendo

༺Word Count༻ 652

༺A/N༻ This is just a short, silly fic for the bg3aprilfoolishness challenge. Read on AO3

“Can’t sleep,” Serafina fussed, laying next to him, drawing a sigh from Gale. Screw Gale though, the love of his life was infinitely more important. 

“And what should we do about that, my love,” he purred. With Cazador out of the way, he felt free to do whatever was necessary. 

“Feed off me, it always makes sleepy,” she wheedled. 

He wasn’t sure that was a particularly good idea. Sera hadn’t been sleeping much, or eating much, as things were building to the final confrontation with the Netherbrain. But, if she said that’s what she wanted. “I’m yours to command, my sweet.” 

Pulling her close, he lapped his tongue over the healed bite marks in her neck, and dug his fangs in. She tasted divine, as always, and he felt a familiar stirring in his groin. Why was her blood an aphrodisiac? Gods knew he’d drained enough of their enemies without his cock getting hard. 

Beside him, Sera giggled and Gale audibly groaned. “I’m going to get some fresh air,” he muttered, stalking off with his pillow and blanket. 

“Oops,” she whispered. He pulled his fangs from her neck and licked it cleaned, 

“Perhaps if he found a bedmate of his own, maybe Halsin, since he seemed so desperately eager to have company.” 

“Stop,” she smacked his shoulder before giggling again. His hips had pressed into her thigh, and she could obviously feel what her blood was doing to him. “Did I get you all wound up?” She teased. “You make it too easy.” 

Sassy little thing, he moved his hands to pin her shoulders down. “And you aren’t as easy.”  He covered her lips with his, and felt her shiver. Good thing Gale was already gone. 

But when he pulled away, she was giggling again. “That’s what I need to sleep, a little bit of the love rod, quality time with my favorite meat.” She was laughing loud enough the rest of their companions were stirring. 

Maybe he had drank too much from her, but she seemed happy enough. He nipped her ear playfully, smiling himself. “I think you may finally be losing it, my dear Serafina.” She shook with repressed laughter, her arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close. If she was enjoying herself, he might as well play along. “Good, because I am in desperate need to be inside that tight little love box of yours.”

They were both cackling by this point, as Astarion shifted himself between her legs, thrusting his hardness against her. “I swear to Mother Gith…” Lae’zel threatened from across the room. 

Sera moaned and bit her lip, trying to keep from provoking the room any further. “Tell me more.”

He bent over and kissed a line from her throat to the swell of her breasts, trying not to smile. “Allow me to start by worshiping your most perfect milkers.” His lips continue their path. “And then I’d love nothing more than to fertilize your lady garden, to bake in your love oven.”

“Oh please, gift me with your man seed, fill me with your daddy sauce.”

Astarion lost it, he collapsed on his side next to her, both of them howling with laughter, all eroticism lost. “If the two of you do not stop it I will forcibly separate you!” Jahiera shouted to the agreement of everyone else. 

Sera covered her own mouth, eyes watery, before calming enough to speak. “I’m sorry, I ruined it.” 

Astarion looked at her, his beloved Serafina, his Sunlight, the most relaxed he’d seen her in days. “On the contrary, that was perfect. And we still could, if you want.” 

“Truthfully, I think I’d rather…” She cuddled up close to him, tucking her head under his chin. 

“I think you’ve got the right idea, my love.” He wrapped his arms around her. Within seconds, he felt her breath steady and her heart slow as she fell peacefully asleep. 

[aztarion]

hiii jez, your sol tag is incredible and i love everything about her!! best aesthetic & best most fucked up vampire bbgirl of all time <3 do you have any interesting facts or random tidbits of lore about her that you are willing to share or link me to? wish to know everything & more about her asap tysm 🥰

whaaaat hi bree!! 😭 that oc tag is so thrown together and unorganised girl youre insane putting yourself through that but omfg its til death do us part now 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

i dont really post writing with my ocs much on tumblr but i blabbered for like an hour here im so sorry in advance i hope its a little entertaining…. tw for ed mention and self harm but its just your regular vtm stuff if youre familiar with the background ttrpg

soledad is her courier alias, she usually goes by that or the inevitable nickname sol, which doubles as a small remnant of her old life — her real name is solona ^^

she is first gen mexican-filipina, grew up in california before moving to arizona

didn’t care for academics much; preferred working with her hands — she dropped out of studies as soon as it was acceptable and went into business training under her dad and older brother as a mechanic

very laidback, easygoing, quietly contented; never had sprawling ambitions or aspirations and she was cool with that (was and is a little bit of a perfectionist with her work tho). this created a wedge with her mom who did nawt like the notion of her only daughter wasting prime years and a pretty face in a dingy garage. (i never get it *exactly* how i want in art & have never found a faceclaim i love, but i kinda picture her overall look as like. a timeless, slightly restless sort of dark beauty; like her eyes are always trying to tell you something in spite of herself, even when she looks totally serene lol)

anyway! one of moms fears are realized — sol ends up with a very noticeable facial scar (semi glasgow smile? mouth to under ear and a little further than that even, cheek just super spliced) due to an accident in the garage. sad! oh well she’s the joker now (or she will be after julian)

wait actually while im yapping about backstory i deviate a little from the game options just to make things more juicy and personal but! to me she first meets julian having to work on his suzuki and they hit it off. pre-night road as mentioned she is very easygoing — easily charmed and is herself charming — they def get along like a house on fire. julian would no doubt mentally take note of her whole roll-with-the-punches, laissez-faire attitude — naturally that just seems like a quality that might come in handy when you bite someone and turn them into a creature of the night. also the attentive, methodical approach she takes to her work, and when needed, her on the spot workarounds — he doesn’t want some dumb unreliable chump childe. and alright bear with him here: so it’s not relevant strictly in terms of her being thee potential great american embrace candidate he may be planning for right now, but man shes kiiiiinda cute and the scar is kiiiiiiiinda badass and its kiiiiinda hot that she knows exactly what she’s doing under the hood.…….Julian’s of course no slouch but he prefers it when others are doing the dirty work for him and she knows her stuff. so he’s thinking yeah this might work out. wait did she just say she plays nintendo too — oh this is definitely working out.

well it didn’t work out — sol ends up caitiff. julian accidentally botched her embrace 👍 whoops. but he teaches her blood sorcery as soon as possible — she can fly under the radar as a regular banu haqim. so it does work out! the sire/childe bond likely did some heavy lifting in terms of their relationship but sol was still pretty dopey heart eyes for julian in the beginning, like truly thought he was brilliant and funny and followed whatever he said no questions — really trusted him, figured with him being more experienced and so whipsmart and knowledgeable that he was utterly infallible. julian knew best and like didn’t he keep her safe trying to cover for the whole clanless thing……how could he have anything but Good Intentions dot dot dot……

in the decade after julian goes MIA, sol’s entire demeanor takes a nosedive. in the ingame text, julian and d’espine are described as being ‘fledgling-like’ in that they still have that liveliness to them, like a constant subtle Blush of Life effect. sol had that too in the years w julian, but after so long alone and having to maintain that isolation in order to ghost by in both the human world and undead while drugrunning & couriering, she gets cold — corpse and mind. outwardly she’s very composed; there’s little to no animation (no once-effortless smile, not even a ghost of the dimple in her unscarred cheek ! ) but her inner monologue is distrustful, has aged — is honestly a little paranoid and bitter sometimes — and overly nervous where she once would never have been. when julian returns it’s noted how young he still seems in comparison. that doesnt help the grudge she holds

i think her nerves skyrocket even more so when she feels aila stir. while u cant choose merits/flaws in night road like the table top, i feel like she would have the bulimic derangement that causes a kindred to gorge or throw up blood at random after feeding due to stress — she’s literally just THAT internally anxious. the game makes a point ensuring youre well fed on your next visit to tucson’s elysium since you showed up starving at the beginning, but after the office confrontation with lettow asking what happened to aila — which despite going successfully & having an excellent relationship with him — sol still probably LEGS it out of the viper once dove interrupts and ends up vomiting in an alley before jumping in her car🤦‍♀️ so much for paying alexander to acquire blood and making a good impression this time…..what a waste. and u know what Riga probably saw the whole mortifying ordeal too smh

ok im sorry i could talk abt the entire game like this i have so many headcanons

ooh straight up just facts & a little tldr:

so she’s 5’8; long pretty neck, slim hourglass figure with soft heavy curves, distinctly confident arms and legs, various tattoos: depictions of scorpions and snakes, the sun, spanish and tagalog script in black and red ink. she’s around whatever Julian’s human age wouldve been, i guess mid twenties range

is Julian’s Childe but due to a botched embrace ends up caitiff. masquerades as a banu haqim that, when in the presence of more prejudiced vampire society, in turn masquerades as something traditionally camarilla-fronting: malk/toreador/ventrue, whatever. it’s complicated! por los clavos de cristo does she wish she was back in that shitty little garage 20 yrs ago

throws up when nervous; is constantly a little hungry and risking an oops moment but for the most part maintains iron composure — its become a whittled and useful hard shell

learns blood sorcery right off the bat from julian, learns protean from lettow after staking reremouse w him. she usually keeps things clean and impersonal with a gun and deft precision (and elena with more guns!) but she still likes working with her hands: in close combat, especially when it involves other supernaturals, she keeps elena out of the fight and doubles up that weird combo of blood sorcery + protean — is frankly just a messy blur of slit wrists bloody sigils and slashing claws. (ough wanna draw this ugly visual so bad but omg i just know it wouldn’t work out w my skillset rn)

omg i feel like ive gone on forever in a bunch of directions while saying nothing helpp. ill stop here and spare you! thank you so much for asking bree!! :D <3 you have to tell me about your courier now!!

^ us night roading

[julianalvarez9]

wish you the best / john stones

part of the "broken by desire to be heavenly sent" series, can be read as an stand-alone.

mentions of: confusing relationship, friends to strangers to lovers, single dad!john, lily stones (oc), rúben dias and jack grealish, winning the epl (after the chelsea game), alcohol and the consumption of.

wc: 2.4k.

author's note: this is not proofread bc if i read it all over again i'll delete it all. turned to fluff at the last minute bc i broke my heart writing the first half. feedback is appreciated <333

summary: life was supposed to keep you two together, until his signing to city and, thus, his move to manchester, made it all fall down. right person, wrong time, some could say. or can they mend it, years down the line?

"i'll miss knowin' what you're thinkin' and hearin' how your day has been"

the fallout had been unexpected.

life had become inexplicably hectic for the both of you. ever since john signed to manchester city, thus moving away from your good old barnsley, and you started college, it had become harder and harder to find time for each other. and it's not like you didn't want to: there was nothing you wanted more than to see your best friend again, to be in his arms, to bask in his sunshine-like presence. but it seemed like the time was never right.

it would have been a lie to say you two were just friends, when you were way more. it just didn't have any specific title yet. it was all so new, at least for you two: your families had seen it from a mile away, and couldn't be more happy about it. you knew he was it for you, just as you were it for him. but maybe, that's the problem with friendships that have the potential to evolve into something more. if it goes wrong, you lose the one who you could talk about how your day has been, the only one capable of picking up the pieces when life gets too rough, the one who knows how to paint a smile on your face.

it's the dark side of the moon, as some would say. 

if it goes wrong, you don't only lose a potential lover, but a friend.

"i barely see y/n anymore…" john's mum pointed, doubtful, one sunday evening when her son and her were sharing some tea. janet didn't miss the way john shifted uncomfortably in his seat, which seemed to be too small now for his 6 foot frame. "something happened between you two?". and even if he tried to answer truthfully, he truly didn't know. to him, it felt like one moment you were there, by his side, always cheering him on, and the next, when he turned to look for you, you were gone. "wish i knew, mum".

"do you think you can tell me everything, darling? but leave out every part about him"

your family and his were always close.

at first, it was a blessing: you two had grown ever closer because of it, and you were invited to any event held in the stones household, just as he -and his family- was invited to yours. the nights where both your families enjoyed together were your favorites: from the food, to the table games, to spending so much quality time together.

soon enough, though, it turned out to be a nightmare.

your absence when john came back to visit was loud. your cheerful laugh and vibrant presence were missing, and janet, john's mum, couldn't help but notice that, coincidentally, you disappeared when he came back.

everything felt wrong for john. even getting into his house when he came back from training, absolutely drenched from the rain that just didn't stop coming, didn't make him feel better. he realized that the only place where he really wanted to be was home; but, not his place, rather, his childhood home. so he did what he knew best: get back in the car and drive there, no matter the pouring rain outside or that he would need to be back in just a couple hours to continue with his routine.

"oh, you just missed y/n!" was the first thing his mother said to him when she opened the door. she must have recognised his car pulling up, because he hadn't warned them before his arrival. "she was here just a couple hours ago," janet said, untangling her arms from around his son, and now focusing on his deflated face. "what is it, darling? did you hear the news?".

he frowned at that, a clear question sign painted on his face. "what news?".

his mom looked around for answers, clearly uncomfortable after facing the reality that you and him must have fallen out pretty bad if you weren't telling him such drastic changes. "i'm so sorry, i thought she had told you before… i'm so sorry, honey…" she tried to mend, but it was to no avail. john wouldn't let it go without knowing what the news concerning you was, and his frown only increased when his older sister walked into the room. 

"she's moving to LA, got someone waiting for her there apparently" jenny announced, and it felt like a gut punch. he tried to fake a smile, show everyone around how happy he was that you were achieving your dreams, since you always told him you wanted to go to the US. the part of you having someone there waiting for you, though, was his problem; just when he, finally, had realized what was missing in his life was you, now you were the one leaving.

"right now you're probably by the ocean, while i'm still out here in the rain. with every day that passes by since we've spoken it's like glasgow gets further from LA"

john couldn't help but feel stuck.

it had been three years since he had seen you last, and still, he couldn't avoid the what ifs. what if he had brought you with him to manchester in the first place, what if he had confessed what he truly felt for you sooner, instead of letting it float in the air. he knew there was something special; there was no other way of describing it. john wished he did more, before it was too late. he felt like, apart from his football career, which was going great,  nothing had gone his way. he tried to mend his broken heart with shallow relationships which never went far. and the one that did, left him even more heartbroken, and in charge of an eighteen month little girl that was a carbon copy of him, which he loved dearly.

but still, every little good thing that happened, he found himself thinking about sharing them with you. you, who he only saw on social media when you dared to post a snippet about your life across the atlantic ocean. you, who never responded to any of his text, or messages to make casual conversation, apart from the automatic 'happy birthday!' wishes.

"well, i can't help but notice you seem happier than ever now"

social media was never a place he liked to spend his time on. his instagram profile only contained pictures of matches and was used solely for his job; couldn't be farther away from jack, who seemed to post absolutely everything he did, or even rúben, his best mate, with his classic "thirst trap photos" -as jack had joked once- that only gained him laughs amongst the team. but he always had someone for the parties to attend, or the events held by the club, so it must be working, thought john.

he didn't want to admit how many hours he spent there now, scrolling through your profile, waiting for you to post something. it was weird to only see you across a screen now, after years and years of being almost glued together. it was weird seeing you smile that same grin that only he could get out of you, how your eyes crinkled up how they did when john made a joke that made you fold in half. these memories seemed a lifetime away now, and john wondered if you, sometimes, remembered him, or if it was just all in his head.

maybe you had meant more to him than he meant to you.

maybe that's why it was so easy to leave the place you two called home, without even talking to him in the first place. but again, he had left you to go to manchester. so, did you really owe him something? you didn’t think so.

"i wanna say i miss the green in your eyes, and when i said we could be friends, guess i lied"

seeing his daughter grow into the prettiest little girl was the absolute joy of john’s life: nothing could top that. not even the possibility of man city winning the treble, or you returning unexpectedly onto his life one good saturday morning.

"john?".

he hates that he knows exactly who's the one that pronounced his name without needing to turn around, but still, he can't doesn't seem to have the strength to actually face you. it's not until you place your ever so soft hand on his shoulder, that he turns, as he fakes surprise. "y/n, is it really you?". he feels dumb even saying it, because of course it is.

seeing you again was strange for john. it felt like you were a completely different person. but still, something familiar ignited inside of him, and he hates to know that you've still got that effect on him. but seeing john after all these years was strange to you, too. seeing the little girl hanging on his hips, even more. "hello to you too, little one, what’s your name?" you ask, in the sweetest voice you can conjure, and john has to remind himself to breathe deep.

“lily” you can hear her say, although it sounds muffled by the man’s hoodie, due to her hiding her face away on his neck, shyly. her dad runs his big hand back and forth on her little back, in a reassuring way, while whispering in her hair, “she’s daddy’s old friend from back home, you don’t have to be nervous around her, pretty girl”.

you smile at her when she peeps with her little eyes back to see you, and you can help but admire her soft, green eyes. they never failed to remind him of yours, so gentle and loving, but that’s not something you needed to know. that he saw you in her, more than he saw her biological mother. he’s not even sure if that’s the truth, anyways, or what his brain tricks him to think. unknowingly to him, you’re wondering about the little girl’s mom, too. she’s the carbon copy of john, so he’s for sure her father, but you can’t help but wonder where her mum is, when there’s not a trace of the woman, at least, not at john’s side.

your thoughts are interrupted by your old friend’s familiar voice. "do you, are you…?" john didn't have the words for what he needed to say. he wanted to ask if you were back for good, but the words escaped. "back?” you complete, as if you had never lost the ability to read into his mind, no matter the time that has passed or the distance that keep you apart all this time.

"i wanna say i wish that you never left, but instead i only wish you the best".

john felt like his heart could jump out of his chest.

it wasn't just the rush of adrenaline after entering the pitch on the minute 57, or the ball he had practically saved from getting to the back of the net, which would have been the equalizer for chelsea. it was, rather, for a certain message he got before the match started.

wish you the best today, john! you’ll kill it xx

the fans invading the pitch after the final whistle, and thus, the obtention of the fifth premier league won by the blue team, made the task of looking for you in the stands just a little bit harder. he knew where his family was -in his box at the etihad, as they always were when they came to see him-, but they didn’t know whether if you had joined them, or if you were on your own. or if you were even at the stadium. 

“mate, you just won the premier league for the fifth time, three times in a row. where is your head?”. and rúben was right; john was checking his phone nonstop, clearing up his notifications if the message didn’t have your name on it. “yeah, you’re right. i’m waiting for a friend to tell me if she’s here or not”. jack chimes in once he hears the female pronoun. “why don’t we get to the pitch then, johnny boy?” he says, as he helps his friends with a glass full of a dark liquid that john quickly recognizes as rum and coke once the alcohol hits his throat, and it's the liquid courage he needs to make his way outside with the rest of his teammates.

soon enough, after they are given their medals, and the trophy’s lifted, the family members are allowed to get onto the pitch, to celebrate their loved ones. at first, john’s a bit disoriented, not being able to see his family on the usual spot, but his worries vanish when he feels a gentle tug on his shorts, and he lowers his gaze to see lily smiling widely at him. 

he lifts the little girl effortlessly, like she weighed less than a feather. “were you looking for someone, daddy?” lily asks with her sweet, little voice, and john has to wipe away the little voice screaming your name from his mind. it’s not the first time you’re not here, but it is the first time you’re in the country, which explains why he’s so bummed out about you not being by his side, once again. “just for you, princess,” he says, and it isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the whole truth, either. “did you run over here on your own? where is your grandma?”.

the little girl giggles mischievously at the same time john sees his mum, and he grins. but his smile only gets bigger when he thinks he’s able to see you, right by his mom’s side, like the old times. john isn't quite sure it isn't a part of his imagination: his desire to see you again, wearing his man city jersey, conjuring your figure at the etihad. but your smile is so big, he doesn't think his brain could be able to pull off such a beautiful sight. and then, when you're close enough, his arm locks around your waist, drawing you in, and all is complete. still, he needs to make sure, muttering a small "you're here" on your hair when he gives you a side hug, that you melt into completely. 

"well, had to come cheer for the best player on the pitch, no?” you say, while patting his back lovingly, although he doesn’t let you go. he remains holding lily with his left arm, who is too interested in watching how moonchester and moonbeam, the two city mascots, run around the pitch causing havoc. “five for number 5. you're the best, john!” you gush, and his cheeks turn a soft pink, so he looks to the floor in an attempt at hiding his lovesick stare. "well, this one is the most special to me" he confesses, and whether he means it due to how man city snatched the lead in the final stint of games to win the league, or due to your familiar presence by his side, it doesn’t matter. the look you give confirms that you know what john means, like you always did, and that you feel the same.

[quibbs126]

Sorry if I’m overwhelming you with requests, but I was inspired by your recent post on Alchemist and Vampire’s entire deal. Could you do your interpretation of Alchemist and Vampire Cookie’s parents? I don’t know why both of my fanparent requests have been siblings.

I finally got around to finishing her, this is Doctor Cookie

So Doctor is an apothecary/pharmacist, not necessarily a doctor like Dr Bones, but she’s still a medical professional

She isn’t a vampire like Vampire, my idea now is that Vampire got his vampirism later on in life. She has however dabbled in the arcane arts, though she ultimately prefers science. Unlike her daughter she sees them on equal ground, it’s just a matter of preference

Outside of work she drinks a good amount of juice. She’s not an alcoholic like Vampire, but she’s usually drinking at least one glass after work. Though she started drinking more around the time of Vampire’s transformation

Doctor and Vampire do sometimes spend time just drinking, especially since Doctor has a lot of really good quality juice. She’s heard of Sparkling’s juice bar but she hasn’t quite gone there yet (it is one her list though)

Doctor has relatively expensive tastes, both in juice and fashion. She’s got plenty of money, so it’s not really a big deal for her

Okay I’m sorry, I’m in class right now as I’m writing, and I’m having difficulty focusing on this while also paying attention in class. So the description’s all funky and I don’t feel like I actually explained her personality right. But I don’t know how to. Maybe I’ll come back later and edit it, but I kind of doubt it

Let’s just move on to design stuff

So Doctor is based on merlot grapes, since they’re wine grapes. So somewhere in between grape juice and grapes I guess. And Merlot is also the name of a wine. She was originally just named Merlot, though I was planning on changing it to fit Vampire and Alchemist’s description names, and last night I had the idea to call her Doctor

Apothecary was I suppose and option, but I had already named an old OC Apothecary Cookie, and I didn’t want to repeat. Though now I feel like maybe Apothecary would have sounded better

Merlot grapes:

So I admit, her colors aren’t exactly the same as her kids, but I mean, her hair’s dark blue because of the grapes, and her eyes are red to break up the two colors. I guess just assume her kids’ colors are recessive or just due to the ingredients they’re made of

I based her grape hair off of Shine Muscat’s new costume, since I feel like that was a good reference for what I was originally going for. Though the shading was based on Alchemist’s hair

I gave her a big coat originally because doctors have big coats, but since I’ve already made two characters with doctor coats, I decided to just take liberties, and it’s basically not a doctor coat anymore. It’s fine though, it works. Also I feel like is matches in some way with Vampire’s cape and Alchemist’s coat thing, whatever she has going on

I was struggling with her accent colors, but eventually I decided to take one of Alchemist’s costumes as reference and give her the pink accents. Goes well with her eyes too

I kind of wish I could have put some greens in there, but whatever I guess

I think that’s it for her? I’m still in class, so I’m only half paying attention to writing this

Sorry for the not so good description, but I hope you like her regardless

[pastelclownkitty]

COMPASS GOD BLAST!! (aka i'm assuming you'll get at least one Trio question and *I* wanna know about Tempest)

The Four Compass Gods (even... eugh... Atlas...)

4, 9, 24, 25 :]

fair warning that ciaran and aeros are not built on much so most of this is made up on the spot. ok thanks stuff like this helps

4. What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

Aeros - Their immaturity. They try so hard to be cold and professional, he really does, but at the end of the day he's still rather childish and doesn't think things through as much as he likes to make it seem like he does. He is aware of this, he's been constantly reminded of it. It's why he tries so hard to fix it, or at least stop it from showing.

Ciaran - Their numbness. The way it causes them to stop taking things seriously and be apathetic in the face of consequences. They are well aware of it, but make no effort to fix it.

Atlas - Their temper. Atlas's anger quickly causes them to stop thinking rationally, instead exposing her impulsive and reckless side. Many people have told them to work on this, but Atlas refuses to accept that it is an issue.

Tempest - Their inability to move on. The way they cling to every past grudge, never allowing themselves to forget. They are aware of this but don't see it as a flaw.

9. Do you have a specific lyric or quote that you associate with your oc?

Aeros - "And then she smiled, and that's what I'm after, the smile in her eyes, the sound of her laughter."/"Next time you're praying, you'll be praying for me."/"Mother Earth's love whispered to me (and it wasn't her fault)."/"Look at the stars, in the big black ink. Tell me what you feel and tell me what you think. Is it cold outside? Is it cold?"

Ciaran - "Kind of like an addict, I let you win."/"Now I'm King, like you wanted me to be."/"I did what I had to do to survive, then I did a bunch of other shit I felt like doing."/"You became so focused on running the rat race and getting to that cheese, you didn't even think to look for the cracks. And I don't blame you! I'm just disappointed."/"Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back."/"It's a quality of the gods to see a creature with its back broken and be unmoved."

Atlas - "'Cause you lost when your puppets reclaimed their lives!"/"I've been waiting for my lover to relieve me, but they're outside swinging from the oak tree!"/"Do not pray. Whatever the fuck you do, do not pray. Because the ones that are listening, you do not want them to answer."/"Everyone is a monster to someone. Since you are so convinced I am yours, I will be it."

Tempest - "There's a plan for us lunatics and liars, we have faulty gears and wires, they can't save us but they'll do the best they can!"/"I'd kill myself to get away from you, too."/"It was nice to know 'ya! We've all been damned, cmon!"/"Stop the peace and keep the violence!"/"I think I'll lose my mind in hysteria!"

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

Assuming they all didn't become god and continued their lives like normal:

Aeros - Would have ended up completely alone and aimless, with absolutely nothing to their name. There was nothing for them besides his Fate.

Ciaran - Honestly, he would have wound up in jail had they not become a god. They would not have kept getting away with everything for much longer.

Atlas - He and Venus planned on moving far away together. Atlas most likely would've gotten a job as a gravedigger, and Venus would have loved to work at a flower shop or as a fashion designer. Venus could have kept him out of jail long enough for them to live happily.

Tempest - Most likely also would have wound up in jail. Either that or a psych ward, which is probably the more realistic option. Though I could also see them ending up kidnapped by some unfortunate enemies they happened to make. No matter what, it wouldn't have gone well for them. Not that anything in Scilita's life ever went well.

25. What is your favorite thing about your OC?

Aeros - Silly deer guy!!! Silly anxious deer guy!!! Serious answer, his temper. I love pissed-off Aeros. Pissed-off Aeros my beloved. He deserves it.

Ciaran - How intelligent she really is, and how silly she acts not despite it but because of it. That smug, playful attitude of theirs. God, in another universe they and Eucharis would be best friends.

Atlas - His emptiness. His longing to feel whole again. How childish he really is. Everything that godly, untouchable attitude is protecting. Everything he does to distract himself from it.

Tempest - Their bitchy attitude, how little filter they have (while also having an extremely strong filter), the moment where that mask slips and they're left unbelievably vulnerable in their rage.

[heavensmortuary]

Hi there side B friend!! came here from Robin's poll; do you mind giving any suggestions around reducing dysphoria, if you experience it? The blog I only recently set up that deals with this aspect of me is @dysphoric-sideb (....or something like that I can't remember the username order oop) but it's a sideblog and I don't want to reveal my main, hence I'm on anon.

God bless you :)

howdy there! I do experience dysphoria (mainly things that go beyond she/her, he/him, they/them, such as feeling like nothing/absent altogether), and I do wish I was better at reducing it, but it's still a very big struggle unfortunately. I don't have very good advice on the subject because I really haven't found anything that helps for more than a short period of time. However! A short period of time is better than nothing, so here goes:

Physical labor, such as working on something a bit difficult like yard work, farm work, or helping build things, and it's that's not an option, running or even something as simple as dancing around. I found that the more rigorous the better, because it tends to remind that you have a body and that the body is good. I highly recommend gardening and yard work, because it's moving forward with a goal in mind and you have to work hard to accomplish said goal and make full use of your body. Another is making something with your hands. Be it working on a physical painting, or fixing something mechanical, it helps remind that your body is good. Again, if this isn't an option, feel free to discard! It's just the thing that helps me most

On a related note, making sure I spend a good amount of time if I have it (like on weekends) outside, almost entirely focused on textures around me. Being inside or at work for a long long time with absolutely no break makes dysphoria much worse. Taking the time to feel the textures around is good, like picking up pebbles and holding leaves, anything that helps ease feelings of mind/body/gender dissociation.

Dressing well helps too, even if I'm at home. Meaning if I'm wearing clothes that are easy to throw on, I usually pair it with something nice. I don't know really why it helps in my opinion, but it does at least.

This sounds a bit silly, but it helps on the daily at lease in my own experience, to make a character/oc that is the gender I already am, and make them pretty cool or able to be who I'd like to be, not gender wise. I guess that's a persona or something? I've found that being able to make stories with a character already like I already am, instead of a character with the pronouns I would like to identify with, helps center myself, feel real and capable, and not feel as trapped. Otherwise connecting with a character who's gender is what I'd like to be makes things worse :lc at least in my own experience

Another one that sounds silly but has helped imo, is simply listening to stories in real life. Ask people to tell you a story about their lives or history or something. Old folks are the best about this. Collect real experiences close to your heart, and you'll feel more connected with people, even gender wise. I don't know really how to explain it I guess, but hearing real things genuinely helps focus in on what's really important in life as creation. sorry if this doesn't make sense lol

I wish I had more specific advice, since most of this is obvious and mainly helps with general quality of life, but if your quality of life is better, so is your mental health, and so is your dysphoria. God bless you too! I do hope some of these is at least a bit helpful to you

[opinated-user]

aww, i'm not the Brittany Gallade Stalker anymore? guys, i lost one of my titles. i don't know who i'm anymore! as long i'm still one Brittany then i guess i'll be fine... but also... i hope i don't have to tell people to not go bringing up my posts to LO. not because i mind she responding, i know she'll anyway if she feels like posturing about something, but because i have said many times before to not interact with her, period, just to see a reaction out of her. i encourage people to not interact with her at all. the whole point of this blog is to spread awareness about her and deplatforming her. i can't do that if people just keep validating her platform by going to interact with her. plus, we all know she'll only use it as more fuel for her own victim narrative so, really, why would you want that? i know it's possible that LO send herself that message, but just in case i want that said: don't interact with LO. don't watch her videos directly, don't try to get a response out of her. moving on... who is going to tell LO that this the very first time she openly talked positively about the art of her wife? (it's rethoric, don't actually do that). by that i mean, she just uses the art of MO, whines in stream about how MO isn't drawing pokemadhouse fast enough, whines about how she has a life that impides her being exploited even more and talks about how many more fanart she'll keep ezqueezing out of her.

oh, and i'm meant to assume that the quality of her art has nothing to do with why you aren't showing your avatar anymore in any of your videos?

those two pieces of art are actually an example of the kind of problem that people do notice with MO. when she's doing things fast enough for you not to whine about it and churning out as many fanart as you want, it looks rushed. it looks unfinished and halfassed because you constantly tell her to make art that way. that can't be healthy for any creative person, just about in general. the fact that she's not even being paid for it speaks badly of you as a partner and a boss. that's not me saying it, it's a fact. one piece of art here and there is just a perk of having an artist as a partner, but you very much has abused that by having MO making entire animatic, multiple visuals for videos, an entire webcomic that you want fully coloured, animatic for that webcomic and all without any paid at all. but when MO can have all the time of the world and there's no wife telling her to forgot anatomy, it looks just so much better. for one, the color choices for the character designs are miles better than whatever is that you're asking her to do for your OCs. there's more flare, life and drama in that one picture of the green character that has ever been in all of pokemadhouse. i don't know why you won't just let her dress saige with something nice for once.

i literally said that MO on her own is a decent enough artist. funny enough, that's the one point that all critical blogs agree on. it's really quite transparent the kind of gasligting you're doing when people can clearly see me saying as much in that message, but still choose to present it otherwise and just ignoring entirely the rest of the point. your constant request for art from her and telling her to halfass it to make it as quickly as possible are my issue. a seasoned artist can do with a quick workflow because they know what they're doing, but MO is not there yet. so all you're really doing by using her like a slot machine for more art and fanart with your weird ideas of "right proportions" is keeping her away from actually learning. for the record too: i call you LO because Lizzy and Courtney, with Lizzy's blessing, wear the last name Orchard better than you. we went over this already.

[wrenlywofau]

What You Shall Do

Foeslayer/Hope & Marrow (OC) Read on AO3

Hope is old, and she doesn’t want to rule the new Kingdom of Night forever.

Luckily, she’s devised a plan. All she has to do is get it across.

     Hope sighed through her nose, staring out through one of her chamber’s vast windows at what had been her kingdom, centuries ago. A trio of dragonets, no more than two years old, tackle and tumble over each other not far from the palace walls. Within the courtyard, a pale green NightWing (Radiance, to go by her large stature and how her hair was braided) passed an IceWing hybrid (Frozenlight, from their slicked-back white hair and abundance of freckles over their darker markings). One of Radiance’s wings twitched, only perceptible because Hope had long learned what she was looking for. She, like her citizens, had been weary of the hybrid in their midst at first, but they’d put in more than enough work to demonstrate that they were nothing like Hope’s own dragonets.

     Put that thought away. That was then; this is now.

     The sound of talons rapping on her door drew her from her musings. The one she’d called upon moved a bit slower these days, and yet here she was, punctual as ever. This is when her work begins.

     “Enter,” she called, not turning. The door was drawn open, making no sound but unsettling the room’s air, and then closed with a subtle click. The action was accompanied by the tapping of light talons, assuring her that this was the dragon she had called for.

     “You wanted to see me, Queen Hope?” the newcomer asked, her voice retaining a slight graveling quality like much of her modern tribe. Hope could count on one hand the number of NightWings she’d met since her release with voices that didn’t bear a permanent growl, all of whom had been raised away from the volcanic island of their “kingdom.”

     “Sit down, Princess Marrow,” the Queen instructed, testing the title and how it rolled off her tongue.

     She could tell when Marrow didn’t move, instead responding, “Princess–?”

     So, this was how it was going to be. Fine – if Queen Clairvoyance had sprung such a thing on her, her reaction would’ve been similar – but Queen Clairvoyance died with Foeslayer.

     “I don’t intend to rule forever. Moons know, I’ve lived long enough,” she cut in, “but this kingdom needs someone to get it off the ground if we ever want to return to our former glory.”

     As soon as she said it, her mind flitted to the young RainWing she’d met with multiple times, barely going on fifteen years old and yet already leading a tribe and a half alongside a former assassin. Hope had lived through much political turmoil among the old NightWings, and had received a first-hand crash course into the realm of IceWing royals, but Queen Glory was a beast all her own, and an impressive one at that. “No pun intended,” Hope muttered.

     Finally, the queen turned, facing Marrow– Princess Marrow. The NightWing was thin, her body never having properly recovered from life on the volcanic island she’d been told her tribe had inhabited since her son’s temporary defeat. Her scales were nearly black with a tint of red, and she was crowned by a striking white tuft of hair and long, waving horns.

     “Here is what you shall do. I will name you my heir tomorrow at midnight. You are not going to be considered my daughter, but you will be my successor, and your partners your consorts.”

     Princess Marrow haphazardly schooled her expression from surprise back to a feigned neutrality, a rare slip-up, though one of many recently, while no other part of her body even flinched. “P-partners?” she stuttered. “I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty.”

     Hope smirked in amusement, as however good her heir typically was at lying, she couldn’t stop the blood from rushing to her ears. Wishing to calm her, the queen let on, “Radiance is subtle about your relationship with Frozenlight, and she knows how to evade rumors. You, not so much.”

     When her heir gave a tight nod, she continued, “Your subjects will learn to respect them, because if we are to survive, we need to start moving past the other tribes’ biases. Frozenlight is half NightWing, and they have proven their loyalty to our tribe time and time again. Therefore, they are one of us.

     “Once the kingdom is stable, and we have reason to believe that it will continue to be stable, you will challenge me. You will do so publicly.”

     Hope’s eyes seemed to bore into the smaller NightWing’s very soul, but she continued regardless. “We will fake my death. I will leave this kingdom, and I will find my own peace. But you will always be able to find me, and I will be able to advise you, ensuring our kingdom’s downfall will not be a result of either of us.”

     The following pause was long and painful. She let Princess Marrow search for a response, waited patiently as she started and stopped a few different sentences, and nearly sighed in relief when she finally got something out, rather than making Hope wait up all day.

     “I don’t understand, My Queen. Why me? Why not one of your descendants? Surely they’re here somewhere.”

     To say she had doubted they’d end up here would be a lie, but she had wanted to believe that she would be able to get through to her heir easier. After all, Hope thought her a smart one, more so than many of her peers. “I don’t care for blood, Princess Marrow,” she replied, “and drop the title. I’m not a queen, I’m only your regent.

     “Then, once you feel you’ve run your course as queen, you will peacefully pass down your throne to your dragonet—”

     “I’m not—” Princess Marrow tried to cut in, but Hope only chuckled.

     “Dear, I can tell when a NightWing is egg-bound. You’re paranoid and overly vigilant, and avoid speaking to those outside of your circle like they’re—”

     Her heir was staring at her, the slighted glint of threatening malice in her gaze. They both knew where Hope had been leading, but that stare made her words tangle in her throat. Another reason why she’d elected Marrow for this position over the rest of her once-son’s followers.

     “You understand what I mean.”

     Princess Marrow’s nod was a curt one, Hope’s slip not to be easily forgotten.

     “When you wish to retire, you will pass the throne down to your dragonet without combat. I don’t care if it is a daughter or son or something else entirely, you will not fight. You will give them the throne, you will advise them as I will you, only you will be public about it.

     “Or,” and she had to force the memories of Darkstalker, of receiving the news of the Royal SeaWing Massacre, of all those centuries of bloody IceWing politics from her mind, “if you do not deem them fit to rule, you will give the throne to someone else entirely. Regardless, you will ensure our tribe has a monarch fit for the role. Do you understand, Princess Marrow?”

     This pause too was tense, but in a different way. A much more calculating way, as Princess Marrow seemed to hunt her expression for any sign of a facade, only to find none. Every cryptic, she countered with a challenge of her own, though this one brought a smile to Hope’s face.

     “What made you decide to put this much trust in me? I could kill you in the arena. I could make it real. What makes you believe that I won’t?”

     “Because you would regret it. You would become like every other queen, wishing at some point or another that your predecessor would return no matter your feelings about her. And I know that you will recognize that, and that you will make the rest of the continent recognize that.

     “So, I ask again: do you understand, Princess Marrow, Heir to the MoonWing Throne, Successor of Queen Hope, Partner of Princess Consorts Radiance and Frozenlight?”

     A rare and infectious smirk crossed the smaller NightWing’s face. “I understand, Queen Hope.”

     “Then let our work begin.”

[kasarian]

i am going to talk about oc pokemon au and you cant stop me :] (or, alternatively, if you're spark, it just me reiterating it with proper wording LOL)

Orbit is a knowledgable figure, unsure if I want him to be a professor or not, but he's also someone who's going to be important in the balance of quality of life in both humans and pokemon in his town, ensuring that the people do not disturb the natural habitat, and that the townsfolk be able to live a good life within the town. Ike was / is Orbit's partner in this endeavor, but went missing (presumed dead) for a year or two while he was out on a diplomatic trip out of the region; The two eventually reunite, not to worry.

Alon and Lupa are field researchers that work with/under Orbit. Alon in particular used to be a gym leader of the region in his younger years, but decided to retire a full year before he and Lupa got married, wanting to focus on his family and trying to get away from the public eye. He and his husband mostly help with nurturing hatchlings nowadays, but occasionally do the fieldwork for their job, as well as personal outings with personal agendas, of course.

Lupa has always been so passionate about pokemon and their behavior, seeking to understand them more. He wandered around various regions, becoming champion once and never again, despising the unwarranted fame his younger self did not want. He also met Alon during his travels, starting out at the wrong foot but quickly becoming fast friends, with Alon freely offering Lupa his kindness and hospitability. Despite all that, he still challenges gyms for the sake of it even now!

AND NOW FOR THE PROTAGS

The story follows Mela, Orbit's daughter, wanting to be as accomplished as her father, and setting out to her own journey. She's accompanied by Akku, who is Alon and Lupa's son, and his boyfriend, Hiraya, who was often under Orbit's watch due to his parents often being called for their duties as Elites.

As the trio's journey goes on, they all end up in a rather far away snowfields; and Mela eventually meets a man who looks rather familiar... but can't quite place her finger as to who exactly it is. She wants to find out though, stubborn as she always is to get things right. It's weird though, because it seems like Hiraya's seen a ghost, but he just won't say.

In the end of this arc, Mela meets the lake spirits, and they help her remember who that man was to her. Is to her. Ike, her dad, who's been missing and apparently, just as confused as her, because neither of them remember each other etc etc.

AUUGHUAHU

IT ALL VERY . MESSY and unclear and i might renew a lot of this bc i havent thought about all it yet. the basic summary was this:

Story following though 3 childhood friends journeys, Mela being the main protag ??? wanting to be like her dad ??? Accidentally finding her other, long missing father in the process??? ENSUE TEAM ROCKET LIKE EVENTS AND SHIT GOES DOOOOOWN

Akku and Hiraya just there for silly goofy shenanigans and support. (Akku wanting to explore like his parents did, and Hiraya not having much to do anyway, being the current youngest and not having much direction in his life???? idkkk HAHA but he and akku share the same passion w/ loving pokemon, akku just wants to see if he can run though badges in the process)

anyway yah feel free to plonk your opinions on this, i obviously have a lot to research, like the lake spirits, and which pokemon can temporarily take away your bad memories and help return it when you have to face it (first thought was gothitelle??) or if i can make up a process wherein a venusaur knowing amnesia -> imbued that power in its spores/pollen to help ease sadness that its trainer is experiencing and how thats kind but also kind of. oof move on the venusaur. etc etc. idk HAHAHHA

[beanieman]

You should show us your OCs

I actually made an entire blog for their story, but then I rewrote everything so all the characters had a major revamp. So I'll talk about their new versions!

Emilio - The son of the antagonist and protagonist of his own story, Emilio is a dandelion that came from a forest of dead trees. He's nosy "observant" and naturally nurturing, with a large heart that's filled with a lot of fear. His night sky eyes tend to look toward Val in times of trial. And for other reasons. 

Val - Val is a ticking hand on a clock. She moves forward no matter what lies ahead or how many people wish she could stay frozen and let things remain how they are. She's analytical with a good poker face that she mostly uses to help others, especially Emilio who is her soft spot. Also, she's ḫ̷̉a̴̞̋u̶͇͐ṋ̴̿t̶͇̆e̵͉̍d̸̳͠ by a dead man, but if you ask her, that's her least interesting quality.

Sparrow - The son of the antagonist and baby brother to Emilio, Sparrow is a bird with clipped wings. He's cunning and a natural trickster with a heart filled wit rage. He looks up to his brother a ton and is happy as long as they're together.

More Undercut

Alicia - Alicia is made of fire. With a passionate heart that's bright and warm, she's a well-needed addition to the group, as her unyielding optimism is always welcome. You can often find her in her car garage working on her latest project. If not there she'll be in the sky as her angelic wings allow all her dreams of freedom to come to life.

Matthias - Matthias is a court jester born with a sword in hand and laughter on his lips. His real job is a solider which is a career pushed onto him by his family name, but he doesn't let it get him down as he's a jovial man with a lot of love in his heart. He's jokingly flirty and quite playful in most scenarios. Though he knows when to be serious and he's incredibly good with a sword if the situation calls for it. He's Val's mentor figure despite not being a lot older than her.

Lorne - Lorne is the type of man who jumps to bring down a cult for the fun of it...mainly because that's exactly what he's doing. He's mostly just along for the ride as someone who just likes to watch what's going down at any given moment. He's extremely and unbreakably loyal to those good to him, a bit arrogant, good in a crisis, and friendly to everyone he meets.

Oisin - Oisin is a glistening pond in the middle of a forest. As a farmer who values seclusion, he firmly believes that nature should be respected and treated as an ally. He has a soft spot for plants and animals with more weariness for people in most cases. Still, he really values his friendship with the group and wants the best for everyone. He's a firm believer in "The odd's of many over one."

Throca - Throca has been dead for longer than he lived. Playful and musical, he had his voice cut out far too soon. Now he's connected to Val for adventures from beyond the grave…for better or worse.

Nora - Nora is a beautiful fluffy cloud on a day where the sky is a bright blue. She's a gorgeous women who knows how to use her looks to her advantage to compensate for all sacrifices she's made to get where she is. She's quick to pick up skills, bubbly, ambitious, and reliable to her allies when they need her.

[fan-art-ic]

I still can't believe Rick did that to Percy that author really kicked the shit out of his oc not even letting him get a full school year of no war drama fucking his life over at age 16. Percy is only fucking 17! He would be learning about trig and failing to read a shakespeare classic in class, if he ever could be in class!!!!! I started this post to re write the hoo events let me re route

This actually got super long so ha! So glad mobile had read mores now

So what I think would have been great is if Rick really had to bring in a Roman camp and all that shit then I would have him START at the Roman camp! The first book should open with Leo, because he's already favored by Hera cuz she babysat him, having a demigod dream around the last day and day after of the titan war, because we are going to start RIGHT AFTER

Leo, however, is missing his memories and is on a bus with Piper, who is a daughter of VENUS (isn't the whole thing with, um not Remus and Romulus but Adonis right? He was a founder of Rome right and a son of Venus? It just works) and the bus is attacked by monsters. Hedge is a faun, he's Roman, and basically calls for back-up, the closest Roman patrol shows up but not before Leo has to fight monsters off himself. He kills one dramatically and Jason is the first/last face he sees

In this, Jason is not Praetor. I'd like to imagine he managed to beg off being made Praetor until he turns 16 next year, because the idea made him want to bite people and he did bite Octavian and Reyna. Reyna, in my eyes, is like 17 going on 18 while Jason is 15 going on 16. Jason has an oblivious crush on her and she likes him as a faithful companion, like if her metal dogs could give tactic strategy feedback and make her laugh with snitty comments. Much more student who is a black belt but not a teacher and then a student who's a brown belt. I don't know back on track that's why Jason is on border patrol and not doing boring Praetor things

Also that nicely sets Jason up to go through the war and come out the other side as the Praetor so he might actually enjoy it this time

Back from that commercial break, the first book would basically be the quest from the lost hero but with changes to suit the divergences I've made but still mainly following that plot. They return to Camp Jupiter and celebrate and Leo finds Bunker Nine, hidden in the San Franciscan hills. I remember reading something about Rome loving Vulcan but could totally be mistaken, but that all would gel really well. On Pipers side of things, Tristan has moved into New Rome after Enceladus concussed him so hard he is blind so the Mist isn't bothering his vision. It's really hard because her father just got horribly injured, but now can be with her more often and not do stupid films, of course he wants to return to Hollywood so it's a lot of tense non arguments and treasured quality time

Book 2 would then open with Percy, the entire book is a classic fully him book like the og series. Something like: Look I don't want to waste my time or yours, we both got plenty to do. You know everything since last summer back. The more recent stuff, this past school year was okay! I got put into a couple of remedial classes, and had to deal with plenty of remedial monsters, but overall August to May? No big problems. Even arriving early back to camp had been no problem. I did it to help all the other counselors and Chiron get camp ready to shift from half-gear/winter mode to full gear/summer mode with easily quintuple the campers ready to show up. As the only Poseidon camper and the living hero of Olympus' everlasting ass, I probably could have gotten away with not helping. Annabeth asked me to, so it was a no brainer. June though? Oh boy."

And in JUNE they get Grover bringing back two demi-gods (usually he's busy being a teenage satyr equivalent lord of the wild [HE IS 28 IN TLT RIGHT BUT THATS SUPPOSED TO BE EQUIVALENT TO A HUMAN 12! HE STILL SO YOUNG]) but he ran into these two and uhuuhhhhh needed to bring them right away. And it's Frank and Hazel!!! I love Frank but the fact that he comes out a somewhat legible and not totally weird character is a miracle. He is the son of a minor god, who didn't want him going to CHB because of the shit conditions for non Olympian kids but then Frank somehow befriended a monster kid but then the monster parents tried to eat him and now that he knows his scent has gotten stronger and just bc demigods can't use phone doesn't mean monsters can't they can text their cousins and be like hey fresh meat coming your way. They probably love playing mobile video games and doing crypto trading. Anyways

On the run, he runs into Hazel. She is our lost Roman! Hera took her time with Leo and unfortunately did a rush job with Hazel. She got memory wiped, but Hera ran out of time to set up her arrival to CHB properly, and just drops her in Frank's path. (Tangent: With Frank and Hazel, I've made my feelings pretty clear, canon ages can't date, at least not till they're in their 20s. Again, like that's not something I have a problem with, bc 3 years isn't enough to really view that younger kid as baby comparatively the age just doesn't match up till their 20s. but.......) given they are demigods, I would space out their relationship the full five years to the end of the second series, so she's 18 at least.

That's right, FIVE YEARS. don't try to fucking do all that shit in one year!!!!! You're saying Gaia is this huge big bad but in a span of ONE year where no one actually fights HER she doesn't seem nearly as good a villain as Kronos! He had the pizzazz!!! The villainous razzle dazzle!!!! Because he was given time (ha...ha). I expect at LEAST as much for a BIGGER BAD. It just fucks with the pacing.

Anyway! Hazel has always had dreams and a connection to the Earth, so she's enjoying the newly constructed Hades cabin (where Nico is really fucking confused but really happy?) And also having terrible nightmares and sometimes sneaking off into the rockiest area of the woods like it's in a stream but huge boulders like st peters village creek and she sneaks off there sometimes but that's only after sleepwalking there after the dreams. She is really worried about this possible...familiar.....danger and protective of her new family so she goes back out there repeatedly to think and try to meditate

Percy, both really enjoying befriending Hazel but also somehow the only one finding her suspicious, is working himself into a tizzy because you know how he is with friends and with Silena's death and everyone else's anniversary coming close he has. A lot on his mind. So one night he's out at the wider part of the creek practicing his 'waterbending' and generally being upset, and he does have a sense for Earth so being so close he can feel the small tremors Hazel is putting put and he tracks her upstream

Confrontation time

Percy is already freaked out and Hazel is already in a weird place so she thinks he's a monster through her earth sense, yes she can have that she deserves it, so with her eyes closed she send a little rock spike at him out of fear, which he thinks is her attacking, so he fights back, Hazel comes to/opens her eyes and gets frightened and accidentally entombs Percy. She's able to bring him back up after a second, but oh man that second was possibly the single scariest second ever completely pressed in by dirt on all sides. Suffice to say he gets more fighty bc that's who Percy is, but Hazel manages to freeze his foot and explain herself and Percy calms down pretty well. Really fucking miffed and still has shivers running down his spine every heartbeat, but he's a reasonable guy, a nice dude. He has also been having visions, and between the two of them, figure that something is going to attack this other camp that exists, somewhere on the West Coast, and by a Giant and it's army

Phew! End scene, sheesh. Can you imagine how fucking long this would be if I actually wrote it out? Christ in hell.

They go to sleep! As all good demigods should at Night. The next day, Percy and Nico shove their tables together and Annabeth crouched in as does Frank, because his parents cabin hasn't specifically been done up yet. Oh hm maybe he could have his mortal soldier (booooo) mom and Nike? Doesn't matter, he still likes archery and still eventually figures out his shapeshifter shit. His candle, I think I want that honestly would work better as like, if Frank chose to save someone and took their punishment and he was given that candle. Or something. So at brunch they figure out the pieces, and then when Chiron comes over they think he's going to reprimand their shitty pavilion tableware manners, but nope he just says Rachel needs to see them in her cave

NOW Rachel gets to make a nice little debut with her cave. I honestly. Honestly. Honestly can't remember how it went it tlh if they went to her cave or the big house. Ik Jason went to the big house at some point but it's not relevant to the current topic. Anyways I get to spend an ungodly amount of time waxing about a the artsy fartsy/hippydippy sacred oracle cave of a teenage billionaire heiress which I don't care if there's a kind of canonical description this is my Rachel's cave now. So that would be like, at least half the chapter, the other half is her giving the prophecy after winning at just dance 3.

Anyways then they have a prophecy so they are sanctioned to go to find new Rome! Given the dreams, Nico Hazel and Percy go on the quest. Originally it was going to be Frank but "There's no way I'm letting you go off on another quest with my sister without making sure she's safe myself". Oof, sometimes I understand what writers mean when they say the characters have their own voice sometimes. So whenever they iris message to camp, Frank and Annabeth will be (not) enjoying figuring out his demigod abilities and just generally Frank gets to enjoy camp a little (but barely because he's very worried about his camp crossing buddy being out there without him, despite being protected by two mega powerful demi gods and being pretty strong herself, he still wishes he could message her every day, but it's not practical. Only when the questers can afford to.)

Now in New Rome: Leo, flames, Jason, wind, Percy, with a real big cool boat, they honestly make short work of the whole Alaska situation. That's more of a side thing that Percy signs himself up to do. I think they get incredibly weird in the way a bunch of future openly bisexual men would as traumatized super powered teenagers with a duty and repression around other teen like them who are also hot. NOTHING really happens, Percy is SOLIDLY dating Annabeth at the time, and Jason is too Roman and Leo is too repressed. But yknow. Solidly gay lockeroom vibes like if any of then ever saw that one id magazine of the jock and skater dude their minds would shut down for at LEAST 2 meals worth of time. But yeah they just have a fun jaunty time freeing Thanatos.

Back to Percy, he is enjoying seeing Nico come out of his shell, but also Nico is acting strangely too, but in a completely different way then Hazel. One is entangled in something dangerous, while the other is withholding something dangerous. It's driving Percy batty because after getting paranoid about Hazel earlier he doesn't want to say or push anything, and Nico is his little brother, and Hazel is his little sister, so this is practically a family road trip as far as he is concerned (he hopes) (desperately) (trying to distract from the alternative). Percy doesn't witness this, but at some point Nico comes out to Hazel and reveals his crush on him, and Percy just picks up on "something" being different. Obligatory questers send off at the Jackson household, filled with cookies and great parenting. Really a good way to lower everyone's guard to all the bullshit about to hit their ass. At this point, they are just trying to get cross country, and trying to link up with the Romans and warn them. They arrive on the same day Leo completes the Argo and Octavian butchers, like, 30 build-a-bears. Special edition ones too. Nico, at this point, has left because Hazel is pissed. She eventually remembered Nico at Camp Jupiter and there's a whole thing about that (fun little throw in about Norse and Egyptian from Percy's experiences in the ensuing conversation) so soon as they arrive safely to New Rom, he leaves immediately back to Camp Half Blood, reports, and, I dislike Nico going to Tartarus and getting captured so for right now he has been locked in his room by Hades for mentioning even doing that and he is a having a gay fume

Back in Rome, Hazel is recalling her life there, she had been there for several years, she had a few friends, and Reyna had begun to mentor her on the horse before Hera kidnapped her. As much as she loved CHB, she had never expected anything else and had put work in to feel at home among the golden hills of New Rome.

Okay also while I'm thinking of it. The fact that older Romans don't serve in the army but all the trick or treaters do? Fucking lunacy. But I want to worldbuild on this bullshit before I yank it out: what if the divinity in a demigod is strongest the younger they are, the closer their share of divinity is to the god. this is how you can get a baby Percy killing a snake in his cradle. But usually this means that a demigods peak years is 5-18, instead of a mortals 18-30. Like, of course just because they get older doesn't mean their power completely fade or anything, and of course in examples of extremely powerful demigods no one knows exactly, but, just spitballing, that's why so many monsters come after the kids, when imo they should be stronger when they are adults. So they are just less tasty as they grow through whatever divinity they were given, like expired jerky instead of filet mignon. So the 15 year old demigod serving in New rome's army is going to be to an aged out demigod of the same parent what Percy is to usual demigods. Just that much more in tune. The alternative is totally keelhauling the system and installing adults everywhere but I'm disinclined to that option

So Annabeth and Frank are in CHB, Hazel and Reyna are in New Rome, Jason Leo and Percy are in Alaska, and Nico is MIA at the moment. At this point, the prophecy of 7 is given by Rachel and after picking up Hazel, the Argo swings back to Long Island and then onto Greece.

Nico pops back up in New Rome, with warnings and looking to apologize to Hazel, but everyone is over the Atlantic. He accidentally ropes himself in to helping Reyna as Octavian is getting unruly. I think my Octavian is a total bastard but he isn't conspiring to get Rome and Greece to fight he is genuinely fucking concerned about them fighting and is acting out

I don't get why Annabeth had to get the Athena Parthenos at the exact same moment the whole Gaia is awakening it seems very stupid of Athena, so unless I'm forgetting something this is my made up reason: Athena gives Annabeth the OPTION of undertaking it at the same time or, if everyone survives, doing it later. It would be best to do it now though because she will already be in the Ancient Lands and then if Annabeth is able to recover the Parthenos it will allow Athena to regain complete control over her Minerva form and then, she SAYS to Annabeth, she would be able to help the questers since she won't be spread in two different directions. THAT is what convinces Annabeth to try and find it because Athena's aid would be invaluable for the rest of the quest

Then, when Annabeth and Percy fall into Tartarus and the Parthenos is recovered, Athena is able to manifest in front of the 7 (five). She is expecting to congratulate her daughter and bestow her blessing upon her and give everyone else a little boon, but then no Annabeth. This actually really pisses her off, and when she notices Percy is gone too and asks and they say he DELIBERATLY went in after Annabeth, well this helps boost the worthiness of the sea spawn in Athena's eyes, although this totally fucks everything up bc those two are basically the power players of the 7.

I'm kind of wishy washy on the minutiae of the of the house of hades, I honestly only gave a shit about the 411 in tartarus so no big change ups for the 5 just generally their shit goes easier with Athenas help

Annabeth and Percy are going through it of course. My personal theory is that the rivers of the underworld mess with peoples mortal souls and bodies when people interact with them. the cocytus leaves a more lasting mark on their psyches, and the phlegethon actually slowly eats at both of their mortality. If a normal person tried to drink from it, their human soul would wither away (like peeing on a flower), but with their divine side much more durable, both Percy and Annabeth's souls are growing unbalanced. Percy even more so, as I think when the Styx blessed him it burned away all but that anchor of mortality, and then when the Little Tiber washed away the blessing (which is BULLLLLLLLLLLSHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT) his mortal soul is already spread thin and that's why when they get to Akhyls, he is able to crack past his mortal barrier and develop his powers in ways he shouldn't be ABLE to. MY Annabeth, also, doesn't have that shitty reaction to Percy SAVING them. Her mortal soul is boiling and releasing steam vapors it will never get back, so her mind has both never been more tortured but also never been clearer and faster in her life. She is able to get Percy to back off, but just so she can manipulate Akhyls properly and get her to actually help them with Percy as the knife to the throat. In/After Tartarus Annabeth is very much the cleaning/sharpening/and polish to Percy's sword edge.

Annabeth also messes with Bob/Iapetus, poking at his memories and paving the way for him to remember Percy, but doing it in a way so that Iapetus which actually like them by the time he remembers. This is mainly to show off Annabeth being different from her usual self, to have a Percy pov of him being uneasy of Annabeths ability to turn someone around and re-arrange their thinking with just some conversation. This is also because I want Small Bob to go up to the surface and be her big murder cat and if Iapetus genuinely liked her I can see him giving them the cat monster as a token of good faith and fRiEnDsHiP but it ends up being something that gives Annabeth part of her humanity back because she realizes the real impact she had on him and now she has a monster pet to take care of just like her boyfriend (this set up parallels very nicely I'm loving this now)

The Blood of Olympus would probably end up being REALLY different just because the canon book sucks so hard. And I think I'd make a plot point of Zeus breaking the Styx promise to free Calypso, I'd have it become that all of this is actually his fault because by not following the promise the consequences were Gaia waking up enough for all this to even happen. Actually this would set up nicely a next series of dethroned Zeus look at how easy that all falls together fuck I love this idea. It would take so long to write though maybe after I retire I could write it. Also how stupid is it for the gods to work with their own kid against the literal BANE of their existence? Fucking switch up the teams!!! It doesn't make any sense to me and then you could get some really interesting fight scenes and dynamics like I would have it so Percy ends up fight alongside Athena and Annabeth alongside Ares, Jason with Poseidon and Hazel with Zeus, Frank with Hades more on and so on

For that last paragraph I wanted to elaborate so I looked up a list of Greek mytho giants, but it had so much more fun info then I was expecting and has lead me to realize that the defeat of the giants should be a collaborative effort between both the Roman and Greek camps and the gods that would truly be the best way to tie up the huge finale of evil bosses, would free up some of the huge hitters to actually fight Gaia directly, and would be a fucking great fight finale that would unite both camps under one banner of the gods and OOOOH THIS is so smart my brain is shaking like a chihuahua

And then yeah! Series wrapped. Take that Rick, longer time frame, more drama, more battles, and doesn't clumsily fumble everyone's character

If you have read this far I am kissing your cheeks and hugging you thanks for having fun with me!!!!

[lobotoboy]

Disclaimer: Spoilers for Danganronpa V3

So, I was talking with my IRL friend @multifanforever, who is to blame if I am found dead for this take, and she said for me to come on here and let myself rant about my deep, irrational hatred for one Danganronpa character in particular. And I understand that many of you will disagree with me, and might leak my IP address somewhere. (read in Byakuya voice) Pwease be niceies, I'm just a little guy.

Anyways MAKI

I have an irrational hatred of Maki Harukawa, and I don't know why. I think it's because she gives off the vibes of an edgy tween's Gacha Life OC. Maki is the epitome of people who's roleplaying bio says "Dark Fairy/Emotionless/Don't Touch My Tail" or whatever.

Even down to the color scheme. Tell me that when you were twelve, you didn't have an OC or self-insert or whatever with her exact color scheme. And the Ultimate just exudes Shadow the Hedgehog wannabe. "Ultimate Assassin" give me a BREAK! I think with other characters similar to Maki in some ways, they just do it better.

"Maki's a great support character!" Nuh uh, Kyoko and Chiaki.

"Maki has awesome character development!" Byakuya and Fuyuhiko.

"Maki's a girlboss because she's good with weaponry!" Peko, Mukuro, hell, I'd even say Sonia for her boss ass bazooka move in Danganronpa 2.5, even though it technically wasn't real.

"Maki has a good arc about emotions and caring about others!" I can't sit here and list everyone else who does that, but better.

Even if you like Maki BECAUSE of her edgelord qualities, I raise you Celestia Ludenberg, and one of my absolute FAVORITE Danganronpa characters, Izuru Kamukura. Stylistically similar, and yet I'd pick Celeste and Izzy over Maki ANY DAY.

Her whole "Do you wanna die?" thing also gets on my nerves. Then she'll go "Sorry, it's a habit." Girly, no. Not a fan.

Speaking of Celestia, some of her sprites are so reminiscent of Celeste, it's crazy.

Look me in my eyes and tell me these two sprites don't give off the same vibes. And on the topic of Maki's sprites, her HAIR has a mind of it's own. And that's to be expected in Danganronpa, after all, I don't complain when a protagonist's ahoge decides to droop or bunch up in a separate sprite, or when Junko's hair magically smoothes out or gets in a ponytail.

BUT SHE'S TESTING MY PATIENCE

THE CLAWED NAILS TOO? MISS GIRL'S GOT DEMOGORGON FINGERS! SHE WANTS TO BE MIKAN SO BAD WITH THAT HAIR, BUT MIKAN IS AMAZING.

And you're Maki Harukawa.

The problem is, I tried to like her. Really did, because I like almost all Danganronpa characters, but she kept turning me off of her. Her backstory, at first I was like "Oh no, poor Maki. I feel bad for her." And then she'll turn around and go "Yeah, I can use pretty much all weapons, like poison and knives and guns and crossbows and-" I DONT CARE

Or she'll have a funny line here and there, and I'll giggle. "Maybe she's not so bad" and then she'll say something dumb like "Do you wanna die?"

Shuichi doesn't help matters either when he describes her as being "quick as lightning" or like "a streak of shadow" when she does anything. Or when she manages to pickpocket Kokichi with no pre-established penchance for it. Kokichi can pick locks, he says it, he uses it, it's relevant. Maki can pick pockets for one scene because the plot calls for it.

Even my girl Tenko was like "Oh don't show me your death glare, it's scawwyyyy" Like. Girl.

And I simply refuse to call her Maki Roll. That whole moment at the end of Chapter 5, before Kaito got to blast off, that moment wanted to be the end of Danganronpa 2, Chapter 2, so bad. But I much prefer Fuyupeko than Maki and Kaito, who's ship name I have no clue about.

Anyways, I'm going to get rushed, but my friend now owes me fifty dollars.

I love ranting about Danganronpa, ask me my opinions on a character and I'll toss em at ya.

[wordynerdygurl]

Someone to Watch Over Me

Part 3: “He’s the One Affair I Cannot Forget”

Author’s Note:  Oh my lovelies!  Truth time- I almost didn’t post this... I reworked it and reworked it and walked away from it before remembering that I had come too far to turn back now.  So, with my humble thanks to @sweetsweetjellybean​ and @sammy-jo1977​ you now have Part 3!

My taglist is open and reblogs are encouraged!!

It’s filled to the brim, so enjoy!

If you need to catch up:  Part 1 - Love is Blind & Part 2 - Seek & You Will Find are here! Pairing:  Eddie Munson x Plus Sized OC Amanda Patterson Summary:  It’s love at first sound, pitch perfect and fated, everything in harmony.  If only life were a love song. Eddie and Amanda make their union physical, back in 1987.  What does 1990 have in store? Warnings:  There is SMUT ahead (minors DNI), first time with a new partner, and mentions of birth control.  Self depricating thoughts are discussed, some fat phobic ideas are expressed and there’s a passing mention of canon quality Chrissy’s passing.  Also, smoking, drinking and swearing. Happy Reading!

1990

“Well, I think we’ve got everything we need.  Thank you guys for your time.”  Chuck grinned slickly, offering a tepid handshake to all the guys in the group, “The tech team will edit the package together and get it over to your manager for final approval, but yea, this should be on the air in a week or two.  Exciting, right?”

The manufactured for the masses interviewer was looking directly at Eddie as he asked, clearly in need of approval or something less like open disdain from the front man and lead guitarist,  “Uh, yea.  Like, super exciting.  So, thank you?”  Gareth sniggered at his back.  It was becoming way too obvious that Eddie couldn't keep the charade up much longer.  Not when his head was like this- lost in the past but forced to work in the present.  But then salvation arrived at his side.  Maggie, savior, protector, liberator, bumped his shoulder and interrupted with a grave whisper, “Mr. Munson, I’m afraid it’s time.” Vague enough to sound serious, Eddie nodded his head solemnly, “Oh, yea, right.  Well, thanks again Chuck, but, alas, duty calls.”

“No, thank you Eddie-” He didn’t answer the host, having already turned away, hip to hip with Maggie, heads bowed together like naughty kids.  Waiting until they were out of earshot, she sighed deeply, “Ya know, that could've gone better, Emmy.” Eddie snorted at the nickname, his brown eyes rolling, “That guy sucked, Mags.  Forget being a tool, Chuck was an entire tool box.  A goddamned Harbor Freight of bullshit.” Sighing deeply, the sturdy woman fell in step beside him, “So fucking what?  MTV’s gonna be running that shit for days, weeks even.  The least you could do is be, I don’t know, polite?” He barreled through a swinging door back first, Maggie dogging his steps, as he sassed, “I was polite, Magdelena.  I answered his questions.  What else do you want from me?” Eddie nodded at one of the road guys as they passed, the lull in this particular conversation more than welcome.  But of the many reasons he loved Maggie so much, this right here was the kicker; her determination.  That it was also the worst thing about being her friend was one of those unsolved mysteries of life since this dominant personality trait meant that their little moving conversation wasn’t over.  Not by a long shot. Turning down a narrow hall, they pushed into the green room together as she shrugged, “Maybe a little less attitude.  Maybe a little more gratitude.” “Are you a greeting card now, Mags?”  Eddie had flopped onto a sagging gray monstrosity of a couch, his legs kicked up over the arm, his back flat against the indeterminately stained cushion.    Maggie wasn’t looking in his direction.  Instead she was peeking around the corner, checking the exit and generally ensuring that no immediate risks to Eddie’s safety could be seen.  When she was satisfied that a crazy fan was not about to jump out of his closet, she planted her feet and crossed her arms, staring down at Eddie with an affectionate scowl, “No, but I do like my paycheck, so I need you to stay employed.” “Ha!  Honey, the lead singer of Corroded Coffin ain’t goin’ nowhere!” She pulled a plastic backed chair closer, eyeing him from the shadow of her ever present hat’s bill, “Well, that’s not entirely true, now is it?” His eyebrow raised again, curiosity clear on Eddie’s face, “You know something I don’t?” “Aren’t we going back to Indiana?  That Battle of the Bands thing after New Year’s?”  Settling back against the flimsy seat, her legs opened wide, Maggie ran her hands over her thighs, the rolled sleeve of her shirt showcasing her own inky designs.  The caged bird on her forearm always drew Eddie’s attention and even now he caught himself staring at the intricate ink instead of answering his friend and protector’s question.  “Fuck.  I had almost forgotten.” “Bullshit.”  Squinting at him, the same look she gave to overeager fans who lined up alongside the tour bus, the one that made them piss their pants in fright, the one he cherished, Maggie now used on Eddie to get at the truth. Feigning affront, he sat up on his elbows, hair long enough now to get caught underneath his shoulder and pulling, “Excuse me?” “Bullshit you forgot.  You’re going to judge the Battle of the Bands in your home state and you fucking forgot?  Nope.  No way.  And what’s with the song you brought up?  Someone to Watch Over Me?  A little, I don’t know, soft for you, ain’t it?” The blush of honesty scorched through him so fast, Eddie flopped back to the sofa with a soft whoosh sending a swirl of dust out of the ancient furniture.  How many sweaty asses have sat here, he wondered quickly.  A hundred?  More?  Gross. But then Mags cleared her throat, unimpressed by his delay tactics.  It chafed her charge and since Eddie was already feeling some kind of way, more defensive than he meant to be, he huffed, “Yea?  So?  It’s- it’s a great song.”  There were not a lot of secrets between Edward Munson and Magdelena Rios but Mandy?  Yea, that was definitely, absolutely a secret he kept close.  So, of course his bodyguard slash bulldog wouldn’t know about his affinity for Gershwin songs when they were sung into a perfect Indiana sunset.  And she wouldn’t know about the ache in his chest whenever he looked up at the sky and found the silent, silver full moon staring back down him.  Judging him.  Reminding him of regrets that ran deep- goblin green and moss covered, growing mushrooms in the dark.  Clever and always on alert, Maggie saw something cross his face because she nodded and then tipped her chair onto two legs, “Uh huh.  Right.”  “What are you trying to say, my darling Magdelena?”  Swinging his big black boots forward, Eddie pushed up so he was sitting almost normally.  He let his clasped hands hang between his knees as he lifted baleful brown eyes to Maggie’s steely ones. “I’m trying to say that you’re not using your head.”  Her chair clanged as she lowered it too fast making Eddie flinch, “I am saying, flat out, that you got so pissy with Chuck the Tool Box because you were a little too honest today, even if I don’t get why.  I guess-” she leaned forward now, encroaching on the rockstar’s space with a soul deep exhale, “-I’m saying I’m worried about you, my friend.” Twisting his lips into a devilish smirk, Eddie reached over and flicked at the brim of her hat, “Honey, sweetie, darling, Maggie… you got nothing to worry about.  I’m fine.”

They both knew he was lying.

It was during their condensed pre-show warm up that Eddie realized he was in trouble.  Naturally, his fingers felt along the frets of his acoustic Gibson, a melody in calloused pads playing without a lot of thought.  Behind him the other members of Corroded Coffin fooled around, checking levels and making weird noises into the mics, generally acting like the assholes he knew and loved.  Normally he’d be the one leading the rabble, causing trouble and wreaking havoc for the venue staff but there was a riff stuck in his brain.

“Earth to Eddie!  Helllooooo?  Anybody home?”

Without looking up, he rumbled, “Fuck off Jeff, I’m working here.” “Hear that fellas?  Eddie’s working while we’re just lazing around.” Yea, this was definitely a song, he could feel it vibrating in his bones.  Excited now, he flashed wide eyes at the boys in the band, “Pen!  Paper!” The dumb fuckers looked at each other with varying degrees of confusion on their faces.  Gareth, the bravest, ventured, “Uh, wh- what man?” “Something to write with- On!  I gotta get it outta me, Gare!” There was a manic energy filling the spaces between microphone stands and amplifiers that made Eddie itchy under the skin.  When the muse came she would not be denied and holy shit but she was coming hard right now.  He knew the grateful smile he flashed at the poor roadie responsible for dropping off a mechanical pencil and three white paper plates must have been terrifying to see, but giving birth was a messy process no matter what form the new life took. Pencil clamped between his teeth like one of his cherished cigarettes, Eddie moved his hands down the neck of the guitar and back up, picking a string or two along the way.  Using a cab for a table, he scribbled, paused to hum, then broadly grinned.  It was over in a matter of minutes. “Here.  New tune.”  Breathing harder than a marathon runner, he shoved the scalloped edged plates covered in gray looping letters at his friends and bandmates. Jumping off a riser, Gareth looked over his oldest friend’s work and nodded slowly, “Uh, ok, Eddie.  What do you want us to, uh, ya know, do with this?” “Play it?  I mean, we are a band, right?  And we make music, don’t we?” “It’s gibberish, man.” “Fuck you!  It’s good.  Great even.  I know it.” Waving Eddie closer, Gareth handed off the hastily scribed song to Jeff, before wrapping an arm around their front man, “Eddie.  My friend.  My musical partner in crime.  I ask with all due respect-” they had been walking towards the wings of the stage, Eddie following where he was led, “- But what the fuck is going on with you today?” Pulling back hard, Eddie’s hair swung at the force of his movement, “What’s wrong with me?  What’s wrong with you, man?  I come to you with a- a new tune and you- you call me out like this?” Revved up and idling, Eddie was a race car in the red.  Gareth recognized all the signs despite it being a long while since this particular engine had been torqued so high.  With hands raised in surrender, the curly blond conceded, “Hey, no one is calling you out man.  I’m telling you that it’s, I don’t know, weird?” “Weird?  What the hell, man.  Just say what you want to say and let me get back to the music for fuck’s sake.”  “Ok.  Ok.”  Eddie had to watch as his buddy rolled his shoulders back before taking a big breath in, “You were an asshole to the MTV guy, which, I get it man.  Guy’s a dick but this is a big deal, Eddie.  I know you know that, deep down, but you’re not acting like you do.”  Dropping his voice lower, Gareth added, “And you talked about- well, her.” The extra emphasis wasn’t needed.  All it did was needle under the thin skin that Eddie was sporting today, a suit that didn’t fit quite right, and he didn’t know why.  But here was friend number two mentioning erratic behavior and well, that sucked to hear. Deflating visibly, his security hair strand pulled over his face, Eddie countered weakly, “I didn’t say her name.” “You didn’t have to, pal" and having the decency to look embarrassed, he added, “You called your new hit ‘Watching the Moon’.” Huffing out a strained laugh, Eddie met his friend’s kind gaze with a grimace, “Not very subtle, huh?” “Naw, not really" was the half chuckled reply. Stretching his neck out, chin to the auditorium’s ceiling, an unhinged note in his voice, Eddie felt obligated to apologize, “I’m sorry, Gare.  Don’t know why but I’m spinning out a bit.” Really ribbing him now, Gareth bumped into his buddy’s side, “You don’t know why?  Gee, let’s see, you have huge rock show tonight, had an interview with MTV today, you’re writing music, touring, and being away from home, from Wayne, from people you lov-” the face Eddie flashed was all the warning he was going to give his oldest friend, and Gareth adjusted accordingly, “-care about sucks.  It’s- it’s a lot, man and you’re allowed to be overwhelmed.  But you’re not allowed to blow it all up because you’re missing your ex.” There it was.  Too honest to be denied, Eddie was caught.  Trapped like a bird in a cage and held hostage by the golden bars of memory. He had moved it past it, past her.  Truly!  There had been groupies in spandex skirts with hair teased higher than Mount Rushmore who took care of Eddie Munson with a reverence he did not deserve.  An actress with a chest so big it frightened him, really.  Plus a model who had the exact opposite problem- all skin and bones with no meat to feast on.  Not his flavor by any stretch of the imagination. So, Eddie had skimmed the oil slicked surface of available tail and was happy for the opportunity.  Appreciated every lovely lady and that one very handsome fella who made him feel worthy again.  Each new conquest a fresh layer of sediment, burying the idea of Amanda further and further down in the rock formation of his heart.

It worked.  Eddie had been every inch the wild child rock singer of his high school daydreams, until the Battle of the Bands was brought up.

The label had it all planned out- two shows in Indianapolis a Thursday night and then again on Saturday.  In between, Corroded Coffin's lead singer would help choose the 1991 Battle Champion, awarding a cash prize and the chance to open the second date's concert.  It was a huge opportunity for some local metal group, a chance Eddie would have loved to take advantage of only a few short years ago, and he was looking forward to it.  Except-

Hidden in the haystack of going back to Indiana was the needle named Amanda Patterson.  The odds of finding that needle at a Corroded Coffin show considering how things ended between them was minimal at best, but it wasn’t zero.  It was that one in a million chance which buzzed boldly between Eddie’s ears, making him think about moonlit nights and vanilla milkshakes and promises whispered under overworn sheets. The tune he’d quickly crafted came back to him now, ‘Watching the Moon’, and of course it was about her.  Them.  All the things he didn’t say and all the things she wouldn’t allow him to. It was absolutely a hit, even though it hadn't been played once and wasn’t recorded yet.  It was a hit because it came from that same well inside of Eddie where love and passion and music all swam together.  A tall tower still ruled by Mandy, despite years and tears and stand-in people.  

He was going to make this song a number one, getting it played on every single radio station from here to Toronto, knowing that if Gareth could see through the title that his Moon Goddess would too.  Maybe, then, his needle would find him.  Maybe going back to Indiana wasn’t the worst idea his management team had cobbled together.  Maybe it was all going to be ok.

Eddie Munson had a plan.  A campaign to make things right.  A strategy that was coming together almost as quickly as his song for Amanda.

Feeling lighter than he had all day, he clapped Gareth on the back and, yea, there might have been a bit too much force in his playful shove but he didn’t regret it.  Gare could take it, it was why they were so close.  So he spouted at his best friend, “You’re just jealous because I have an ex.  There’s no one missing you but the blow up doll you keep in your bunk.” “Jesus!  Shut up, Eddie!”

Craziness crowded into the overly expressive eyes of Eddie Munson as he darted back towards the other guys in the band, “Hey, did Gareth ever tell you about his Lady Latex?” —

1987

They made it to the front door, finally, after agreeing to a truce.  No more touching.  No teasing.  Not until they were inside someplace that wasn’t on four wheels. Now though, they were stopped in front of said door, nervous giggles bubbling free like champagne uncorked.  Cheeks hot from kissing too closely in the heated shelter of Eddie’s van before braving the nighttime’s frosty temperatures, their breaths mixed, making wispy clouds with every panted exhale.  Try as she might, Amanda couldn’t keep the excited tremble from her hands as she struggled to fit the key into her lock. It certainly didn’t help that the overly eager rocker couldn’t seem to keep his lips or his hands or even his hips to himself, “Truce schmuce” was all he said before enveloping her in his embrace.  And he was everywhere- each time the notches of her house key caught the lock, he would nibble on the fleshiest part of her earlobe making her shudder, deadbolt be damned.  

He was distracting in the best and most frustrating way.  Because really, all she wanted to do was get inside where she could return his touch.  Tease him back.  Taste him.  And go on to do all of the other tantalizing things they had been thinking about since their first blissful kiss over vanilla milkshakes. Another miss as the lock continued to do its job in spite of her efforts and she pouted, unable to keep the needy whine out of her voice, “Eddie!  Come on!”  “What?  What’d I do?”  Oh, he feigned innocence, but he knew.  Eddie knew that every sloppy press of his lips to her delicate neck, every roll of his pelvis, every graze of his fingers over her own was making Amanda feverish.  Flustered.  It was also keeping the pair of them on the wrong side of the door. Dropping her frigid hands with a frustrated growl after another failed attempt, Amanda stomped her foot before reaching up to try again.  Shifting away from the long legged leviathan behind her, prompting his dulcet demand, “Quit wiggling and open the door!” “I’m trying but-” “But what, huh?”  Wrapping over her back, the sharp bone of his chin hooked over her shoulder to watch her progress as Eddie’s red, raw fingers dragged strands of unruly hair behind her ear.  Breathing hotly against the golden hoop hanging there, he husked hoarsely, “Need some, ah, help, Mandy?” “Please?”  

Caving into the warmth behind her, Amanda nodded, her head rolling back against the denim vest over his torso, hair catching on his WASP pin causing her to moan pitifully.  That it gave Eddie the chance to litter her neck with wet, open mouthed kisses, his palms squishing against her jacket as he tried to touch more and more of her was just an added bonus.  Arms, creaking leather encased arms, reached around her, crowding her snuggly between the unopened door and his chest as the keys were plucked free from her grip, “Lemme try.”  With her mind and hands free, Amanda’s own fingers could wander and they did.  Quickly finding the dangling chain of Eddie’s wallet, she used the steel links to pull him tighter, earning a stuttered “Fuck.” from the guy at her back.  Now she got to listen as her house keys jangled noisily while he attempted to do what she could not.  Work them into the lock and open the fucking door. “I thought you were- uh, I thought you were supposed to be helping, Ed.”  God, but she sounded wrecked already, her round bottom rubbing him through layers of distancing denim, the hard and firm evidence of the effect she was having making itself known.

And maybe it wasn’t fair of her to grind the curve of her ass into the sharp angles of Eddie’s hip bones while he fumbled to open her front door.  Maybe.  But when Amanda felt the firm length of him straining and stuck in his jeans she didn’t feel bad.  Not even a little bit because that was proof.  Evidence of just how much Eddie wanted her. It made her bold.  Kissing the underside of his stubbled jaw as her keychain jingled in his giant hands, her lips smacked rudely over the sensitive skin at his throat forcing a croak out of him, “Trying, honey, but you’re kinda, Jesus-” She sucked harshly at the divot below his chapped ear, “-you’re, uh, distracting- there it is!”  Triumphantly turning the knob, Eddie shuffled in short steps behind Amanda, tucking her close as they crossed the threshold.  

With a satisfying snap, the door was shut behind them to keep the world out.  But who could worry about something like an open door when there was kissing to be done?  The heated sort of kisses which didn’t stop when Amanda ripped down the zipper of her jacket, shrugging her arms free before flinging it away into the abyss of the living room.  Kisses that went melty in the middle, stretching and stretching but never breaking even when she forced her way under the shoulders of his leather, pushing it to the floor with a satisfying thump. Her hands wasted no time.  Palms flat over the planes of his chest, she marveled for a moment at the solid strength hidden in Eddie’s trim physique.  The muscles that lugging amplifiers and tossing truck tires created, buried beneath bravado and cotton and tattoos, only seen in glimpses now tense and tight and touchable. Fisting into the soft t-shirt he wore, a secretive smile spreading across her face, “Hi.” “Hi yourself, Miss Mandy.”  Eddie’s paws spanned her ample waist, forcing her closer, his fingers tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm on the small of her back.  With his curls brushing over her scalding cheeks, she licked her lips in anticipation, ready for the next press of his mouth to her own.  And following the flick of her tongue, a hungry, haunted look on his face, he gritted out, “Where- shit, where’s your bedroom, Mandy?” Wordlessly she linked their hands together.  A shiver that started in the sacred space below her navel raced through her blood, her body.  Had it ever been like this before?  As if her physical self was running a race that her heart and mind would follow to the finish? No.  Never.  Not once. Tugging against a hand heavy with silver rings, insistent and eager, she led the way and he followed.  It wasn’t far.  A few short steps down a shaggy carpeted hallway then through a door, partially opened already.  

The room, Amanda’s room, was made of comfort- a brown corduroy bean bag sagged next to a record player being held up by two plastic milk crates crammed full of way too many records.  A double tape deck had carved out its place on her desk, a stack of cassette cases leaning precariously, a few already having tumbled to the floor nearby.  Her tawny acoustic guitar leaned against the wall, sheet music and notebook paper scattered around as if it had all been abandoned mid-session, frozen in time but waiting for her return.  Pegged to her cork board was a calendar marking out her work days, school schedule and band rehearsals.  Textbooks for her classes were stuffed into an unzipped backpack, and while the main floor was clear, it was scattered with little things like pencils and hair ties and stuffed mice and take-out forks.

He spied a knitted afghan in garish colors folded lovingly over a quilted brocade comforter and a stack of pillows, each with their own unstained case, piled against the rattan headboard.  Her closet door was hastily shut but the tell-tale bulge of a lot of clothes crammed into not enough space was obvious.  Photos and posters decorated the walls.  It surprised him to see so many band names that he recognized mixed with 70s folk artists and new wave performers. Eclectic.  Varied.  The space was mis-matched but all the better for it.  Personality, Amanda’s personality, wafted from every corner. This was her little nest, snuggled safely between these four walls, burrowed in like a happy mouse.  Surrounded with all the comforts a soft, cozy creature could ever need: books and music and light and sweet things.  Fuck, Eddie loved it. Probably, deep down in the dusky depths of his grimy gargoyle brain, he figured he shouldn’t.  Shouldn’t love the sheer ruffled curtains parted down the middle so that starlight was visible over the neighboring houses, soft and serene.  Definitely shouldn’t stoke the soft fabric with tentative fingers, rubbing the pristine veil between inside and out with thoughtful touches, careful not to stain it.  It was all too nice, everything around him.  Too pretty.  Too put together for a guy who ate cereal over the sink and considered ketchup a vegetable. “This is a real nice place.”  God, he sounded so stupid.  But, like, it really was a nice place. Comfortable and clean.  And quiet.  No noisy neighbors shouting out their frustrations into the cold night air or barking dogs or backfiring cars with tires bouncing over pebbled dirt roads. “Uh, thanks but you haven’t even seen it with the lights on.”  With a click, Amanda turned on the small bedside lamp that filled her space with a golden glow all at once.  She wasn’t surprised to find that Eddie had strayed to her make-shift music station, his eyes lighting up at the variety of singers and bands and artists with what she hoped was appreciation.  Taking a tentative step in his direction, talking with her hands, she edged nearer to the record player.  Keeping her voice small, as though she was afraid of ruining the simple silence between them, “Is it cool if I put something on?” “Yea, yes.  Of course.  It’s your room, right?” “Well, yea, I guess it is.  Uh, just-” and she moved to duck in front of him, already knowing which album to spin.  But he was almost definitely purposefully standing exactly where she needed to get.  “-Maybe you could, uh, let me in here?” Devilish now, an impish grin made his dimples pop, “Oh, am I in the way, Mandy?  Sorry ‘bout that.”  Only he didn’t sound very sorry at all.  And as she shifted nearer, he held his ground, settling his weight in his heels, his arms crossed over his narrow chest.  If she wanted to put on a record, she was going to have to squeeze next to him to do it and boy, did that idea light him up. Eddie was absolutely pushing his luck.  He knew it, but couldn’t help himself.  Blocking her path, planting his feet, he took up as much room as possible.  Call him curious, but he wanted to see what she would do.  Push him aside?  Press those luscious curves in tight?  Go back to kissing him so hard he felt like he was coming unglued?  God he fucking hoped so. Watching her closely, he saw that tattle-tale tilt of her head, the eyes he couldn’t forget reflecting his own mischief making energy as Amanda dropped to her knees.  Her tongue darted out from between her pillowy lips, spreading sweet saliva, shiny and slick in its wake.  Rounding now, he was locked in on the circle of her pout, his body kicking up a gear at the sinful suggestion of what was sitting so prettily in front of him.  Amanda, she knew what she was doing.  When she peered up at him from the floor, raking her gaze over his towering figure through the veil of her lashes, she had a good idea that he was going to take the bait.  So she reached out, not for the trim waist at eye level or for the hands fisted against denim wrapped thighs, but for her worn copy of Led Zeppelin IV sticking out from the bottom bin.

On an exhale through clenched teeth, a curse caught in his bone dry throat, “Sweet Jesus-” “Here.”  Shocked into silence, she handed over the faded cardboard, nodding towards the record player, “Side two, if you don’t mind.”

It was enough to knock him over.  How Amanda looked so innocent while making demands on her knees in front of him, resting back on her heels demurely, was a seismic shock to his system.  It made Eddie’s head go fuzzy, ears full of feedback like when his guitar was too close to his amp with the knobs turned all the way up.  He felt as though he was turned all the way up, cranked as high as possible, crackling explosively, dangerously near the limits of his control. Tacky sweat made his t-shirt cling in the warmth of Amanda’s room.  And if her magnetic eyes weren’t boring into him, waiting him out, then he probably would have shucked the offending layer without question.  As it was, she was too damn cute and too damn close for him to do much beyond blink away this latest round of pulsing need, which was the real problem here.  Somehow he obliged when she raised a hand, asking oh so politely, “Do you mind?” before he gently helped her up to her feet. Puffing out his held breath with a wry chuckle, he smoothly slipped her chosen record onto the turntable and lowered the needle’s arm.  Raising a cocky eyebrow when “Misty Mountain Hop” began to tumble from the speakers at a reasonably low volume, his swagger returned, “Ya know-” he paused to clear his throat, his voice already sounding too blown out, too rough, even to his own ears, “-I’ve seen Fast Times like twenty times.  Harrington loves that movie, so I, uh, know what you’re up to.” “Really?”  Her sweet voice was angel light from over his shoulder, as she spied on him slowly dropping the clear plastic lid on her stereo, “And what is that, Mr. Munson?  What, exactly, am I up to?” “I think you’re trying to get into my pants, Miss Patterson.”

Shrugging, she denied him an answer, her eye contact direct and unwavering.  Color, dusty pink and warm, spread over Eddie’s sharp cheekbones and under the smattering of freckles across his nose.  He made a choked sound, as though something had stolen his breath at the last second, when she finally replied, “And?  So, uh, so what if I am?” She sounded so much braver than she actually felt.  Flirting was the easy part.  The words between them holding added weight, spoken as they were, in the protective yellow glow of her table lamp, a comforting heaviness that was familiar and made the teasing effortless.  Easy.  

Just another stop on the tour.  Because there was a map for this journey and she knew where they were headed.  The terrain was well traveled.  She wasn’t naive.  The road forward was as clearly marked as Main Street, Hawkins, USA.  

And tonight Eddie was going to learn all about the sloping curves and high density areas that she wouldn’t be able to hide behind well draped skirts or shapeless sweaters.  She silently hoped that this pretty man with his broad smile and cocoa colored eyes still wanted to take the drive because Amanda wasn’t sure she could turn back now, even if she might wish for it later.  

Together they had started this engine, all he had to do now was push down on the pedal and off they’d go.  When they ran out of gas, if they sputtered out on the side of the road, and all she gained was the last two wonderful weeks and one night of lusty loving, the emotional equivalent of a “I humped Eddie Munson and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” souvenir, well, then she would learn to live with that.  

Was it ideal?  No.  But then, things seldom were.   And even though those three magic words had been said, had been kissed into her lips so many times since making their mutual confessions in the underused alcove at Steve’s house, it was still freaking her out.  Because hadn’t this all happened before?  Hadn’t she given so much of herself, of her heart, time and again, thinking that her feelings were returned- that this time it would be different, only to wind up disappointed? Tonight though, that kind of thinking had to be pushed aside.  There was no more room to be bashful.  To worry about what came next.  Not when the guy in question was trembling from the task of keeping himself civil, the tense set of his jaw giving him away as he kept a respectful distance.  Even still, the base maleness of him thrummed, vibrating the way guitar strings do when a chord is struck, the energy shimmering into sound. And Amanda had a great ear for that sort of music, too. At her taunting words Eddie’s mouth pulled to the right, a half smile making itself known as he crossed his arms over chest, “Hey, I’m not complaining, Mandy.” “Oh?  Good.  Yea, that’s good.”  And she danced away from him, hips swaying in time with the driving beat.  She stopped, popping the button on her dungarees with intention before shimmying them down her thick thighs, delighted by the pinch of Eddie’s teeth as he bit into his bottom lip.  He was going to draw blood.  The sweater she wore barely covered the swell of her hips but if he squinted, he was certain he could see the elastic of her panties.  White?  No, heather gray and spun out cotton.  Simple, straightforward and charming as hell.

Swallowing over the hard knot of want that pushed against his Adam’s Apple, barely managing to keep his grunting in check, “Damn, Mandy.” “Hmm?”  When she kicked her pants to the side he had to look away - at the ceiling, her wall, the mossy colored floor or risk cumming in his blue jeans. He slammed his eyes shut at the image in front of him.  It didn’t help.  Imprinted on the insides of his eyelids he could still see her.  Bare legged, her supple skin nearly glowing, practically begging for his touch.  Too sweet.  Too fucking precious.  Shit.  Fuck.  He wasn’t going to survive.  So close to short circuiting, Eddie dragged a hand across the back of his neck, going so far as to squeeze the skin there, just to bring himself off the edge because, holy shit, there was no way that she knew what she was doing to him. The song shifted and Amanda sat herself down on the edge of her bed before leaning back on her hands.  This new position thrust her chest forward, those smooth legs barely parted but making his gargoyle mind wander just the same.  It wanted… to bite, to suck, to mark and mar.  His goblin wanted to claim the fair maiden then lock her in the tallest tower, far away from anything or anyone harmful, except him, of course.  His first step was cautious, feeling his way forward with only Amanda’s signals to light his path.  The pull between them was undeniably strong, had been from the beginning, but he didn’t want to screw anything up now by being overeager.  And he sure as fuck didn’t want to scare his girl away by coming on too strong or making a wrong move.  Not when Robert Plant was singing and the room smelled like Avon lotion and lavender flowers and fabric softener, the expensive kind.  Not when his pulse ticked wildly, darkening his eyes and steeling his resolve.  Not when he could see a similar something simmering in Amanda’s expressive eyes. “You- you’re fucking gorgeous, Amanda.” “Eddie-” She let her head fall back, the tight tendons of her neck stretching, her rushed breathing making her chest rise and fall rapidly, the sound of argument loaded and ready. But he cut her off, moving a leg between both of hers, palms hovering over the width of her dimpled thighs, “-I wanna touch you.  Wanna, wanna feel you.  Can I?” “Can I?”  she parrotted sweetly, upending his advancement, deflecting a little.  And he must have nodded because then she was leaning towards him, gentle hands smoothing over his quads, her stare trained on his rapidly reddening face.  Roving, she touched him lightly, delicately, over the clothes he was still wearing.  Butterfly wings brushing over a flower's petals, never lingering before spreading goosebumps somewhere else, testing the waters of his tenacity.  When her clever fingers found his handcuff belt buckle, he stopped her, gathering her hands in his own, “It, uh, it catches.  Hang on.” He put a fraction of space between them, moving faster than she would have thought possible to catch up to her state of undress.  He toed out of his sneakers, shunting them out of the way as he huffed out a laugh, wrestling with his belt, “Fucking thing, I don’t know why I even-” “I like it.” Popping his head up, Eddie caught sight of Amanda’s playful smirk, “You do, huh?” Raising her chin so that she could spy on him through the fringe of her lashes, she nodded with a chuckle, voice sounding like spun sugar, “Yea, of course I do.  Goes with your whole bad boy image, ya know?” His fingers paused, the curtain of curls swinging while he asked, “Is that why you’re with me?  Because I’m a bad boy?” “Nope.”  She answered plainly, her focus never shifting, even though her hips did, thighs stopped from providing relieving friction by his knee, “I’m with you because of how you look at me, Eddie.  Me.  Like I’m something- someone worth looking at.” Pants forgotten, he traced a finger over the sweep of her cheek, “I love looking at you, you know that right?  It’s like you’re the fucking moon, Mandy.  Bright and, and beautiful and when you shine your light on me-” shaking his hair off his back, tone too earnest, voice too honest, “-it makes me forget about my darkness.” At the admission Eddie’s eyes drifted shut, his chin tipped skyward as he struggled to compose himself.  There was uncertainty shadowing his words, in the shape his lips made while speaking, entirely unsure if his mouth should be trusted to relay all of the things his heart felt to be true.  Because when he actually thought about it, three weeks ago he hadn’t known that there was a person named Amanda Patterson who even existed in this world.  Now?  Well, now she kind of was his world. And his world was reaching forward with tender, impatient hands, sliding his broken down leather belt free from the beloved buckle easily.  Nimble fingers making quick work of the rivet fastening his pants closed but she stalled there, blinking up at him with confusion clear in her eyes, “Did you call me the moon?” A wide thumb hooked under her chin, lifting those thoughtful peepers to his own, “Yea, Mandy.  The moon.  Like when it’s full and round and close and you can’t believe that it’s real, looking down on you all lit up and so-” her touch was so so so close to his throbbing hardness he grunted, “-fucking hell.  So ca-captivating.  Can’t take my eyes off you.” It happened again.  That thing where the world narrowed anytime she was with him, a hyper-focused momentary shift of time and place that made Amanda’s heart flutter wildly, blood roaring in her ears.  A second when everything else around her faded into the background leaving no one else but her and Eddie.  Together.  Alone. So she didn’t laugh at his poetic confession or joke about his Shakespearean ideals.  Instead, her pretty lips parted, mewling musically as his tongue licked into the honeyed cavern of her mouth.  Sharing each inhale and exhale, pressing his advantage and Amanda higher up the bedspread until she was flat against the mattress, caged between strong tattooed forearms. Breathing heavily, sitting back with a sigh, he traced a hand over the fuzz of her sweater, “Can you- can I take this off you?” Something about being compared to the moon freed her from whatever worries she carried about herself, her body, to fade into the ether.  When he asked to see her- all of her, her answer was a demanding, “God yes.” Eddie’s mouth fell hungrily to the newly exposed skin on her collarbone, hot and wet and needy.  A tiny whimper tumbled out of her panting mouth when he slurped over the slope of her bra covered breasts, his hands politely cupping the cotton covered flesh.  Desperately, her own hands clawed at his head, keeping his pursed lips tight to her body as he devoted himself to devouring her in bite-sized pieces. “Shit, h-hold on f’me.”  Stuttering, sitting up on his knees, Eddie took a second to rip his own shirt off, tossing it behind him without a second look.  His jeans were open, belt dangling loosely from the loops, the elastic waistband of his boxers low enough to display the cut of his hip bones.  There were silvery scars in concentric circles that didn’t look as purposeful as the tattoos she’d been dying to see, and before she could be told not to, she was tracing over the slightly raised skin with her index finger. Eddie let her touch.  Explore.  The graze of her hands was intentional, not teasing and not pitying either.  He would know because he’d been on the receiving end of both before.  More than that, he appreciated that she asked no questions about what had created the mottled pattern on his abdominals, just accepted that they existed and were part of him. If he wasn’t already in love with her, that alone would have surely cemented his fate.  Surging in his system like the first inhale of that kind bud Rick got from Canada, he relaxed into the feeling, letting it blossom while sampling the sensitive stretch of her neck, the ball of her shoulder, the space between her breasts.  A starving man facing a Golden Corral buffet table wouldn’t have sounded happier than he did at that moment. “God, look at you, Mandy.”  He hummed as he worked his way over her ribs,  “Moon goddess.  My moon goddess.”  Writhing beneath him, she folded towards him at the praise, little huffing sounds pushing over her lips, “You look so good right now.  So sweet.  So goddamn sweet for me.”  The words were honey hot, warm and sticky, and they chafed like his denim covered legs. rubbing deliciously against her naked ones.  The friction too much and not nearly enough for the pleasure taking root in the warm, moist soil of her center.  Even touch drunk on Eddie she bucked at the sentiment, practically pouting, “Hmm, I’m not-” she scrunched her eyes shut, tossing her head weakly against the blanket, “-I’m not that sweet.” Dropping down to his forearms, his nose nuzzled into hers as he chided tartly, “Maybe I should taste you again then and make sure?  Gonna let me?  Let me taste you and touch you and make you feel good?”   Nodding from beneath him, keen eyes locked on his, “Hmm- Yes, yes, uh huh.  I want that.  So bad.  Want you so bad.”  Shutting her eyes at the sensation, his calloused fingertips slid up the satin of her outer thighs, leaving shivery bumps in his wake .  He dug his fingertips into the pillowy softness there, loving the feel of her flesh under his touch, “I’m gonna give you everything you want, Mandy, don’t worry.  Gonna make you mine.  Keep you in bed until the sun don’t shine.” A sound then, half groan half giggle, floated between them, Amanda sighing through a playful smile, “Eddie Munson’s a- a poet.  Who knew?” “Credit where credit’s due, babe.  I’m a songwriter.  A lyricist, ya know?  Whoa!”  His answer was smug but faded fast when she yanked down on his jeans before brushing the pads of her fingers over the newly exposed tattoo on Eddie’s right hip.  

It was beautiful; a snake in black and gray, coiled around itself, the wide fanged mouth biting into the tail in an unending loop.  This piece was big.  Artistic and finely detailed.  Her open palm barely covered half of it when she reverently pressed against the permanent artwork.  “And, uh you just bring it out in me- Jesus Christ!  Your hands are freezing!” “Are they?”  with a tone turned thick with teasing, she widened her smirk before those frigid digits were skating over his pecs and poking into his ribs.  Like a startled grasshopper, he jumped back far enough to catch her tickling fingers, the grip on her wrists keeping her from reaching his more sensitive areas despite her wiggling attempts to get free. Leaning in closer, loopy laughing aside, he tsked, “Oh, bad move, Mandy!”  “Ah!  No, Eddie, please!  I’m really ticklish- Ah!”  She started to scoot away, further up the bed, side to side, trying to shimmy out of his hold, laughing the whole time.  Loudly.  Happy to be caught.  Using his teeth, feral and frolicking, Eddie bit into the roundness of Amanda’s shoulder, the small sharp pain widening her eyes, “Did you just bite me?” Flashing her his lady-killing grin, he clicked his tongue, “Told you I had to know how sweet you were, Mandy.  And-” settling his hips between her parted thighs, “-I gotta say, you’re pretty damn tasty.” An answering hum of appreciation met her ears as Eddie continued lower.  Without question or qualm, he nuzzled and nipped at her abundant flesh, his happy hands squeezing indulgently whenever she sighed out encouragement.  And all Amanda could manage was a continuous begging cry of “Please, please Eddie, don’t, don’t stop, ok?”  

Why would he?  There was some addictive element, a chemical, an additive that laid across every inch of her body and he craved it.  Couldn’t get enough.  Landing somewhere between cinnamon sugar coating and honeyed dust, the flavor of her skin was exactly the thing he had been ravenous for his whole life long.  There was no way in hell he’d stop searching it out, not when he found the source, “Not a chance, Mandy.” She felt his grip on the flimsy fabric of her panties, tense and twitchy.  Hands slipped under the legband, cupping the expanse of her bottom in two palms before digging into the meat of her ass as Eddie’s nose pressed against the soaking gusset.  His moan was the kind that shook mountains to their foundation.  It created tidal waves that ravaged cities.  For Amanda it twisted the knot of her need tight enough to snap, her thighs wanting desperately to slide shut, but falling further apart shamelessly, instead. There was no trepidation to the touches now.  With a rough pull the cheap drug store underwear disintegrated, the scraps unneeded and unwanted any longer.  Amanda didn’t have time to bother about it because Eddie’s hard working hands were parting her legs, holding her open and on display with the weight of his body. Chest heaving, he called to her, “Hey, look at me, baby.  At me, Mandy.” “Yea?”  She was a mess of lavender and lilac stains, streaked with spit and red wine colored bruises.  But she was smiling, half-cocked, when her stare met his blown out pupils. “If you want me to uh, to stop, you gotta say it now.” Amanda did not.  What she did was whine, low in her throat, as her cleft clenched around nothing, “Don’t stop.” “Just remember that I love you, yea?” Licking over her dry lips, rolling her hips under his strong hold, she nodded, “Love you too.  Only you-”

The rest of her sentence remained unsaid as Eddie’s tongue licked right over her juicy center, circling the swollen firmness of her clit with expert precision.  He wrapped his arms around her legs from beneath, keeping her parted for his pleasure as he lapped at the drooling opening between her lower lips.  He wasn’t gentle as he moved Amanda’s thicker body closer, jerking her down and onto his waiting tongue over and over and over again.    It was maddening to be pummeled by the slick wetness of his textured tongue, only deep enough to create more wanting, before he would flick the tip higher, aiming for the bull’s eye of her clitoris.  Sloppy from excitement he swapped light licks for sucking.  Drawing her pulsing pearl between his slick lips, eyes closed, enjoying the softer than silk sensation of her sweaty self, bow tight and at his mercy. He didn’t let up.  Couldn’t.  And when he felt the shaking in her muscles, Eddie took it as the invitation is it was, gliding two fingers into the pulsing tunnel of Amanda’s willing body.

She contracted around the invasion, her hands seeking a hold and finding it in the flowing strands of his mane.  Wrenching him snuggly between her parted knees, she was dangerously close to losing control.  Could already feel the tell-tale concentration of her energy drawing inward.  The wetness that sluiced down the crack of her ass, the hummingbird fluttering of the muscles in her pelvis, the sticky press of Eddie’s cheek to her inner thigh.  All of it webbing together, a thread winding tighter and tighter and tighter. And the rough texture of his fingers grazed her front wall exactly the right way.  And he hummed out a laugh which puffed over her swollen lips exactly the right way.  And the strings of her satisfaction snapped under the burden of his ceaseless passion. She must have made noise.  Had to have, since her mouth moved at least.  Falling open as the first flush of her orgasm gave way to a rolling tide of pleasure that broke through her in waves but she didn’t hear anything beyond the crashing pounding of her pulse.  Fists full of Eddie’s hair fell away as all of Amanda’s bones turned to jelly, her tendons to jam, while she melted into the bed beneath. Pulling away from her, panting hotly into her dampness, through slick shiny cheeks he grinned cockily, “Sweeter than candy, Mandy.  I knew you would be, fuck, and you-” he stopped talking to watch the way she accepted his intruding digits as deep as possible, bucking into the touch he offered wantonly despite just cumming, “-you just want more, don’t ya?” “Hmm, yea.  Want wha-whatever you’ll give me.”  Leaning up on her elbows she caught him licking her spend from his fingers before dipping right back into her, a devilish glint in his eyes. “Whatever I’ll give you, huh?”  Eddie curled his fingers inside of her quivering core, stretching apart, taking up space, as his smoky voice purred, “You asked for it.” There was a flurry of sudden movement; he stood up fast, wiggling his hips until the heavy denim of his jeans hit the floor with a satisfying thump.  His boxers dropped free in a flash.  The bed dipped under his weight and before she could react, Eddie clasped a firm hand around each ankle and forced her knees back, nearly bending her in half. For him, the view was spectacular.  The cro-magnon part of his brain flipped on, wanting only to take.  Conquer.  Consume. Who could blame him when he had his dream woman, his Moon Goddess, his Mandy, slick and spread out for him to feast on?  The now painful stiffness of his hard on trembled at the sight.  A patch of dark curls matted with pre-cum dotted his navel as the prolonged anticipation became too much to bear.  Gripping himself, squeezing really, Eddie stroked over his cock, trembling as he asked, “Do you have a- a rubber?” Tossing her head, hair in tangles around her face, Amanda reached for him, “I’m on the pill.” For a second the heat abated and Eddie met her eyes, “Yea?  That’s great fucking news.” “Have to be- Oh my GOD!”  Rubbing the head of his dick between her folds, he slapped it into her overstimulated clit, cackling at her startled reaction, “Aw sweetheart, you don’t have to call me God.  I’ll always answer to Ed-” But he bit off his sentence when he felt her hand glide over his shaft.  If he was going to tease, so was she, “Fine, Ed- don’t keep me waiting, alright?” “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.  Wouldn’t dream of it.”  Amanda’s back arched violently as her tender flesh parted around the thickness of Eddie’s erection.  He notched into her slowly, rasping through held breaths, “You- you doing ok, Mandy?” Nodding was the only response she could give considering the ripples of pleasure already bubbling through her, but he pinched at the fat of her hip, “Need you to say it, Amanda.  Tell me.  Yea?” 

And the last note was pleading, tender, which brought her back into herself long enough to whimper, “I’m doing ok, Eddie.  Are- are you?”

He was struggling to be a gentleman, that was certainly true, and his gargoyle brain wanted to run amok but, “Yea, I’m fucking fantastic.” Laying her head back, exposing her neck, she managed to smile before sighing, “Good.  That’s so good.” He groaned then, deep and rumbling, before rocking his hips forward.  Seating himself down to the root, Amanda took everything he had inside her quaking core and damn, it was exquisite.  To be surrounded by the yielding silver softness of her body, cool and clean, when his own was made of hard angles and rigid lines made Eddie want to howl.  Wasn’t that what a wolf would do under the light of the full moon?    And what of the moon?  Did she reply to the lovesick creature, crying to the heavens?  

Digging her heels into the beloved bed clothes for more traction, driving herself along his length so that he could know just how incredible it felt to be joined with him in this way, Amanda met him thrust for thrust.  Ratcheting her own hips eagerly, moaning brokenly through every inhale, “More.  I can take it.  Please?  Please.”

Her wolfman didn’t need to be asked twice.  A hand palmed her thick ass, grinding her bones against his without withdrawing, seeking the untouched places deep inside with wet and warm and wild abandon.  Dropping over her, he used his tongue to find her nipple, sucking harshly as if there was a way to taste her heart, her veins, her muscle and fascia.  Lewdly.  Rudely.  

And she didn’t hold back.  Her nails, sharper and painted a rosy color, scratched along his forearms, his shoulders, his back.  Anywhere that could be reached, touched, marked as ruined by her hands as she struggled to hold fast through the pummeling, punishing pushes. Bejeweled rings snagged her hair as his hand curled around the nape of her neck, dragging his mouth to hers.  Their tongues mimicked the movement of their lower halves; pushing, pulling, tangling together.  And when the kiss became too much, the threatening rasp of teeth nipped at the bulge of his Adam’s Apple, his exposed throat too great a temptation to ignore.

For her effort, his moon was serenaded by a ceaseless chant of words such as “want” and “love” and “forever”.  That his every uttered syllable was met with the sounds of her surrender; of her body, her mind, her soul, was not lost in translation.  Eddie recognized what each utterance meant, a natural interpreter of the noises she emitted, and thought that a recording of her sexy sounds had the potential to climb the charts.  Top 100 for sure- if he was even remotely willing to let anyone else hear the concert of their lovemaking.  He wasn’t though.  Not just because of the intimate nature of this particular show but because he was a selfish, selfish man.  No one else should be allowed to hear the symphony that was their ode to an evening.     She was beaming, could feel the radiant heat off of her own skin in the swell of her cheeks and burning through in patches where a bite mark or bruise might show in tomorrow’s light.  Biting into her lip with a hum, she grinned, giddy and glowing under all the tender affection of being loved so well by Eddie.  He was thorough, kissing and clinging in random places at random moments and her sex drunk brain couldn’t be bothered to keep up.   Already pliant, no longer entirely in control of her movements, when the muscles of her right thigh let go, she didn’t fight it.  Catching on the jutting crest of his hip like it belonged there, curled naturally around his waist, it trapped him tightly to her.  The change in position was ruinous.  Overwrought and overworked, she was going to cum again, and harder than the first time.  When she spoke the words, punctuated by his quickening thrusts, his smile grew wolfishly wide.  Gleeful at her stuttered announcement, praising her, “You feel so good, M-Mandy.  S’ perfect.”

Amanda’s eyes rolled back in her skull, the powerful release pulling her under as her muscles stiffened, fighting against the rising tide before dropping into the pocket, waves of pleasure lapping against each other.  Gasping, his name the only sound filling the still of the night, an incantation recited over and over again until her lungs burned from want of oxygen.  Her’s wasn’t the scream of a porno actress from a secretly rented video, over dramatic and purposefully false.  And maybe that’s why it hit Eddie right in the darkest depth of his heart.  She wasn’t acting out her ecstasy.  She couldn’t be faking the erratic pulsing rhythm of her orgasm as it spurred on his own. Slippery.  Constricting.  Lake bottom deep, he sunk himself further into her silk and let go with a moan, “Amanda-” Her arms wrapped around him.  Legs too.  And as he shuddered, a ragged breath blowing the sweat stuck strands of hair off his forehead, he felt the smallest nudge along his jaw.  Tiny presses of her mouth, little mini kisses to his bicep, over his collar bone, and down the proud slope of his nose. “Hey you.” Giggling at the gangly guy situated between her knees, she bit her bottom lip, tilting her head in her signature sassy way, “Hey yourself.” Wiggling his hips slowly, still incredibly hard, he flashed Amanda a sheepish grin, “I’m almost afraid to, ya know, pull out.  I think I- I made a mess.” Now she was outright laughing, “Oh really?  You think so, huh?” “Shit, you have to stop that!”  His jaw was clenched tight despite the lighthearted way he spoke.  Every nerve ending was raw, receiving too much stimuli, but he wasn’t ready for it to end.  Didn’t really want to separate and go back to being two people, two bodies, two hearts.

Innocently asked, Amanda’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion, “What?” “Laughing!  You’re still- ah!  You’re still squeezing me!” But that only made her laugh harder, “I’m so sorry!  But, you’re pretty fucking funny after sex!” “Is that so, little missy?”  And that’s when Eddie leaned up, making to kiss her, but licking a thick stripe up her cheek at the last second that made her squirm and squeal in mock disgust.  Easing himself free, a trickle of wetness following, Eddie pressed his forehead to hers, “If I’m pretty fucking funny then you’re just fucking pretty.” If it hadn’t struck her before, it hit her with the force of a baseball bat now; her lover was beautiful.  Even with limited light illuminating his sweaty skin, he was glowing and her heart thumped at the image before her.  Eddie, her Eddie, with his bangs sticking to his forehead, tacky with sweat from the exertion of fucking her so hard, happy and melty at the edges like a really good grilled cheese sandwich. “I love you.” Laying his head on her chest, sighing like a young girl with a crush, he answered, “I love you.” He didn’t say “I love you, too.”  There was no “too” about it.  He knew how he felt, in his heart, in his body, in his mind.  And even with the cloudiness of a great orgasm hazing his thoughts, Eddie felt the truth in it. Groaning in protest, she made to move to get up, to leave the bed, but he stopped her, “Tell me where I can get a towel, alright?” “I can get up, Eddie.”

He shook his head sending his sweat soaked waves into the air, “Yea, you can, but I don’t want you to, ok?  So, bathroom?  Where can I find it?” She extended her hand lazily, pointing, “First door on the right.  It has a toilet and a tub, so you know, can’t miss it.” Pushing up on his hands and knees, Eddie thudded to the floor on heavy feet.  Turning to bow, naked as the day he was born, using a put on cockney accent, “Yes m’lady!  Right away!  Your faithful servant won’t let you down!” Her sparkling laugh chased him down the hallway.

Not much later, when water had been shared from a jelly glass with Tom & Jerry running around the rim and the damp, once warm towel used for cleaning up had been chucked into the hamper, Eddie thumped his head back against the headboard.  His body lax as he drew Amanda closer, “I gotta say, Mandy.  Thought you said you were new to all this, had me thinking I was going to need to show you how it’s done, but you just, ya know, rocked my world.”  His kiss was affectionate, playful even, without the fevered heat of desire burning it to ash.  Shifting up to her elbow, head in her hand, eyes heavy but watchful, “I’m not a virgin.  I’ve, ya know, had sex before.” That was news to him.  Not that he would stake his life on it, but there had been a conversation about experience over patty melts and paper napkins.  About newness.  About being without skill or practice.  “But-” Flopping forward, her head laid on his sweat cooled chest, cheek squished against his zombie tattoo, “I wasn’t lying to you, if that’s what you think.  I just- I haven’t dated much but, this-” she waved a hand taking in the bed, the room, the nakedness, “-I’ve done this a few times before.” He rolled onto his side, scooching lower so he could see her better, his warm hand finding a home along the expanse of Amanda’s ribs and rubbing continuously, “I know my head is still a little fuzzy after all the great lovin’ and all but, uh, I’m not sure I’m following.” Blowing out a breath that sounded something like frustration, she shrugged, “Guys take me to bed but not to dinner.  I’m not, ya know, girlfriend material, I suppose.  It’s like, I’m good enough to make out with, especially if it makes some other, prettier, thinner girl jealous.”  Her mouth twisted up, not really a frown but a far cry from the sweet smile Eddie had come to appreciate.  She was staring through him, seeing images made of memory, “Good enough to- to fool around with in the dark.  Places where no one would see, like under the bleachers or behind a dumpster.  But take me to a restaurant?  A movie?  Out with friends or family?  No way.  “And I’m always so-” she rolled her eyes, trying to find the right word, “-I don’t know, needy?  Desperate maybe?  That a guy pretending to be interested could offer me kisses in corners or bathroom stalls where no one would ever think to look and I do it.  Gladly.  Because even their half assed affection is better than nothing, right?”  But Amanda didn’t wait for Eddie to answer, carrying on with an edge in her voice, “If I touch them, let them touch me, then they’ll give me what I want.  Flowers and romance and, and-” he heard the way her throat caught, a strangled sound shaking through her as she finished, “-love.” Tossing her head, she banished a wayward tear, smiling thinly at her man’s silhouette in the muted light, “Now though, I’m here, with you.  A guy who sees me, all of me.  You see me and you don’t make me feel bad about who I am.  How I look.  You see me, and, and you like me even in broad daylight.  And no one’s ever done that before.  I mean, you already brought me around your friends.  Your family.”  Her emphasis on the last word not lost on him and neither was the twinge of pride in her voice at how she said it.  “Amanda-”  He wanted to reach out, reassure her, but she shook him off. There was more to say, more to tell and for the first time in a long time, she wanted to share her thoughts with someone.  Not someone.  Eddie.  

Swallowing, she looked up at him, comfortable and relaxed under her threadbare bedsheet, “You wanted to know what happened tonight?  When I was at practice?” Maybe there was something in her voice that gave her away.  He could tell that this was uncharted territory for his Moon woman, taking her out of her depth, a thing difficult to share.  Maybe he also realized that something was shifting, something important, so he bobbed his head, locking her fingers with his, “Yea, but only if you wanna tell me.  There’s no pressure, you know that, right?” Nodding, Amanda sat up now, pinning the sheet under her arms so that it covered most of her breasts.  Her hair was a knotted mess, wild and untamed, but she was lit from within.  Eddie felt as though she was worthy of sculpture, ready to be captured for all time in alabaster stone or graying quartz.  Some Italian master should be committing the image before him into marble.  The combination of fragility and strength on display was overwhelming even if the underlying hurt etched in her face made Eddie’s chest ache. “I know and that’s kind of why I want to tell you.”  It was an admission of trust, of respect, and another stunning example of how strong her feelings truly were.  With a small gesture encouraging her to go on, Amanda inhaled sharply, “Right.  So, tonight, at rehearsal?  Mark, you know my drummer- uh, the drummer?  He was being the biggest asshole.  To everyone, not just me.  Really picking on us all, which was weird.  ‘Cause normally he’s kinda, well-” Stepping on her sentence, Eddie finished with a shit eating grin, “Steady?”  “Oh, that was bad, even for you.”  She groaned at the ill timed, but sort of hilarious drumming joke.  Lifting his hands, signaling his apology, she tilted her head thoughtfully, “Anway, he said some stuff and-” That made Eddie sit up too, his legs folding and taking the blankets with them, “Wait, he said something about you or about me?” “Um-” her fingers fiddled with the fabric, eyes avoiding his baleful brown orbs for the first time all night.  Not a great sign. “If it’s about me, no problem.  I can handle that, Mandy.  Hell, I’ve been handling that shit my whole life.  But you?  Baby-” Eddie cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him, “-You don’t deserve that shit.” “About us both, I guess.”  Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, “Mark was, well, he was angry.  At me.  Said that I sounded ‘desperate’ when I was singing the other night, that I was ‘begging for a man’ like- like some kind of tramp or something when I was singing to you.” Holy shit, was he struggling right now.  With every other word Amanda uttered, Eddie’s blood ran like frigid November rain, in icy sheets that burned or in magma hot lava-like flows that scorched his heart from rage.  Luckily he was hiding it well.  

Going for cool, casual even, he cast about asking, “So, uh, what else did Mark have to say?” With a guilty gulp, she went on, “A lot.  And he kept running his mouth so much, too much, really.  It’s just- I thought he was my friend, you know?”  And honest to god, her chin shook as she held back the tears her emotional meridian begged to release, her voice going warbly with the effort, “But in the end, he was just like the guys at school, the boys back home.  Wanted the- the thrill of being with a girl like me, a big girl, and thought I should be-” in a barely heard whisper she trailed off,  “-grateful for his attention.” Now, young Mr. Munson had spent time as an angry juvenile.  The world and the way it worked had done its level best to beat him down over and over again.  Before the interdimensional trauma that left him scarred and scared, he had trained himself to live and let live, a philosophy that he was pretty certain had saved his life on more than one occasion. But hearing the way she spoke about Mark, a dude she knew and trusted, filled him with a furious anger so white hot that he almost could not believe that smoke wasn’t spilling out of his ears like in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.  It didn’t seem like the darling at his side noticed when his unoccupied hand closed in a tight fist that he was currently imagining ramming right through the skin of a bass drum directly into the sternum of Mark, as if he might bend the laws of physics and somehow be able to beat the shit out of this asshole from the safety of Amanda’s bed.  

Because, like, who the fuck did this guy think he was? She wasn’t crying, not outright, but was sad about the circumstances all the same.  And from the pure desire to make his woman feel better, he snorted hotly, “Fucking dipshit.  He’s the one that should be grateful.” “What?” “I said, this Mark person, he’s the one that should be grateful to even, ya know, know you” he added, tugging that self protective strand of hair down and over his mouth.  Starting at a mumble that grew stronger the longer he talked, Eddie’s stare locked on Amanda’s, “Look, I already told you how I feel.  And, even if we weren’t, ya know, together, I’d still be thankful that you’re in my life.  You are something special, Amanda Patterson.  Something-” and then he couldn’t resist any longer, dragging a finger down her cheek until he could tip her chin up, those bright eyes searching his own, “-out of this world.  A treasure.” Rewarded with a wry shake of head and rolled wet eyes, Eddie carried on, “Honestly, thank fuck.” She sniffled a bit, asking through a thick throat, “What’s that supposed to mean?” His pink lips screwed up in a crooked smirk that scrunched his nose cutely, “It means, sweetheart, that those-” rings glinting the gloom, his hand flailed dramatically, “-dumbasses didn’t know they had struck gold when they met you.  Lucky for you, I know the good shit when I see it.” Deflating visibly, she huffed, “Gold plated is probably more accurate.”  It was meant to be lighthearted.  A little self deprecating, sure, but wasn’t it easier to make the joke then become one? “Hey, don’t do that.”  He caught her cheeks in a grip which was firm while his voice cotton soft, “I’m not joking around.  Not about this.  Not about you.” She didn’t move, frozen in place by the sincerity he was forcing her to accept.  Whispering into the quiet night, a hardly spoken rush of words, but he heard them all the same, “I’m nothing special, Eddie.” A fever of frustration climbed through him at that midnight confession.  The worst part was how truly she believed what she said, that there was nothing special about her, no reason for Mark’s misplaced interest or his own adoration.  That somehow she didn’t deserve Eddie’s praise, his attention, even his love, was all layered into that one sentence. “Mandy, don’t you ever talk that way about the person I love.  Never again.”  It was his gently uttered warning. “But, Eddie-”  she wanted to argue the point, make a case for being less than. Shifting quickly, he caught her around the bare expanse of her shoulders, “If I have to say it everyday, for the rest of your life, I will Mandy.  You’re amazing.”  A kiss, hungry and scalding, melded their mouths together, “You are so fucking sexy.”  Lips traced the line of her jaw, moving upward, “And I haven’t felt, well, whatever this is, ever before.” Even if her mind wasn’t quite convinced, Eddie’s nearness coupled with the sultry kisses and his heartfelt words had made her body a believer.  She smoothed a hand along his straight spine, her forehead tapping his own, “I imagine you say that to all the ladies you take to bed.” A warm, happy laugh rumbled through Eddie at her smart ass comment.  Pulling back, needing to see her eyes, “I’m going to be real honest with you, alright?  Put it all on the line, k?”  When she agreed with a short nod, he continued, “You may think that I do this sorta thing all the time- pick up chicks and service them until the sun comes up, until they uh, scream my name into the night- but I don’t.”  Tilting her head, really looking him over, she shook her own, her teasing edged with something harder, “You’re telling me that you don’t seduce the housewives who bring their cars in for oil changes?  Or, or, um, bang groupies after a good show at The Hideout?” “Me?  No way.  Not a chance.  Reputation ruiner, remember?  So I can tell you with 100 percent certainty that you are in my, my top 3, all time.  Easy.”  Mindlessly, Eddie started tracing stars into the skin of her thighs, consciously avoiding her piercing stare. But now she was curious, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, her eyebrows lifted, “Out of how many?” Yanking his hair forward, Eddie snickered, still bashful, “Um, out of three.  But, uh, out of those three, you’re my number one.  No question about it.”  The grin he flashed her was so deep, his cheeks aching from smiling so widely, that Amanda had no choice but to giggle too, “Number one, you said?” Reaching for her hand, linking their fingers together before nudging her closer, he corrected her gently, “Uh huh, you’re my number one.  Best I ever had.”  

“What are you doing to me, Eddie Munson?”  It was rhetorical, obviously, but it had to be asked even if she was unable to keep the tendril of truth out of her voice.  Because this conversation was powerful enough to capsize her, she realized too late to stop it from happening.  If he was going to sink her ship, she was going to have to grow gills or drown trying.  Otherwise she was never going to survive being cared for by the romantic rockstar in training who was taking up half her bedspread. Scrunching his eyes as he bit into his bottom lip, Eddie hemmed, “I’m uh, watching out for you.  Tryin’ to be a knight or a, a paladin.”  Rubbing his thumb in patient circles against the back of her hand, a little lost in his thoughts, “Want to be who and what you need, Mandy, because, yea, you deserve that.” “And what do you deserve?”  That drew him up short as she freed her hands so she could skate them over his exposed chest, “‘Cause I think you deserve things too.  Like someone to love you back.  Someone who hears you-” rising to her knees, she scooted a leg over his waist, bracketing his body between her dimpled thighs, “-and your terrible jokes but still laughs anyway.  Someone who appreciates you for all the wonderful and wild things that make you, well, you.”  She punctuated her sentence with a bop on the tip of his broad nose. His mouth was dry but his betraying eyes were damp as he cleared his throat roughly, hands already resting on the full rise of her hips, “Is uh, is that so, Miss Mandy?” “Totally.”  She pulled one of his hands away, the lined and creased side facing her before pressing her lips to its very center.  Covering it with her own she held it against the smooth expanse of her sternum, directly on top of her beating heart. Swallowing thickly, unable to look away, he asked, “Maybe I’ve found her?”  Bare and unashamed, leaning into his space, her sleek slit skimming his slowly solidifying length made his cheeks burn hotly as she rocked her hips back.  Nodding, she looked down at him, purring, “Maybe you have.”  Grinding down, her full weight holding him to the mattress, to the earth, he thanked whatever deity was closest for this brilliant, beautiful creature with the enchanting voice and bewitching eyes full of shining devotion.  Whatever she was before didn’t matter to him or the gargoyle who guarded his own thumping mess of a heart in its crumbling tower.  Amanda Patterson was his now, and he’d be damned before letting her go.  

—

1990 - Fall

“Let’s hear it once again for Mandy and the Maniacs!” All around her the crowd went ballistic.  Shouting, screaming, stomping, clapping noise filled the bar where the band, her band had taken the stage with the hope of making it through one more round.  One step closer to fortune and fame and everything that goes with it.  Based on the deafening roar of this particular crowd, Amanda had high hopes.  Fuck, but she wanted to win 1991’s Battle of the Bands.  Prove that she was good enough to make it on the strength of her own abilities, on the unflagging determination of her dream to sing for a living, and do it on her own. So she was smiling through the tears of happiness that filled her eyes, blinking rapidly as she committed the raucous riotous scene below her into her memory banks as the emcee was thrusting a plastic trophy complete with a fake gold guitar glued to the top into her sweaty hand, “Congratulations to our winners!  And don’t forget that you can see Mandy and the band here at Stingers every Friday night.  Doors open at 10pm!”

— “Good show tonight, Mandy.  You know, you guys are really going places.” Amanda toweled off the grimy sweat from being under too hot stage lights and the melted mascara that always found a way to slip down her face after a show, grinning broadly, “Thanks Davey.  We all appreciate your hosting and, of course, having us back week after week.” “Can’t have a rock bar with no music, that’d be like having a peanut butter sandwich without jelly.  Just doesn’t taste right, ya know?” Laughing politely, she nodded, “I think I get what you mean.”  And before he could ask again, Carly slid up to her side, “Ready to load in the gear?” A thankful expression crossed her face as she looked at her friend, still sweaty and streaked herself, “Yes ma’am.  Hey-” leaning in to shake Davey’s hand, Amanda’s black mesh fingerless glove pressing designs into his palm as she added, “-again, thank you for tonight.” “It’s always a pleasure, Mandy.  Uh, is there any chance you might wanna grab a dri-” Swinging a microphone case onto her shoulder, her back to the bar’s owner, Amanda answered swiftly, “Have a good night, Davey.” When they were in the chilly night air, sans jackets or even clothes that were close to appropriate for the weather in Indiana during an early cold snap, Carly lit up a cigarette, smirking, “He asked you again, huh?” Taking the flaming stick of death from her friend, Amanda took one, tiny puff, the smallest possible because her voice was still her best instrument, and lifted her heavily made-up eyes, “Was trying to, I think.” “Could it hurt?”  Carly ashed the butt quickly, staring at the bumper of the broken-in mini-van that they used to lug amps and instruments in, purposefully avoiding Amanda’s bewildered look. Toeing at the slushy puddle that gathered around the back tire, her big black boots with neon laces keeping her away from the muck, she considered it.  Would it hurt to let Davey buy her a drink?  No, probably not.  As a general rule, a single drink was not enough to hurt someone, but it was what came after that stalled her in her tracks. From under a jagged line of self cut bangs, Amanda tilted her head at her friend, one eye squeezed shut while the other stared dead on, “Eventually, yea.  Yes it could.  And not for nothing but I’m too toxic for anyone right now.” “That’s horseshit and you know it.”  Carly flicked the used filter of her cigarette with a flourish, her shirt sleeves swinging at the effort. Laying back against the frozen metal of the van, Amanda shivered, “Come on, don’t fuck with me, ok?  It’s been a good night.  Great even.  Let’s not fight about Davey and drinks that I’m not going to let him buy.” Kicking at the rims now, Carly grumbled, “You need to get laid.” “Fuck you, I do not!” This time her friend’s pretty pouting face found hers under the parking lot’s hazy yellow lights, “You do and so goddamn badly.  It’s been what, like two years since Ed-” “Don’t say it.” Exhaling wickedly, anger heating up her sigh, Carly jumped right into her diatribe, “I can’t even say his name, Amanda.  What is that about?  Are you ever gonna, I don’t know, get over him?  Go out with someone else?  Let another person stick their fucking tongue down your fucking throat?”  And when she didn’t reply, Carly pressed on, ranting into the empty night air, “Or are you going to die on this hill?  Because ‘I once loved Ed-” she shifted her focus to Amanda before softening up, “-a, a future rockstar who broke my heart when he left this town and me behind’ is not going to fit on your tombstone, sis.” Toying with the van keys, their metal ring going cold in her hands, Amanda shrugged.  She was tired all the way down to her soul.  Tired of being tired.  Tired of grinding so hard for the things she wanted.  Tired of Carly being mostly, sort of, almost totally right.  Tired of being alone.  Tired of missing a man with a name she couldn’t bear to hear. And yea, ok, she would absolutely own that her sad sack routine was going stale.  She bored herself most days, honestly.  But what was the point in letting Davey or any other person buy her a drink and think they stood any kind of chance when Amanda Patterson no longer had a heart to give? Nope.  Like the Tin-Man, she was kept alive by electrical impulses managed by some other organ because she’d lost her heart in 1988.  The year Corroded Coffin was discovered through Carly’s college radio station connections.  The same year a mid-western county fair tour was planned.  The year that took him away for the big life he was always supposed to lead.  The year that took her heart and never looked back. “Hell.  Give me a smoke, would ya?”

“‘Manda. You don’t like cigarettes.” Carly taunted in a sing-song voice. Shrugging, sad and cold, she waved her friend on with a uselessly gloved hand, “Maybe I do now.”  And when she took her first full inhalation a thought moved through the neural pathways of her brain.  It might kill her, in the end, smoking, drinking or whatever, but she then, had been dead inside for a lot longer.  Besides, there was no one watching out for her now.  No one to disappoint.  No one to worry.

Her lungs burned and the back of her throat protested, but Amanda smiled warmly in the cold night, “Thanks Carly.” Blowing out a held breath, the shorter girl rolled her eyes, “Fuck, you’re dramatic.  Just like him.  You know that right?” Her chuckle was hollow, raspy because of the smoking, “Uh huh.  I do.”  Dropping the burnt paper to the ground she stomped on it with the toe of her boot, unlocking the car, “Wanna get the fuck outta here?” “Yea.  Let’s go home.”

—

1987

Morning light cast the entire room in a golden glow that was entirely too ethereal to be real.  Only it was.  It had to be, because Amanda was laying on her side, the plush padding of her bum tucked against Eddie’s bare pelvis, as she slept peacefully in his arms.

Now that his eyes were open there were things he needed to do: take a piss, take a shower, get some food in his body that did not come out of a cardboard box and get to work.  Except he’d be  leaving this downy nest of a bed and the warmth of a very willing body to do any of it.  So, yea, Eddie didn’t want to do that, not even a little bit.

The alarm clock said seven thirty six, and if his bedtime math was accurate, he could stay until 8 o’clock.  Any later and he’d be in deep shit with, well, virtually everyone.  Why did it have to be Friday morning?  How come he had bedded his dream woman on a Thursday night, mid-week, knowing there were still responsibilities on the horizon?

As if she could sense that he was awake, she shifted her figure flush with his, and there was no way to hide his morning wood.  There was also no way she could not feel it pressing insistently at the small of her back.  He swallowed his spit, curling Amanda closer, and shut his eyes.  Eddie could manage the morning after.  He absolutely could.

“Mmm, morning.”  

Sleep stained and supple, Amanda started to roll his way but he stopped her with a kiss to her shoulder blade, “Uh, maybe don’t.” “Wha?  Oh.  Oh.”  And saucy minx that she was, she stretched her body so that his erection rubbed over the silken skin of her bottom. Groaning from way down deep in his chest, Eddie chided, “You’re a tease.” “You’re too easy.”   She was on her back now, head turned his way, outlined in the pale yellow rays of morning light.  His heartbeat sped up at the coy look she flashed from under her lashes.  Amanda wanted Eddie and in spite of the hard work he’d put in last night, he wanted her again too.  Dipping a hand under the filmy sheet, his fingernails scraped the swell of her hip, when the alarm clock clicked to 7:45 and began buzzing obnoxiously. “Shit!”  Scrambling up, Amanda hit the digital display’s off button, silencing the sound.  Slumping into herself, she looked his way with a frowny face, “I have class at 9.” “I’ve got work, myself.”  It was a guilty admission, no matter how true. Nodding, Amanda bit into her bottom lip, “Then I guess-” “We both have to go?”  They spoke over each other.  Whatever easy energy they had shared was taut now, stressed and strained but neither one moved.  Neither one really wanted to. Except a new day was started, one with expectations for Amanda and Eddie alone.  Still, she had to ask, hand twisting in the stray strands of her hair, “Will I, uh- um, maybe you can-” So Eddie took pity on his girl, lifting her hand to his lips chastely, “Are you trying to say that you wanna see me again?  Like, tonight?” “Do- uh, do you want that?”  She was barely suppressing her hope, struggling to keep her expectations of Eddie in check, regardless of all his pretty words when the lights were low. Thrusting out his little finger, Eddie wiggled it quickly, “Well, yea, of course I do.  Promise.” Linking them together, a chuffed out giggle escaped her pouty lips when he swung their hands like that, childlike and silly.  He used his leverage to drag her to his chest, a kiss landing on her nose, on each cheek, and finally her parted mouth.  They let go reluctantly when her alarm rang again, this time marking the hour as 8. “Shit.  I really, really, have to go.”  Eddie swung his leg over the side of the bed giving Amanda  a phenomenal view of his bare ass as he crisscrossed the room searching out his clothes.  Too easily the boy stepped into his jeans, forgoing his underwear, she noticed, and shrugging back into his tee. Hugging her knees, she could only watch, conflicting thoughts filling her head.  Her body was sore in the best possible way because of all that they had gotten up to last night.  She knew she’d be thinking of him all day, anytime she shifted in her seat or caught sight of the purple markings that littered her neck and chest. And she definitely wanted to do this- do him, again.  Without question, Eddie Munson was phenomenal in the sack.  But now he was leaving, and she understood it, alright?  She had shit to do herself.  Because it was a weekday and she paid so much for school and the music shop was letting her pick up a shift… Only, she wanted to linger in bed with her very cute and very sexy lover at her side.  Maybe get to lick his hardest parts, or, his softest.  Maybe get him to lick her again and again and again. “Don’t?”  Amanda hadn’t planned to say it out loud, but there it was, echoing around her quiet room.  A pleading question spoken from the depths of her heart, pushing pause on the guy in the middle of pulling up his socks, seated primly on the corner of her bed.  Shocked by her own actions, her eyes rounded as she backpedaled, “I mean, I know you have to and, and I have to, but that doesn’t mean I want you to- to go.  Ya know?  Last night was like-” she breathed out, willing herself not to get emotional even if she could feel the cold prickle of tears in the back of her throat, “-really special, for me at least.  And-” letting her eyes find Eddie’s coffee colored eyes, finished, “-I don’t want to say goodbye.” Blinking a couple of times, taking a beat, he wanted to get his answer right.  “Who says we have to say goodbye?” “You’re leaving.” Reaching for his boots, smile wide and shining under his mass of waves, “Uh huh.  But-” yanking the laces hard, he grinned her way, “-I’m coming back.”  “Are you though?”  

He cut off any other protests, standing quickly and walking around to her side of the bed.  Amanda had her feet planted on the floor, her sheet barely covering her most private of places, as she lifted her fretful face in his direction. Voice tighter than he wanted, shoulders tenser than they should be, Eddie looked down at this woman who had come to mean so much to him so quickly.  One ring clad finger tripped down the hill of her nose, “Shit, Mandy, I’m probably losing all my cool guy street credit when I say this, but, uh, this thing-” using his thumb under her chin, the skin there yielding to his even pressure, “-You and me?  This.  It fucking scares me-” She had the audacity to look surprised, those beguiling eyes going wide from the raw honesty he was showing, that tilt to her head more pronounced as she nervously whispered, “I- I scare you?” “No!  Shit, that’s not- I meant-” recovering quickly but feeling much shyer now, he tried to explain, “How I feel about you, I mean.  How much I care- it’s a lot.  For me, it’s everything.”  With the sound of knees cracking, he dropped into a squat so that he was looking up at Amanda’s face, not the other way around.   

“Oh.” her gaze softened shifting her focus until it landed on something far away, her mind working fast.  Loving her was already a burden.  Already too much to ask of a guy like Eddie, so wild and carefree.  And the realizations stung.  Maybe she didn't have a night to remember after all.  Maybe her knight in shining armor didn’t see her the way she imagined.  Maybe he wasn’t who she thought he was, after all. And her brain would have kept on running in ragged circles of self doubt if Eddie hadn’t nudged against her parted thighs, “Hey, Mandy?  Come back to me, yea?” “Sorry, I- uh-” steeling herself, her back stiffened, her smile slipping, “-Look.  We don’t have to do this.  I get it, Eddie.  And, ya know-” those eyes were back on him, sadder now, holding him still, “-we don’t have to do whatever this is.  Not now.  Not, ya know, ever.  I understand how this works, ok?” Despite his nearness she started to push off the mattress.  It was too difficult to sit there thinking he was afraid of her, of having feelings for her, of being with her.  Convinced that he probably wasn’t going to touch her again, that she couldn’t have him or his love for more than one night, no matter what he said or what promises were left unfulfilled was a punch in the gut- leveling.  

Shame burned through her because she should have known better.  It was all too good to be true like any other fairytale.  A story.  A fantasy. And she had to go, right now, because she wasn’t going to allow him to see so down and out.  Straightening her arms, rocking forward, she was ready to get away, to bolt.  But she didn’t get far.  Fingers dug into her leg, holding her fast, delaying her escape, “Damn it.  That isn’t- that isn’t what I said, Amanda.”  Eddie’s voice was pitched low- dark and rumbling like the growing thunder of a terrible storm.  It locked her in place even if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, terrified that she’d find pity or some other weakening emotion on his stupid, loving, handsome face.  A violent vermillion flash of fury surged through her, spewing caustic, cutting sarcasm from her pursed lips, “No?  Because that’s what I heard, Eddie.  I heard you say that you’re scared to- to, to be with me.” 

“Wrong.”  “Excuse me?” “I said that you’re wrong.  Even though you are so smart, right now?  Sweetheart, you are 100 percent, entirely and utterly wrong here.  What frightens me, Mandy-” his hands slipped around her waist as, falling to his knees in front of her, he carried on, “isn’t that I’m afraid to be with you.  I’m afraid to be without you.  I’m terrified that you won’t want to be with me.” Holding onto to her steely edge, glaring now, she swung another verbal dagger, “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?” “Fuck, Mandy.  Take your pick-”  Counting on his fingers, the list started, “-former mega-nerd with a talent for collecting little lost souls and ensuring their survival through high school.”  A second finger went up, “Uh, lead singer of a regionally successful rock band full of said misfits that hasn’t had its big break yet.”   A third, “The best damn Dungeon Master in the state of Indiana, if I say so myself.”  Little finger, number four bent slightly, “Oh, not to mention I’m crisscrossed with scars from North to South no matter how great the tattys look and-” his thumb jumped, spreading his palm open wide, “-not that many years ago I watched a person I cared about get murdered which, ya know, messes a guy up pretty damn good. “On the plus side?  Let’s see, I’ve got great friends, my totally bitchin’ guitar, a halfway decent van, and I’ve finally met a girl that I fucking love.  But, shit, maybe she doesn’t feel like I do?”  And now he let his cinnamon eyes burn into hers, really revved up and showing no signs of stopping, “Maybe she just says pretty things when I’m making her cum and afterwards, well, she wants to be with some other dude.  Someone like Mark who’s gonna make something of himself?  Steady as fuck and boring to boot.  Someone who doesn’t love her like I do, because they don’t get it, they can’t love her like me.  How could they when they don’t get how my world spun off its axis when she jumped into my arms at the goddamned music shop.  Or how-” Her cheeks flushed at the memory, the moment when this love affair began, and she felt herself smiling wide, the momentary rage ebbing almost as quickly as it started.  Cutting him off, she cupped his jaw with firm fingers, “I do!  I promise you, I-I understand.  And, and I feel the same way.  Haven’t been able to get you out of my head since you seduced me into a dance in the sheet music aisle.”

“You’re the one who fell into me, Mandy.” Airy like a summer’s breeze, Amanda countered, “You tripped me.” Scoffing, he settled his weight on the balls of his feet, “So you do remember then?” “Of course I do.  And that’s why I didn’t want you to go.  If- if you leave today and never come back, what’ll I do, Eddie?”  She had nuzzled into the unshaven haven of his neck, just below his ear, and was keening like a fitful kitten, “Now that I have you, I don’t want anybody else.  I only want to be with you.  Only you.” Exhaling harshly, pulling her forehead to his, he husked, “Sad to say, darling, but you may be stuck with me.” Only he didn’t sound sad at all.  Neither did she when she moved a hand to either cheek, a dreamy smile on her face, “Yea?  You mean it?”  “Of fucking course I do.  And to prove it, come to my show tonight?” “Like, seriously?  Because I would really love to see you play.” The alarm toned again, 8:15am.  But fuck it, he could be late to the garage if meant seeing Amanda grin at him like this- all excited and eager, “Hell yea!  You can meet the guys and see what all the fuss is about when Corroded Coffin hits the stage.” Nerves jangled, she bit into her lip, worry creeping into her tone, “And you wouldn’t mind me being there?  Like, that wouldn’t be, I don’t know, embarrassing for you?”

His head fell back far enough for the tendons of his neck to stretch, the bulge of his Adam’s apple tantalizingly close, while his stare locked on hers, “Embarrassing?  No.  Hell no.  I’d be honored to have you there, cheering me on.”

“You’re not messing with me, are you?”  She raised her eyebrows playfully, giving him the out if he wanted to take it. And that same anger at Mark, at all the idiot guys who had hurt her flared up briefly, but he tramped it down like a lid on a grease fire, reassuring her again, “No way.  I want you there.  Need you there, Mandy.  Besides-” that impish grin was back, “-it’s only fair.  I saw you perform, now I get to return the favor.” Her mind was working, spinning his words around in her head faster than an unbalanced washing machine, as she processed what Eddie was saying.  When she finally came to a conclusion, Amanda nodded decisively, “Yea, ok.  I’ll come.  I-I’ll be there.” Pressing up to his feet, Eddie beamed down at her, “Sweet.  But, now I really gotta split, ok?”  She raised her chin, the permission for a kiss implicit in the action and he took advantage.  It was so easy to get lost in the flavor and feeling of her lips under his or the slide of his tongue over her own.  In the end, she had to push him away, breathless and begging, “Yea, go on.  Get lost, Munson.”

Groaning, he stomped towards her door, “Fine.  Fine.  I’m going.” Pleased and purring, Amanda stretched out along her bed, her head already thinking of the night to come when Eddie’s face appeared in her doorway again, “Oh, hey.  Don’t forget that you’re banging the lead guitarist and front man of the band, k?  You gotta look the part so uh-” he took in the room at a glance, “-no pretty flower prints or whatever.” “You came back just to tell me that?” His hands rested against the pale wooden door frame as he stepped back through it, “Yes.  And this-” it took three running steps before he launched himself onto the mattress and landed as gently as he could with her pinned underneath him.  Her hands caught on the tangles still knotting his hair, dragging his mouth to hers, whimpering into the wet cave of his mouth. So Eddie was an hour late to work and Amanda missed her first class.  Worse things had happened in the name of new love.

—

1990 - Winter

“Well, it was a great night!  To Mandy and the Maniacs-”  The ladies clinked their bottles together in celebration, stilted happiness filling the air around them.  The founding members of their female fronted metal band had come home exhilarated and exhausted, ready to unwind, share post-show snacks and celebrate their advancement to the Battle of the Bands finals.  It had been another grueling show but they had done what they meant to: melt the faces off the audience and get another step closer to that Big Win in the new year. 

MTV was on in the background, as it always was when they weren’t practicing or writing or recording, and the videos on Headbangers Ball were always welcome at the end of a long Saturday filled with rocking.  Rick Rachtman was talking about some up and coming band as Amanda crunched on a cheese ball, barely listening.  

If Carly was tired, Amanda was wired, her mind still on tonight’s crowd and what it was going to take to win it all in a few weeks.  Already she was in her head, planning what their set was going to be, which songs were the most likely to sway the ever growing swell of music lovers standing shoulder to shoulder when they played.  

That's when she heard a ghost, a breathing memory of the apparition who haunted her still.  His familiar cadence filtering through her television speakers jerked her from her thoughts, a voice she knew better than her own- “Holy shit.  Is that- Is that Eddie?  Your Eddie?”  Carly sat forward, the electric blue glow of the set outlining the surprise on her face.  The banishment of a certain man’s name forgotten in the excitement of said man’s picture on the television. Her beer bottle thunked to the table clumsily, “What?  Eddie?”  Amanda hadn’t said his name in over two years.  Around the time when the walls around her head and heart had gone up, and thankfully all of her friends knew better than to bring up that sensitive subject.  Or at least were willing to honor her wishes that the rocker in question never be spoken of in her presence. But fucking hell if Carly wasn’t right.  There on the illuminated idiot box that was her twenty inch screen was Eddie Fucking Munson himself and the rest of Corroded Coffin, talking to Chuck Stillman about their tour.  Answering questions for the fans to get to know them better and helping sell their metal image.  “Did you know about this?”  It was shock which filled Carly’s tone and Amanda felt a little bit guilty because of course she did.  She still talked to Steve, saw Robin from time to time, and even taught Mike Wheeler some guitar basics a year or so ago.  

When she didn’t answer, her very best good friend Carly leveled her with a sideways glance, “You did, didn’t you?” Shrugging, her go-to move these days, she grabbed the cable box’s remote and goosed up the volume.  It really fucking sucked to see how good Eddie looked, all in black leather and mesh lace, with his guitar pick necklace centered on his bare chest, tattoos barely visible but she knew they were there.  Could draw them from memory, if she really wanted to.  And his curls!  They were styled expertly, shiny and bouncy, making Amanda’s hands itch at the memory of them clutched between her fingers. Through the tinny speakers they heard Chuck’s question, “So, the people want to know, what is Eddie Munson’s favorite song?” There was a pause and if she didn’t know Eddie so well, she wouldn’t have seen it, but his eyes lost their twinkle for a second and his smile dropped the teensiest bit as he replied, “My favorite song?  That’s a great question, man.  And, uh, ya know, I wanna say something hard rocking and fast.  But honestly?  Someone to Watch Over Me by the Gershwin brothers.”

“SHUT UP!”  Carly smacked a hand into her arm, “He’s talking about you!  That night, in the park!  Holy shit, Eddie Munson, rock star rising, is talking about you, 'Manda!  On MTV!” And wouldn’t that be something, she thought, sinking back into her second hand sofa.  Him sparing the time to think about her at all these days seemed like such a shot in the dark, such a foreign concept, that she reckoned it wasn’t even a possibility.  There was no way he gave as much of his day to thoughts of her, to their time together as she did, right?  

No.  Not possible.  That he answered the basic question with the title of her favorite song, the song that meant so much to them both, didn’t mean a goddamned thing.  Not anymore. “I don’t think so, Carl.  I think you’re reading too much into things.” Sitting back, her own beer held tight, Carly rolled her eyes at friend, prickly at having her fun ruined, “What if he was?” “Huh?” “What if Eddie was thinking about you?  After these last couple of years, what if he- what if he misses you too?  It is possible.” Huffing out a derisive laugh, she tapped a finger against the nearly empty bottle of Budweiser, using the sassiest tone of voice she could wrangle when she answered, “Right.  He misses me when he’s out at nightclubs surrounded by strippers and groupies and backup dancers.  I’m sure all Eddie wonders about is little old me, back in Hawkins, when he’s walking red carpets and taking movie stars out to dinner in New York City and LA.” “You’re doing it again.”  Carly was focused on the screen but talking to Amanda, frustration thick in her tone. Equally riled up, Amanda chirped, “Yea?  What’s that?” Unblinking, Carly stared at her best friend, band mate, and roommate, “Selling yourself short.  You should really watch out for that.” Her friend meant well, she knew that, had proof of it all around her, but because her brain was fickle and memories were monsters, she found herself whispering, “Eddie said he would.  He promised me.  Said he was always gonna look out for me.” Staring down at her pinky finger, she would swear she felt his littlest digit wrapped around her own, the supposedly iron-clad arrangement made in a post-sex haze of brightly burning new love too long ago to hurt so freshly but so recently it still might bleed.  He had promised to watch over her, to change her mind and love her through it all. But when the man you loved had the chance to make his dreams a reality, you couldn’t stand in his way, right?  At least that was what she told herself late at night when sleep wouldn’t come and the moon was high above, laughing at her.  So, she watched, unflinching, as Eddie talked about burning grilled cheese sandwiches in a shitty hotel and the possibility of coming back to Indiana with the tour. She watched every shake of his head and every movement of his hands, taking them in like physical blows, wounds that would need cream and bandages and pain medication to heal up properly.  And she drank another beer, going silent since her mind refused to do the same, replaying the sentences from the tv interview on an endless looping track, trying to work out any hidden meaning that proved Carly right and her own sense of self wrong. When the programming shifted, some early morning sketch show or something, Carly said goodnight and moved off to her room but still Amanda sat there.  Was it fair to be so mad at Eddie?  Did she really have a right to the hurt and anger she was holding onto with an iron grip? As the sun climbed through the window above her record player, Armando the Wonder Cat jumped into her lap for pets.  Between scratching behind his pointy ears and patting down his back, she realized she was crying.  Sure, she was disappointed in Eddie.  In the promises he had never seen to fruition, but that wasn’t the only reason to be so upset. Because hadn’t she made promises too?  And hadn’t she broken them all?

---

Thank you for reading!  Part 4 is on the way!

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[fincalinde]

qi rong! i kid, i kid. how about jc.

I will ignore your cruel taunting and focus on my viniferous darling.

a song that reminds me of them

I don't think I have a personal anthem for him, but En Fortapt Bror (A Prodigal Brother) by Rotvelt would probably go on the playlist if I made one, just for this bit alone:

Kan ikke ta det tilbake Kan ikke få du gjort Jeg vil ikke ha tilgivelse Det vil ikke vaske det bort

Can't take it back Can't get you done I don't want forgiveness It won't wash it away

what they smell like

If we're getting poetic, like lotus fragrance and ozone.

an otp

No one in the cast is right for JC but I do think he wants and deserves a suitable wife so I like the idea of reading something where he's in a relationship. His problem is that he needs just, so much therapy before he can make an effective life partner for anyone. He features in this postcanon AU I wrote and that's a reasonable depiction of how I think things could shake out for him after many years have passed if he's worked on himself. Basically, I know his extracanonical list of qualities he requires in a wife is meant to be humorous, but I tried to incorporate them into an OC while also making her a match for him.

I dabbled in reading Sangcheng because I am a slave to @starwife and like, in theory, many many many many many years postcanon who knows what might happen? And mightn't that be interesting? Sadly I have come to the conclusion that it's too much of a stretch and isn't my cup of tea. Pls forgive

a notp

I was racking my brain to think of a JC pairing I kneejerk hate beyond the general 'well, he isn't really compatible with any of the characters we meet' stance and then I realised I had forgotten Xicheng exists. Pause for audience laughter.

What can I even add here? It's based on nothing and it's not even like there's the intelligence of a thoughtful resistant read behind it. The laziest possible pair the spares approach taken by people whose reading comprehension is so poor they think JGY is an irredeemable cackling villain and WWX is a noble woobie. Thankfully it's easy for me to avoid and therefore ironically ends up irritating me less than bad Xiyao in practice.

favorite platonic/familial relationships

I love his relationship with his mother. She's just horrendous to him and I don't think he ever has any concrete evidence she loves him until their final moments together, but what I find most interesting and realistic is that he seems to understand her. He can see why she is who she is, which doesn't in any way mitigate the damage she does but is an important part of their dynamic because it's an element of why he defends her and it contributes to how he internalises her criticisms.

My favourite JC and YZY moment is this:

Jiang Cheng was stuck between his father and his mother. After a moment of hesitation, he moved to his mother’s side. Holding his shoulders, Madam Yu pushed him forward for Jiang FengMian to see, “Sect Leader Jiang, it seems that some things I have to say. Look carefully—this, is your own son, the future head of Lotus Pier. Even if you frown upon him just because I was the one who bore him, his surname is still Jiang! … I don’t believe for one second that you haven’t heard of how the outside people gossips, that Sect Leader Jiang has still not moved on from a certain Sanren though so many years have passed, regarding the son of his old friend as a son of his own; they’re speculating if Wei Ying is your…”

YZY emotionally, verbally and sometimes physically abuses her son. She is failing him as a mother and as a mentor. But she is not failing him as badly as JFM is failing him, and everything she says here is completely correct. And when JC and WWX talk about it afterwards, JC is also correct. WWX and LWJ kill the Xuanwu of Slaughter and no one cares or gives JC credit for his less glamorous contributions. His own father prefers WWX and doesn't even like him, and that is appalling.

WWX means well by trying to gloss over it, but it's an open secret and pretending it's not true is harmful. YZY is also going about it all wrong, but she's the only person who calls JFM out directly for failing his son. Pot, kettle, but there's a reason why when JC is stuck between his parents he ends up going over to his mother's side.

a headcanon that is popular in the fandom but that i disagree with

I'm going to go radical here and say I don't personally enjoy or want to read any postcanon Twin Heroes reconciliation. The novel is pretty final about how things end up for them, and it's my belief that they are both far better off not being in each other's lives any more. It's sad because they were close as brothers and love each other so deeply, but ultimately it's for the best. They both appear to be in agreement about this.

the position they sleep in

Probably looks all super cool and handsome when he sleeps, but unfortunately not quite as super cool and handsome as WWX.

a crossover au i’d love to see them in

Puella Magi Madoka Magica. Can you imagine.

my favorite outfit they’ve ever worn

We all know I'm MDZS first in almost everything, but I'm not a huge fan of JC's hair in the official art. Besides, it cracks me up that JC is far and away the most stylish member of the cast in CQL, and yet there's no indication that it's actually an interest of his. CQL NHS wearing his same basic bitch grey and white yet again while CQL JC swaggers past in his shoulder pads owning the entire world—amazing. How could I pick a favourite? I do like his official photo look though, because the gold looks great with the purple.

[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.