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easypeasylindyvesey · 3 months ago

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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: 7,676

*(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.

SEPTEMBER 2027 (Warnings: (foul) language, mentions of death, angst if you squint, jimmy beginning his emotionally unavailable era)

This is the time of year where you feel like you’re mourning the loss of something you never had. For me, it’s always been the end of summer, the end of all things relaxation and the beginning of the hecticness. Everything goes too fast. You just wish it would slow down in just the slightest. The uncertainty of the future gnaws at my brain pretty much all the time. The red and yellow does not illuminate on the traffic light. It’s only green. And it never changes.

Preseason has already begun, and everyone on the roster rotates throughout each game. Tonight is the third game out of six. While Jimmy and the other selected guys had to take the train down to Prudential Center, I get to sit in the apartment on the couch, alone, verbalizing my thoughts without anyone hearing me (well, that’s as long as I don’t yell too loudly). If I’m being truthful, I am secretly grateful that he and I were not placed in the same group for these games. It’s nice to have a break. And I’m not saying this because I’m sick of him; more on the fact that both of us are in desperate need of socialization that doesn’t involve the other. We’re less dependent on each other. It’s as if we’re circling back to where we once were.

Then again, where were we to begin with?

Oh, right. The lip-locking.

No, we have not had another incident since. And no, we haven’t acted on impulse for even attempting a replication at it. We’re back to our awkward, unhinged selves. No bickering, no teasing that could be mistaken as flirting, no nothing. I sent him a text earlier wishing him luck and to not take it too seriously. He had the audacity to reply:

I’m wearing an A tonight. You best believe my ass I will🤑

I replied back:

you’re not even getting paid bozo

He replied:

Well in this case you’re paying your time to watch me.

I replied:

get over 10 min TOI and then we’ll talk

He responded back:

Just don’t get a noise complaint.

I laugh. Typing back, I write:

i will when you execute your move of missing the net and then i curse the most amount of expletives known to man

Another text comes through:

You already do that on a regular basis

To which I answer:

and i’m damn well proud of it

He sends another:

Gotta go. Train leaves at 10, probs won’t be back till 11 or a little after. Don’t wait up if you’re that tired.

I end it:

i will so you can listen to my analytic response.

Or so I thought I ended it.

He answers back:

Don’t need a reiteration if I end up playing like shit

I roll my eyes, typing:

you’re gonna be fine. pre doesn’t matter anyway. just give it 110% like you always do💛

And finally, it ends:

Jokes on you. I give it 150.

I toss my phone on the couch, scoffing at his antics. I reach for the remote and turn up the volume. I’ve got a blanket, a warm bowl of fettuccine alfredo, and the group chat notifications on for those who aren’t playing tonight to discuss the game unbeknownst to the others. It’s gonna be a fun evening.

—------

The evening was far from fun. They lost 3-2 in a shootout. Overall, they had a really good game, but they just couldn’t capitalize for long increments of time. Jimmy ended up proving himself wrong. He played quite well. Did he miss the net? In fact, he did.

On a motherfucking breakaway.

The camera zoomed in on his frustration after he got denied, and all I could do was dramatically groan “Jesus Christ!” out loud, punching the pillow next to me and immediately going to the group chat and sending a text to express my displeasure toward that failed chance: what the fuck was that😭. Of course, it’s all jokes. It always is.

I didn’t text him after because I’m sure he knows I’ll still be waiting up for him to get back, and while he might not be in the mood to talk, let alone have the mental stability to hold a conversation, he’ll know I only tried because I genuinely care.

I’m lying down on the couch, resting my head on the pillow and the blanket engulfing my entire body, putting on “Family Feud” as background noise while I scroll though my phone, checking for anything remotely interesting to look at.

The upper half of my body jolts as I hear the sound of a key being entered through the lock and the door quietly squeaking its way open. Heavy footsteps make their presence known on the wooden floor, the door being closed and the latch hanging across. A presumably exhausted sigh fills the space, the sound of a bag being dropped near the chair.

I’m watching the TV when I hear Jimmy open the fridge and say something. “Ten twenty two.”

I keep my eyes fixated, but he doesn’t see my face contort in confusion. “What?”

The fridge door shuts, and I hear his footsteps glide across the floor and onto the carpet, sitting down in the chair angled toward the TV. He’s holding a water bottle in his hand. “My ice time tonight.”

I nod tiredly. “At least it wasn’t single digits.”

“At least I didn’t get benched the last period.”

I turn my face to look up at him. “Why the hell would you ever be benched?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. There’s always someone better.”

I roll my eyes. “No one is better than anyone. You’re all great in your own way. Christ’s sake, Jim, please don’t tell me you actually think that.”

“Can’t help it sometimes.”

He sounds so defeated that it actually makes me sad. It gives me the willpower to sit up and turn off the TV, placing the remote on the coffee table and ripping the blanket off me. I sit slouched with my head resting in the palms of my hands. “If you were not good, you would have never, ever made it to the pros. I don’t fucking care you’re a bottom sixer. You know your role and you stick to it. You worked your ass off tonight.”

Jimmy looks down at his shoes. “You not gonna say anything about the breakaway?”

I roll my eyes. “Forget it. You missed. Big deal. It’s not like you sent Twitter into a frenzy.”

He cracks that half smirk, half smile. “Sure you had something to say about it, though.”

I run my hands down my face, rubbing my eyes underneath my glasses. “Where the hell is this coming from?”

He leans back in the chair, casually manspreading, if you will. He looks up at the ceiling. “I think it’s all the pressure we’re gonna have this year to perform well. It’s starting to affect me now, like, if there’s any showings of inconsistency, it’s gonna drag the whole team down, and then God forbid we don’t go to playoffs, everyone’s just gonna blame certain people for spoiling the chance. I don’t want that on my conscience, Abb. I really don’t.”

I sigh, looking at his side profile that’s still pointed upwards. “Hey, I totally get it. Seriously, I do. There have been times where I’ve had a rough game and then I had to make sure the next one was an improvement, and if not, I’d believe everyone would start coming after me. You’re allowed to have a bad night. It happens to all of us. We’re not gonna win every game, but we go out and die trying.”

His eyes return back to a noticeable level, staring into mine. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

I stand up and leave the blanket, phone in hand, walking over to his side and resting my hand on his shoulder, giving it the slightest squeeze to show my support. “You are enough,” I tell him, looking into his eyes. It’s only now that I realize how long his eyelashes are, how aligned and straight they present themselves. “Okay? Don’t go to bed with that mentality. Take a shower and wash it off.”

“I already took a shower,” Jimmy says quietly.

“So then go change and get some sleep,” I suggest. “Unless you wanna talk about it. I can get coffee going if it’s really something you need to get off your chest.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’ll pass. I think once we’ve all adjusted, it won’t feel like such a huge weight.” He starts to unbutton the cufflinks on his button down. “Thanks, though.”

I rub my thumb on his shoulder, removing my hand as he motions to stand up. “Always, James.” I smile as I head for my room.

Jimmy scoffs, his shoes once again clicking on the hardwood. “The fuck is wrong with you, Abigail?”

I stop in my tracks and turn around to look at him. I’m inches from my door. “Nobody calls me that.”

“Maybe I’ll be the first person to do so.” He squeezes past me to enter his room. “I mean, it is your actual name.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“The same reason you don’t like being called James.”

I can already see him slowly closing his door. “And who said that?”

I pretend to think about my answer. “Uh, you?”

He smiles. “Nice try. Get outta here.”

I stick my face out at him. “I gladly will. Sweet dreams.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters sarcastically, clicking the door shut. Before I forget, I head back to the entryway to turn off the light. It’s almost pitch black when I’m making my way back. I’m on the cusp of entering past the door when I hear the thud of what sounds like a belt, and an “Oh, fuck” escape Jimmy’s lips.

I stay hanging near my door. “You okay?” I say loud enough so he can hear me.

“Yeah,” he says behind the door. “Just, uh, just sore.”

“There’s an unopened bottle of ibuprofen in the top cabinet,” I tell him, “in case you needed one.”

“I’m gonna need, like, 50,” he jokes. “Nah, I’ve got some in my bag.”

“Which is still out in the kitchen,” I remind him.

I hear a groan. “Fuck’s sake. Can you get that for me?”

I walk the short distance into the kitchen and grab the gear bag, lifting it securely in my hand before approaching his door. “Got it.”

The door opens and he’s changed into a navy blue shirt and plaid pajama pants, his bed already unmade. He takes the bag from me. “Thank you.” The door looks to be closing again. “Good night.” It clicks shut again. I’m finally able to have full access to my room, shutting the door, staring at nothing in the dark. I make my way over to my bed, crawling in and taking off my glasses, putting them down on my nightstand table and putting my phone in the charger, flipping it case side up and sinking into the coziness of my sheets. I can’t help but wonder if Jimmy’s pain, both figurative and literal, is starting to take hold.

I can’t help but wonder if I should start to be afraid.

—------------

The first official rainy day of fall luckily happens on the day where there isn’t a game. There’s no worrying about driving up to the rink, or even having to go out at all. I stand out on the balcony in my slippers, breathing in the chilly, raw air. Of course, chilly at this rate is around 60 degrees, but it’s better than consistent 85-90 degree days where you have to crank the AC. The sight of wet leaves on the pavement and the light panging of the rain on the window calms me down. All I need to fit the vibe is a hot drink in my hand.

Walking back into my room and out into the kitchen, I feel a shiver run down my spine. It’s evident that Jimmy notices as he’s pouring coffee from the Keurig into two mugs. “Oh, you didn’t just get sick, did you?” It looks like static electricity has taken over his hair.

I grab the blue and white striped mug in front of me and drag it across the countertop. “That would be your dream, wouldn’t it?” I take a quick zip to lower the chances of burning my tongue.

He shakes his head. “Actually, it’d be the opposite.”

I place the mug back down. “Let’s just say I’d probably handle it better than you.”

He lifts his own mug to his mouth, then pauses. “What do you mean by that?”

I move my eyes from side to side. “You know, the whole stereotype that men act like babies when they’re sick. I’m not sure if I can affiliate myself with that.”

Jimmy lets out a shortened laugh. “Well, all I have to do is take some Tylenol and drink enough water and snore several times a day. Before you know it, I’m back on my feet.”

I tilt my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sick.”

He finishes sipping his coffee. “I was sick last year. Remember? It was the game before Christmas break. Whole bunch of us had to sit out because of the stomach bug. I didn’t end up getting it.”

A confused look makes way onto my face. “But you just said you were sick.”

“I was,” he reiterates. “I didn’t actually catch the bug, like, throwing up constantly and stuff like that. It was basically just chills and nausea, which, believe me, did not feel good. Thank goodness for Pepto Bismol.”

I laugh. “So, what, you just laid on the couch all day?”

“Pretty much,” he replies. “Watched the game, though. Still managed to pull out the win.”

“Sucks you weren’t there to actually celebrate,” I say. “All of your absences were definitely noticeable.”

“Good to know.” He sets his mug down. “Did you even miss any games at all last year? I’m sure I always heard your voice around one way or another.”

I’m trying so hard not to blush. “Honestly, I think I had grade A attendance.”

“Seriously?” Even he can’t believe it. “All 82?”

I nod, smiling. “The key is to not get hurt or sick.”

“Now why didn’t I think about that?” He taps his fingers on the countertop. “And yet, you still weren’t nominated.”

I shrug. ‘I don’t care about that. I don’t need an award to prove I’m good. And neither do you. We’ve been able to showcase our ability without a shiny trophy.”

“It’s not even the shiny trophy that’d mean the most,” he tells me, winking.

The blushing is noticeable now. “Yeah, well, who knows when that’s gonna happen?”

“It will.”

“Yeah, but it’s all a matter of when. We can’t just sit around, waiting for it.”

“That’s what this year is for.”

I drag my fingers along the mug handle. “I just want us to have a good year,” I tell Jimmy. “Forget postseason for a minute. I’m more than okay with a good regular. We’re already gonna have a target on our backs, you know, from the media and everything, about how this year is different for obvious reasons and what we’re gonna change and blah blah blah. I can already predict the antagonizing questions we’re gonna be asked.” I lift up my mug to take another sip. “I’m ready to tell them I’m declining.”

A soft chuckle elicits through his mouth. “They’re definitely gonna give us a run for our money.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll just tell them to put it where their mouths are.” I jump off the chair and walk over to the sink, rinsing out my mug and washing it out with dish soap and the soap pad. I turn to look at Jimmy, who’s leaning against the island. “Seriously, though. I’m not gonna have time for their bullshit.”

“Of course you won’t,” he agrees, “but you gotta remember they’re just doing their job.”

I sigh. “Yeah, I know, but some of their questions make my ears bleed. Here I am, sitting in my stall after a shit game, and the first thing they’re gonna ask me is what went wrong. Why don’t you tell me that?”

“I know it’s just stating the obvious, but that’s what they’re trained to do. You can’t give it away on your face that it’s a bad question, though.”

My face scrunches up. “I don’t do that.”

He whistles quietly, looking out at the window, watching the leaves fall from the trees, courtesy of the wind. “Hate to break the news, Abb, but you do. You have a tell.”

I let out a laugh, placing my clean mug back in the cabinet. “I do not.”

“You zone out past the cameras and then add a scoff for the extra flair.” He gives me a smirk in return.

“Sorry I don’t hide my irritation that well,” I retort. “I’m waiting as to who’s gonna ask a question about Ryan. That’s when I’ll break their neck.”

“I can totally see you doing that.”

“Yeah, just don’t piss me off and I won’t have to,” I reply back, smiling.

“You ain’t gotta worry about me, though,” Jimmy says, moving to the sink to rinse his mug out. I step back toward the pantry to give him space. I didn’t even realize I was still standing there.

“I know I don’t,” I tell him. “You’ll be up and ready to defend me.”

“Like always,” he replies. “Hell, maybe I’ll even sneak a bit of attitude in there.”

I expose a sly smile. “Time to bring out the Boston bitchiness.”

He laughs. “I mean, I don’t consider myself to be rude, but hey, I’m just like you, in terms of needing to act that way in certain situations.” He looks at me. “That includes telling off the press, not by giving them an attitude, but more of just trying to steer the conversation in another direction.”

I pretend to analyze what Jimmy just said. “Now I know why you won the Good Guy award, like, three years ago,” I tease.

“And now I know why you’ll never win the Lady Byng,” he retorts back.

“The Lady Byng is a scam anyway,” I claim. “It’s basically an award given to the one player that was always cooperative with the media and blah blah blah. There are a bunch of guys that could easily win it and they still don’t even end up getting a nomination.”

“Like who?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “This guy named James Vesey or something. I hear he’s the politest man you’ll ever meet. He loves having the cameras and microphones shoved in his face, pretending he’s some sort of movie star when he’s just subject to the last line on his team.”

He just stares at me.

“Oh, and don’t forget he never plays close to 11 minutes per game,” I continue on. “Basically getting paid to sit on the bench. At this rate, he should just be sent down to the minors if he’s not gonna average a decent amount of time over the span of a week’s schedule.”

He still doesn’t answer, and for a moment, I’m wondering if I accidentally roasted him a little too much.

But by the saving grace of God, I watch his dorky smile appear, flashing the tiniest bit of teeth. “This is why you’ll never be a reporter,” he says, walking past me and into the bathroom.

I follow him like a lost puppy and stand outside the door, watching him lift his toothbrush from the cup and cover the bristle in toothpaste before running it underneath the water and inserting it into his mouth, moving it around from side to side. “I could never be a reporter,” I defend myself. “Some of their questions can be so stupid that I feel like I’m being transported to another planet.”

“True,” I hear him say while brushing his teeth. I’m surprised he keeps all of the toothpaste in his mouth. I took him as the type of person to let it escape at some point and have it dribble down his chin. However, there’s already a lot of things he’s proven me wrong about. I’m sure there’s more that I’ll discover in the future.

I turn away and look toward my room so he can somewhat have privacy when rinsing. He stands back up from leaning over the sink and turns off the light. “No more coffee breath,” he says. “Wanna smell?”

I make eye contact with his skeptical looking face. “You want me to smell your mouth?” I make what I hope looks to be a repulsed face. “Absolutely not.”

Jimmy puts his hand on his hip. “Damn, such a weenie.”

“I am not,” I argue. “I already found out how it tasted. I don’t need to fall into another trap like that.”

His eyebrow pulls away from above his eye. “A trap?”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

A lightbulb pops up over his head, fluorescent light illuminating on all sides. “We agreed it was just a one time thing.”

“And it is,” I tell him. “I just want to make sure you’re reminded of that before you start making jokes.”

“Fine,” Jimmy says. “I’ll go on and pretend it never happened, like it didn’t mean a thing.”

“Good. Didn’t mean a damn thing to me either.”

That familiar feeling of awkward silence infiltrates its way throughout the apartment.

“Anyway,” I say, stepping back toward my bedroom door, “what are you doing with your day?”

“Well, I’m definitely not going out,” he says, gesturing toward the window. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“You think it’s too early to turn on the fireplace?” I throw out as a suggestion.

“It’s never too early,” he tells me, sending another wink my way.

I furrow an eyebrow. “See? You just want another replica, don’t you?”

“Abb, we just had this conversation,” Jimmy exasperates, rolling his eyes. “Who’s the one trying to rile me up now?”

I give him a proud smirk. “Now that is what I call a trap.” I head toward my room.

“And what are you doing with your day?” He calls after me.

“Nothing involving fire,” I respond, shutting the door, hoping I don’t hear his footsteps quickly approach.

For now, he remains in the kitchen, and I look around my room, unsure of how to occupy my time. It’s too early to start lounging in front of the TV. Hands on my hips, I scan every inch of wall, coming up with a plan.

When I’ve finally thought of one, I walk over to my closet and open the door. I’ve decided on cleaning out my summer clothes. You know, tank tops, dresses, shorts, sandals, the whole shebang. The only issue I might have is figuring out where to store all of it. I didn’t bring any storage containers while moving in. I lugged everything back in boxes. That was poor planning on my part.

I open my door and walk back into the kitchen to see that Jimmy has disappeared. I turn around and find his bedroom door cracked open. I quickly knock on it before I just barge in, because well, that would be rude.

Fortunately, I hear his voice perk up. “Yeah?”

I open up the door all the way and slowly trudge in, watching him prop up the pillows on the bed. “Do you by any chance happen to have storage containers lying around?”

He puts down the last of his two pillows and looks at me with a questionable face. “I don’t believe so, no. You can check in the closet if you want.”

Feeling the tiniest bit hopeful, I open up his closet door and peak inside, looking around in the dark. All I see are shirts and sweatshirts on hangers, suit jackets on hangers, button downs on hangers…you see where I’m going with this.

On the shelf above lie his neatly folded dress pants, sweats, all of that shit. I don’t know how he’s able to fit all of that and stack it without it tumbling down every time the door opens. And I, for one, would prefer to not test that theory.

Right below his main line of clothes, there’s some decorative storage boxes. He’s got some filled with trophies and plaques, others with hats, and one with what looks to be Christmas decorations. Well, at least I know he’s not boring when it comes to celebrating holidays.

And then I notice a tiny cardboard box. It looks like there’s a bunch of miscellaneous stuff just thrown in there. I guess the feeling of having to actually organize something freaks him out.

I peak in a little closer, and my heart skips the slightest of beats.

I see the pamphlet from Ryan’s funeral service, along with the memorial card.

I see the knife he pointed at me. He probably “got rid of it” so he could fool me into thinking it was still out in the kitchen somewhere.

This one makes me grip on the closet frame to prevent myself from falling.

The razor.

My eyes widen to the point where I feel they’re going to pop out of their sockets.

He kept it?

Why would he do that?

My initial thought would be Wow, okay, yeah, he’s got some serious issues. Now that I can somewhat think a little more clearly, it would only be rational to think It’s true he does, in fact, hold a grudge.

Abby, don’t even think about it.

I see a large piece of what I thought was paper stick out of the bottom. I turn around in hopes that I don’t get caught snooping. Technically, it’s not, since I’m not rearranging anything, but I don’t want to have another meaningless argument with him.

He’s not in here, probably stepped out into the kitchen or something. I make it very quick. Just a quick peak.

I wiggle the initially thought paper out of the bottom of the box. Only it’s not paper.

It’s a sympathy card.

Because my brain can’t stop myself, I open it. I scan the right side of the card.

Dear Jimmy,

We are so sorry to have heard the news about Ryan. We know that he was an incredibly valued teammate and friend. The tragedy itself is just terrible, perhaps close to being indescribable. You’ll probably receive this by the time of the funeral, so by what you told us about Abby staying with you for the time being, please, just be patient with her. She’s grieving this loss too, in a way that she once saw as impossible. Give her space, don’t force a conversation that both you and her know doesn’t need to be had, look after her, see if anything starts to change. She’s going to need a lot of help, and the fact she chose you is nothing short of an honor, when she could’ve chosen anyone else. It’ll be a long, difficult road, and it is painful now, but believe us when we say it will get easier. Let Abby know that, too. Reassure her. Just be there for her. She might not be able to express it right now, but we know deep down she is grateful to have you by her side. Tragedy brings people together. It doesn’t matter how, but it always does. Sometimes, it brings people together in the way you’d last expect. Keep that in mind.

We’re always a phone call away if you need anything. We love you, always.

Love,

Mom & Dad

I shove the card back in the box, staring at the storage containers. This is a shrine.

It’s my shrine.

It’s a shrine he made to hold all of his grudges instead of actually talking to me.

And I never knew.

Lucky for me, I’ve started to grow thicker skin. I shut the closet door and turn around again. He’s still not here. Did he leave and not tell me?

I quietly walk across the carpet and out the door, turning into the kitchen/living room area. Completely empty.

I turn back around and pop my head in the bathroom. I shouldn’t have even bothered because the lights are off.

My last resort is my own room. I take several steps in, looking all the way up, down, and around. I even walk past the curtains to look out at the balcony. Nowhere to be seen.

“Fucking hell, where are you?” I mutter under my breath. I walk back out to the kitchen. His phone is on the countertop. But his keys aren’t.

At this point, it’s a lost cause to even predict where he is.

Before I can even get a prediction in, the door unlocks and he emerges through the doorway. He’s carrying two large storage containers. “You couldn’t find any in there?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

But I did find something else.

Jimmy places the containers on the floor. “Well, I went down to the laundry room and found some unused ones.” He looks at them intently. “They’re in decent shape.”

I take a step back. “The laundry room has containers?”

He shrugs. “Guess so. Will 2 be enough? I can always go back down and grab another one if you’ll need more storage.”

It’s my turn to pick up the containers. “That’s something I can do, don’t worry about it.” I try to look at him over the lid. “Thanks, though.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it. You need any help?”

My brain quickly short circuits.

‘She’s going to need a lot of help, and the fact she chose you is nothing short of an honor, when she could’ve chosen anyone else.’

I sigh contently. “Yeah, actually, if you don’t mind. You wanna take the top container and just bring it to my room?”

He walks over and lifts the container off the other one, holding the handles in his hands. “Sure thing,” he says, moving past me.

I follow him with the other container and re-enter my room. He’s placed the container on the bed. I’d rather have it on the floor, but in all fairness, I didn’t tell him where to put it, so I follow suit and put my container down next to the other one.

Walking over to my closet, I start taking everything off the hangers and pile it all on one arm, turning back to the containers and opening the lid with my free hand. I move them over to the side to make space for my clothes and start folding, placing it inside and stacking it neatly.

I decided to have one container for my shirts and dresses and the other for my shorts and extra sweatshirts I had due to the A.C. always blasting. That container is filled before I can squeeze in the last of my shirts. I lift the side handles to keep it shut and lift it off the bed, placing it down in the back of my closet.

Jimmy turns around from looking out at the balcony, watching the rain continue to pitter patter on the sliding doors. “You forgot about that one,” he points to the bed.

I stare down at the dress I wore out to our dinner at the vineyard. “I didn’t forget,” I tell him. “I’m gonna get rid of it.”

His face transitions into confusion. “What? Why?”

I stare down at my feet on the carpet. “I don’t know. Just don’t really like it too much.”

“I like it.”

I lift my head back up. “You do?”

He rolls his eyes. “Abb, I told you that.”

“No, you said that Ryan would’ve loved the dress. You never said anything about you liking it.”

I hear a nervous gulp make its way down his throat. “Well, I’ll repeat myself in case you didn’t hear me the first time, which you obviously did. I like that dress.”

I move my eyes from side to side. “Thanks,” I say meekly.

“Besides, you could save it for casino night or something.”

“No, I’m planning on getting a different dress for that. This one’s too bland.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s definitely not meant to last an entire night, either.”

Both his eyebrows shoot up. “What, what do you-”

“Like, I can’t wear it for four, maybe five hours or it’s gonna start irritating me. The straps start digging into you and it’s not like I can just let them hang or anything.”

I can see a sense of relief wash over his face. He thought I meant it another way. Well, that’s true too.

“It’s too tight on me as it is, anyway. I’m sure another woman could fit into it better.”

He continues looking at me, a hint of dissatisfaction in what I’m saying.

“But at the same time, it’s too big. A size 6 makes it bulge out everywhere.”

“Abb.” He stops me from speaking. “I think you pull it off pretty well.”

I fail to match his energy and shrug my shoulders. “Eh.” I lift it off the bed and fold it neatly, placing it on my throw blanket.

“You do.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he deadpans.

Given the tone of his voice, I can’t help but think if maybe when he helped me with the zipper that night, he dragged it all the way down. He could’ve easily danced his fingers across my back. He could’ve gently pushed the straps off to each side of my shoulder. He could’ve guided me back into him, into his own body, me already a third of the way naked in front of him at his own expense. He could’ve reached his way inside and placed his hands anywhere he pleased, hoping to get a reaction out of me.

But he didn’t.

Only because he wanted to be respectful.

And now, after the kiss, I’m sure past occurrences of what’s deemed as “helping out a friend” was just a warmup for having to help me out of my own clothes.

Am I overthinking it? Yes.

Do I have a valid reason? No.

I shove the thought to the back of my mind and regain the focus on Jimmy, who’s now leaning against the dresser. “It’s up to you,” he says. “I just don’t know why’d you wanna waste an outfit like that.”

I sit on my bed, my right leg dangling off it. “Because I just don’t like it anymore.”

“And how could that possibly be?”

“Because it’s not me!” I shout. I didn’t mean to. It’s a heat of the moment thing.

I stare down at my hand grabbing onto my comforter. I look up to see him crossing his arms, staring out past the door.

I scoff. “God, why are we getting so worked up over a dress?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You know what? Fine. I’ll keep it.” I stand up, folded dress in hand, only for it to slightly tilt and undo itself. I wave it in front of him, holding both straps around one hand and motioning back to the closet, opening the door back up and reaching in to drag out my shirts and dresses container, opening the lid and placing it in on the very top before shutting it and pushing the container back until it hits the wall. I shut the door again. “Now you know where to find it,” I snap back. “Feel free to cut the straps.”

I turn around only for hands to grip me at the curve of my elbows and push me back against the closet, eliciting a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I look up to see him staring down at me. It’s not a feeling I enjoy.

I do my best to look past him. This is like what happened in the bathroom, only with the tiniest amount of worked up nerves. I happened to get on his last one, apparently.

He pins me to the closet as he steps forward, invading what’s left of my space. He moves his head down to my level and rotates his mouth to line up with my ear. “I wasn’t gonna admit it that night,” he whispers, a tinge of anger present in his voice, “but I somewhat stumbled over my words because I thought you looked incredibly sexy.” His breath bounces off my ear, and I can feel my knees somewhat bend.

“But now that everything’s changed,” he rasps, “I can admit that now. I’d love for you to wear it again.”

I swallow. “When?”

“Anytime you want.” His voice sounds like melted butter, all smooth and strung out. “Keep it for me, yeah?”

“I, uh, I don’t know-”

“He might’ve not seen you in it, but I got to. That counts for something, right?”

“No, it does not.” I attempt to say it confidently. “It’s only to excite you.”

“Boy, was it exciting,” he murmurs, pulling away to look back down at me.

“Okay, I am definitely not wearing it again now.” I let out a puff of air.

“I wouldn’t doubt that just yet.” He winks and releases his hands, not saying anything else as he walks out of the room.

I stay fixated to the closet, trying to process whatever the hell that was. Flirting? The slightest bit of jealousy, even though there’s nothing to be jealous of? Something he’s keeping from me?

Whatever it is, he’s only digging himself a bigger hole by deflecting it.

--------------

It’s the last preseason game of the month. It just ended. I’m in the locker room after a 4-1 win over Boston. I’m exhausted. All I want to do is take the bus ride home and sink into my own bed. I didn’t get on the scoresheet tonight, but I did have 15 minutes of ice time. Take that, Jim.

I had a quick shower and changed into my arrival outfit. I kept it casual with a blue and white striped button down and white tapered pants. Thank goddess my period ended 2 days ago, otherwise everyone would be seeing red. Quite literally.

I’m sitting on the bus with my earbuds in, doing my best to fall asleep. Of course, the challenges arise when you’re not even sitting on something comfortable, let alone the fact it’s noisy, let alone the fact you don’t have the energy to talk to anybody. All you can worry about is just getting the hell back to where you like to be the most.

Home.

Except that’s not what it is.

It’s more of a hotel stay. Temporary. Unfulfilling, well, in my perspective. Torture. Uncomfortable. A last resort.

And the irony I was going back to it.

Before I can do my best to drift off, my home screen lights up with what I think is a meaningless notification. That’s until I realize it’s a text and my intuition gets the best of me. Of course it’s from you-know-who.

You played great tn

I swipe up to unlock my phone and reply.

thanks

I see the three dots appear, indicating he’s got more to say.

Want me to wait up?

I type on the keyboard.

no. you can go to bed

The three dots appear again.

Ok. Door will be unlocked

Once again, I end it.

It’s anticlimactic, but what else is there to say? It’s just a compliment. Nothing else to it. I drop my phone in the front pocket of my bag and place my earbuds in, ready to drain out the rest of the night.

-----------

I can already feel the blisters from my sandals as I walk down the hallway, approaching the door. I place my hand on the knob and turn it in hopes of it to open.

But it doesn’t.

I fiddle with the knob again, twisting it all the way. That doesn’t work either.

I have two choices. I can text Jimmy and let him know he “accidentally�� locked me out, or I can knock vigorously on the door.

So I knock vigorously on the door.

It’s not even an entire 30 seconds before I hear the sound of a lock being detached and the door swinging open, him already in his pajamas, but not looking fully sleepy. He must’ve been starting to drift off. “The hell are you doing?” He says gravelly.

“What do you think I’m doing?” I say as I push past him, turning on the kitchen light. “You didn’t leave the door unlocked.”

He just stands there, taking in my presence, not saying a word.

“Guess I forgot.”

I scoff, leaning my hand on the countertop. “And you told me it’d be unlocked. You got fuckin Alzheimer’s or some shit?”

“Why are we getting worked up over a locked door?” He repeats my words I shot at him a few days back. I am enraged, but don’t have the willpower to argue. It’s already a quarter to 3 in the morning. It’s a four hour ride back. No one else is awake in the world right now except us, which brings me to my next theory, given that he doesn’t look all tired. He probably did wait up for me. I literally told him not to.

I take a deep breath, tightening my grip on the counter. “Sorry.”

His gaze makes me feel small. “Don’t be. I’m the one that didn’t do it.” He walks backward onto the rug. “C’mon. Get to bed.”

I walk over to the door and shut it all the way, lifting the latch. Since I’m already over there, I turn the light off and pick up my bags, lifting them over my shoulder and walking straight down to my room. I’m expecting him to pin me to the wall. The irony he loves pinning all of his emotional problems on me.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t. I don’t even bother turning on a light, so I just place my bags down by the closet and toss my shoes down on top of them. I go to shut my door until I’m met with a tall shadow standing in the doorway.

“Fuck’s sake, what do you want?” I’m not even pissed off anymore. I don’t know how to explain it.

It’s hard to even look at him since I can barely see his face. He just stands there, occupying the doorframe.

“Goodnight,” I tell him, placing my hand on the knob and shoving the door in front of me to create a barrier.

Only for him to scare the crap out of me by slamming it back open to the side.

I dig my fingers into my palms. “You’re gonna rip that thing off the hinges if you do shit like that.”

“Maybe that’s the plan,” he mutters.

“Okay, seriously, what is your problem?” Why can’t this just wait until the morning?

“I don’t have a problem.” He still hasn’t moved from his spot.

I scoff. “Sure giving me an attitude for someone who claims they don’t have one.”

“Forget it.”

“Well, if it’s gonna come up at this time of day, then please, Jimmy,” I narrow my eyes up at him. “Enlighten me.”

A frustrated breath comes out of his mouth. Then he turns around and walks into his room, slamming the door. He speaks from behind it. “I would never go through your dead boyfriend’s sympathy cards.”

Guess I wasn’t as sly as I thought. Damn, he really does notice anything.

“Or did you throw all of those away too?”

I lean against my doorframe. “I never got any sent here.”

“Lies.”

“You would’ve given them to me,” I retort back.

“For them to be ripped up,” he says from behind the door.

“Oh, what the hell do you know?” I’m over it at this point.

“Quite a lot for putting up with you for this long.”

I roll my eyes. I know he can’t see me, but I don’t care. “This is not what this is about.”

“What’s it about then?”

“I don’t know, Jim.” I take a brief pause. “You tell me.”

Nothing.

“Maybe you should be the one in therapy. You’re a grown man that can’t even communicate how he feels. It’s unbelievable.” I choose to not go any further, so I shut my door and lock it, giving him less of an opportunity to invade my space.

I unbutton my shirt and untuck it out of my jeans, leaving me in my bra and underwear when I hear his door open and a knock on mine. No. He is not going to see me under these circumstances.

I don’t respond as I turn around to my closet to take out a t-shirt and then to my drawer to retrieve a pair of sweats, stripping myself completely as I change.

“You awake?” He sounds sad.

I don’t breathe nor move.

He’s at his own last straw by attempting to even open the door.

“GO AWAY!!!”

I would say it was a built up reaction. My throat hurts. I can’t help him if he doesn’t tell me what’s wrong.

The sound of his door shuts again. It worked this time.

I crawl into bed, raising my quilt up to cover half of my face. I stare at the curtains, concentrating on the uptick in my heart rate.

And then I start thinking:

Given the current reality, I’m afraid he’s suppressing himself so that he can be there for others. All I know is that I would not want to be there when, and if, he blows up. I’d be scared.

It’s just beginning.

I know exactly who his target is.

It’s me.

What’s his plan? I don’t know.

But it’s going to end in my current healing heart being broken again.

I don’t even need to guess.

Now that’s a trap you’re stuck in.

#fictional jimmy vesey

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aberooski · 9 months ago

Text

Rewatched the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy for the 80th time and watched 4 and 5 for the first time

So...........

Atticus/Alexis/Chazz trio pirate au

Plot part 1....? 🤷‍♀️

______________

Chazz is a noble who was kidnapped during a pirate raid on his family's port, but a few days after before his father's ships can catch them, the pirate's ship is attacked by the infamous crew of the Obelisk Blue, a ship captained by a fiercesome young woman, said to be sailing the seas in search of her long-lost brother.

The crew of the Obelisk the J-Squad plunders the ship and coming across the valuable prisoner on board, they take him on board the Obelisk Blue where he comes face to face with Captain Alexis Rhodes, fiercest female pirate to fly her colors in the seas of the Academia Isles. She elects to keep Chazz on board since his value could bring them great fortune, which she could most certainly use to fund her long and arduous search for Atticus, who had gone missing at sea some years prior, though she refuses to believe he's gone. So long as Chazz can earn his keep, he will remain unharmed and be treated well until she and her crew can make a deal with his family to ensure their protection in their waters, and the resources needed to scour the seas until Atticus is found, or sell him to the highest bidder.

So Chazz is forced to either work amongst the crew or be locked up in the brig, and so he gets to work. Eventually, Alexis invites him to her cabin to have a discussion. She's very vague about her intentions with him when he asks, but even he's heard her sad story whispered on the winds of the Isles.

He recounts the tale of the female pirate's past. Of the beloved brother off to sea on a merchant vessel that never came back to port, save for one man. Disheveled and mad, half-drowned and muttering and raving about a phantom ship, the Shadow Rider. The legendary ship they say is captained by a man cursed by the very darkness itself, old and decrepit and long since dead, he sails the seas harvesting victims, taking revenge on still living sailors. Once a ship faces the Shadow Rider, you either die, or if your soul and will are strong enough, he steals you and makes you apart of his crew, and you become cursed by darkness too. A fate far worse than death, some say. Seldom does even a single man survive to tell the tale. He tells her of the young girl who ran away from home and single handedly commandeered a ship after stowing away, and put together her own crew to find her missing brother. Chazz doesn't believe in the tale of the phantom ship.

But Alexis does.

Her brother isn't dead, he has to be trapped on that ship. And she counters that if he knows the story of the Shadow Rider, he's not heard the whole story. Kagemaru, captain of the Shadow Rider, takes revenge on the living, yes. But his purpose is greater. He sails in search of seven keys that can break his curse, and restore him body and soul. And if that were to be true, the keys must also be able to free the crew. Atticus must be apart of the crew.

He asks her how she could possibly know that, and she reveals to him that she's seen it in her dreams. Every night she sees a man on a decrepit old ship. His face is distorted and he's chained to the deck, but she hears her brother's voice calling to her. It has to be a sign. And she reveals that she's already found four of the seven keys. She only needs three more. And so they make sail for a particularly dangerous port, where she just might find allies to lead them to one of the remaining keys.

Little do they know that there's even more to the legend than even Alexis knows. The seven keys alone can free the crew and captain of the Shadow Rider from darkness, yes, but to return the captain to life and youth as well, a toll must be paid. A sacrifice of the blood of a sovereign, more potent than any common base-born blood. And Chazz just so happens to fit the bill. He also requires the souls of the crew. And to make matters worse, two of the three keys are already in the possession of the phantom crew of the Shadow Rider, who are in pursuit of the remaining pieces, and know of the female pirate who has come into possession of four.... and the precious cargo aboard the Obelisk. And so, the phantom ship searches for the Obelisk Blue.

When the Obelisk makes port after a few more days, Alexis leaves Chazz locked up on board as he's still technically a prisoner, though he is admittedly starting to grow on her a little, and sets off to find her contacts, Sartorius and Sarina, a pair of mystic siblings well versed in the legends and curses of the sea. They give her a secret map they kept hidden even from her, that reveals the location of the final key. But before she can return to her ship, unbeknownst to them all, the Shadow Rider has found them.

Back on the Obelisk, the phantom ship is spotted out to sea, and the crew prepares to defend their ship and the keys without their captain, and Chazz remains locked up below. But as the crew prepares on deck for a fight, members of the phantom crew infiltrate the ship under their noses, and make for the four keys. The keys are kept in Alexis's cabin, so a fight brews up on deck, but there's still one enemy left down below. And with Chazz left unguarded in favor of the keys, and his unknown importance, the unknown man in the mask comes to collect the boy. All the while back on land, Sartorius and Sarina tell Alexis the truth of Kagemaru's ambitions. He has two of the keys already, and if he claims all seven, he will use them to break his curse and restore his life and youth. But to do that, he needs Chazz's blood. And if her brother really is apart of the crew, if Kagemaru's plan succeeds, she really will lose him forever. Alexis is horrified by this, and without having a second to breathe, Sarina gasps and reveals that the Shadow Rider is here. She senses the ship's presence. Alexis, more horrified, takes the map to the final piece and runs back to her ship!

Back in the ship, Chazz is face to face with the mysterious man in the mask as swords clash above them. The man says nothing, but Chazz, studying him, realizes he seems to resemble Alexis even with the mask obscuring his face. He interrogates him for a moment, asking if he knows who the captain of this ship is. Her name is Alexis Rhodes. ring any bells? And he asks if there's a man named Atticus on the ship, but still the man says nothing. But his head does begin to hurt at the mention of those names. And gripping his head in pain, he breathlessly calls for Alexis, but then from above deck, a voice calls down below, ordering the man, called Nightshroud, to secure the boy and return to the Shadow Rider as they've successfully stolen the keys. This seems to almost reactivate Nightshroud, and with great strength, he breaks open the cell and grabs Chazz, restraining him and throwing him over his shoulder, whisking him away from the Obelisk with the phantom crew and the keys. Alexis returns to the ship just in time to catch a glimpse of Nightshroud as he and the crew escape on a boat back to the Shadow Rider with Chazz and the keys in tow. She recignizes him as the man from her dreams, and desperately calls out to him. Atticus! She screams, and again his head begins to hurt and spin. But this confirms it for her.

Her brother is alive.

But now they've lost the keys and Chazz, so Kagemaru now has six keys and the blood sacrifice he needs. But Alexis has the map to the final key. And they can still recover the other keys and rescue Chazz and her brother. It can, and it will be done.

Also all this time they're still being pursued by Chazz's father's fleet of ships. So there's that problem too.

_____________

That's all I've got atm and not sure if I'd actually fully write this out or not but like this is awesome????

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aberooski · 2 years ago

Note

Can you imagine if Syrus' friends are just as confused as the audience regarding the fact that Syrus never snapped or became evil?

Imagine them being like, "Are you sure you don't want to go apeshit now?" quite a lot of times and Syrus always shrugging like, "Nah, not right now."

Even Zane would be a bit on the edge by the time Syrus is in charge of his recovery.

Honestly Syrus had every right to snap at some point over Zane's treatment of him. Zane treated him so bad for so long that he suffers debilitating anxiety and extremely low self-esteem and self worth. But he never held a single thing against Zane. Honestly no one did for more than a single episode for the purpose of the episodic narrative.

Syrus looks up to Zane so much that he believes everything Zane says about him is right and that he has every right to treat him as poorly as he does. He adores his brother, he loves him and idolizes him and tries so hard to make him proud and after meeting Jaden and start to gain a little more confidence and learn to believe in himself, try to prove Zane wrong.

But no matter what people still see him as being in Zane's shadow. They tackle that in episode 4 season 2: "Sad But Truesdale" one of my favorite episodes btw lol which is really the only time we see him even remotely snap or get confrontational and stand up for himself, or at least it's the first time we see that.

But the thing is, at that point he and Zane have.... sort of made amends, namely Zane telling Sy he proved him wrong about saying Sy didn't belong at Duel Academy and saying he loves him before sacrificing himself to protect him from Camula back in episode 32, but being in season 2, Zane is about to go dark himself. which therein lies the reignited of the big issue.

Because after all of that progress they made, when Zane goes dark he reverts back to not caring about Syrus but even worse than before. Even back in season 1 they try to give you hints that he might actually care about Syrus a little bit not that I believe it for a second, but now he truly doesn't care at all. Not just not caring about Syrus but not caring about anyone. But it really comes to a head in episode 95, when Syrus duels Zane to try and remind him of who he used to be, but also to prove to Zane that he's strong enough to face him and strong enough to be a true duelist. Which only serves to land him in the hospital with Zane just writing him off as weak and just as worthless and weak as he had always said he was before. Just pure emotional whiplash for Sy to deal with after the progress they started making in season 1. I literally wrote an entire one shot about it that episode fucks me up so much and makes me so mad and upset But then there's even more whiplash in season 3 because Zane comes back and protects him in Dark World and helps him work through his conflicting feelings about Jaden, and then after basically bestowing Sy unto Jay:

"You can’t leave Syrus! 😢 He needs a big brother! 😭"

"He's got one. 😌"

LITERALLY SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP EVERYWHERE STOP I CAN'T

and telling Syrus he's proud of him he says literally nothing to Sy in the sub and I hate that just dies right in front of him.

Boom. More trauma.

And then they back pedal on his death and he's alive again in season 4 and Sy dedicates so much time and effort and attention and love hinto being his caretaker. When he has every right not to. Syrus is too good to be Zane's brother. Zane doesn't deserve him.

I know I've been blabbing on here and, but listen Sy's my favorite ever I have a lot to say akaksk 😂 Syrus had every right to snap at some point, that's my whole point, and the whole point of this whole ask I'm sorry for the whole dissertation happening here akksksk

Syrus needed to have his

Moment at some point. He deserved to get frustrated with Zane, to hold him accountable for everything he said and did to him. I hate that no one ever held anything against Zane and just gave him a pass for his abusive behavior. Syrus can if he wants to, that's his right and his choice but the others shouldn't have allowed it to continue happening and not call him out on it more than the one time Jay did in episode 8 and then just dropped it.

I know if I were his friend I would be very surprised he hadn't snapped ever. I think they all should be surprised, but also at the same time it's just not the type of person Sy is. He gets into arguments and is confrontational with people sometimes it's Hassleberry 9 times out of 10 lol but generally speaking he's very timid and is just content with his situation because Zane has beaten him down so much over the years. If anything they would be more surprised if he did snap or go dark, but I think if he did it would open their eyes to how they contributed to the problem by not actually holding Zane accountable for his actions.

But for the sake of this scenario, I think they might even encourage him to just let loose because holding all that stuff in isn't healthy, but he'd say no even though he definitely would want to deep down.

A real:

Kind of moment if you will. That's what they'd be trying to get him to do, but Syrus not allowing himself to let those feelings out and just having them pile up and fester while putting on the facade that he's okay and isn't angry about everything Zane put him through... yeah I think everyone should be worried and surprised that he hasn't snapped at that point and Zane should be very nervous about Sy taking the role as his caretaker. Because when he finally does snap? All I can say is yikes and good luck because when he finally does allow himself to snap in this scenario I think he would reach a really low spot because he's already there. He would just sink even lower.

They're gonna need all hands on deck to bring him back from that eruption of emotion and pain. Because letting the floodgates open to release that much hurt, I can tell you, not for the same reasons but from being hurt by people before, it's extremely difficult to close those gates again.

And one last point to that end, you know who I think would be integral to saving Sy from that? Chazz. Because he also has horrible and intense older sibling trauma and pain that he's trying to heal from himself, and it's not even all that different from his in some ways. He can understand Syrus's feelings better than anyone, and really sympathize with him and having someone who can even remotely understand his hurt would help Sy so much when he finally does snap. It would be double special too because they never really mixed all that well, but as shitty of a thing to relate to is, this they have in common. And I'd love to see them not like... trauma bond, but trauma bond if you know what I mean aksksk like kinda actually be friends. Because Jaden loves his bestie, but he and the others could only help so much because they know what he's been through, but don't really understand.

Chazz does.

Me currently typing this out:

#again I am SO sorry for the fucking novel you just recieved my anon friend 😭#I just wrote a whole doctoral dissertation akskskksks #but in all seriousness I wish they let Sy actually deal with all of this #someone get that poor baby a therapist 😭#yugioh gx #ygo gx #syrus truesdale #sho marufuji #zane truesdale #ryo marufuji #jaden yuki #judai yuki #chazz princeton #jun manjoume #abby's in her unhinged era #aberooski asks #answered

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