#I’m coughing and running a fever again and I’m so achy I feel like I have the flu

[raeathnos]

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[caspersickfanfics]

Late Arrival Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Anxiety/panic attack (described in detail), vomiting, fever, hospital mention, bad jokes

A/N:

Written for @monthofsick day 24: Panic ! It feels good to finally finish a multi-chapter fic for once, even though it's a bit short =v=

“–nari. Tighnari.” The earth is shaking. It’s warm. Comfortably warm for a moment, and then too much. He squirms. “Tighnari!” Oh, Cyno is shaking him. Cyno is warm. Cyno is—

“Please,” Cyno’s voice wavers. “I need to throw up.”

Tighnari bolts upright. Cyno is sick.

The forest watcher is still half asleep as he forces himself out of the bed. His head is pounding. A result of lack of rest, probably, combined with the incessant city noise, but his priority is getting the trash can to Cyno, and he manages it.

His ears flatten at the immediate sound of the bin being filled.

There are multiple waves, this time. They run in cycles. Cyno’s body tenses, hunches forward, and then with a sick gurgle, rancid smelling liquid gushes from his mouth and nose. Tighnari stands beside him and holds a mass of hair out of the way. It’s thick, and heavy with sweat. His own hands are shaking.

Something heavy sits uncomfortably in his stomach. A bubbling nausea rises in his throat, not from illness, but stress. Being woken so jarringly from such a deep sleep and days of exhaustion has left him reeling, strung out and achy.

He watches Cyno panting, head hung over the trash, and the tightness in his heart manifests into physical pain. It must be nearing 48 hours since anything’s actually stayed in Cyno’s system. His body looks thinner than it did even a day ago. He coughs, and Tighnari can easily see the outline of his ribs when his stomach contracts yet again. There’s another splatter, quickly followed by two more. Tighnari has never been squeamish, but right now the worry feels like a rampage in his gut.

Empty, Cyno leans back to catch his breath, melting into the pillows behind him. Tighnari sets the soiled trash can back on the floor. He brushes a thumb over Cyno’s cheek, catching some wetness and wiping it away, watching the sick man smile and nuzzle into his hand. He looks ill, certainly, but relaxed. Comfortable, even. Tighnari’s tail wilts between his legs and his chest squeezes impossibly further. He doesn’t want to take that from him - he doesn’t want to take anything from Cyno, and definitely not this - but a sense of safety is good for nothing if it’s only an illusion. When Tighnari finally speaks, he feels very far away.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he confesses quietly. Cyno cracks an eye open. Tighnari inhales unevenly. “I think… we should go to the Bimarstan.”

At the suggestion, Cyno goes rigid. He stares at Tighnari with some awful mix of shock, betrayal, confusion, and hurt. At the center of it all, a trembling and raw fear, the kind that makes him look far younger than his age.

“Tighnari–” Cyno speaks roughly, like it was hard for him to find his voice, and it cracks upon the single word. He’s gone ashen and bug-eyed. Tighnari melts with a sigh, sagging onto the bed and dropping his forehead to Cyno’s shoulder.

“I know.” Because he does, to a certain extent. There are few things that instill fear into the General Mahamatra, let alone to this degree. Tighnari takes Cyno’s hand in his own and stares at it. He can’t stand the sight of his partner’s pained expression any longer. “I know,” he repeats quietly. “I’m just not sure that I can help you on my own this time.”

“Tighnari. I’ll be fine.” Cyno sounds reassuring. He sounds like he believes his own words. “You’re helping. I feel better already.”

Maybe he does believe it. Tighnari can’t read minds. But he can hear Cyno’s heartbeat and it has the speed and intensity of a cornered animal. Cyno isn’t a liar - and yet, anyone can bend the truth or tiptoe around it, especially when fear is involved.

“I’ve been through worse,” Cyno says, his voice pleading for Tighnari to cave. Instead, his hands shake harder. Cyno looks… Frail. The word comes to mind and punches the oxygen out of him. His own heart pounds and there’s a rushing white noise in his ears that drowns out everything else.

“I don’t… know what to do,” Tighnari grates out. His breaths are coming too short and quick, but the harder he tries to gasp in oxygen, the more his chest hurts. He stands and his tail swishes restlessly, brushing against the floor. Cyno squeezes his hand.

“I promise,” he says. “I promise I’ll be okay, Tighnari. I don’t break promises.”

“I know you don’t.” And he does, except… “I’ll be right back. Stay here, Cyno. Please.”

Tighnari doesn’t wait for a response. He wrenches his hand away and stumbles out of the bedroom, and then out of the front door. He doesn’t make it much further than that.

He can’t.

It crosses Tighnari’s mind that he’s gasping quite loudly, to the point of nearly wheezing, and that Cyno can probably hear him; if he could claw his way further from the building, he would. The last thing he needs is to cause more stress for his partner. But his legs simply refuse to hold him, and he’s shaking from the tips of his ears to the end of his tail. He has to blink dark spots from his vision - there is simply not enough oxygen to appease his greedy lungs.

His entire chest feels like both a pulsing bruise and a stab wound and Tighnari grapples with a sort of fury, a rage at his own body’s failure at such an inopportune time. He’s managed to betray both himself and Cyno in one sitting. His left arm begins to tingle and go numb, and Tighnari wonders whether he’s being dealt some form of divine punishment in the form of heart failure. 

He can reason with himself, at least, enough to recognize that this is unlikely. Teyvat’s medical research has yet to discover a definitive way to distinguish between issues of the heart and of the mind, but Tighnari is aware that he’s quite healthy and still significantly younger than the average age of those afflicted with heart problems. Meanwhile, he’s familiar with the mind’s way of tricking the body, if only from having comforted Collei through more panic spells than he’d care to recall. 

But then - there are exceptions to every rule. This feels more painful than Collei has ever articulated, and counting his breaths doesn’t seem to be helping in the way it does with her. Instead he ends up coughing, choking on the very air that’s meant to bring him life. He could be an exception, something could be wrong and Tighnari wouldn’t know because he isn’t a doctor. Every time Tighnari tries to push the worry away, the fear seems to grow. If he dies here, then Cyno…

His stomach lurches. Tighnari whimpers and tugs at his hair, his ears, in some attempt at grounding himself. His tail wraps around his body instinctively as he retches. With his hearing enhanced as it is, Tighnari’s heartbeat is a constant source of white noise in his periphery, but now it sounds like thunder. He clutches at his chest and feels pathetic.

If nothing else, he can be grateful that Cyno’s apartment building is tucked into an alley and away from the busier streets of the city. It’s still loud, but at least the likelihood of some stranger spotting him in such a miserable state is lower. Tighnari is doubly appreciative of this fact when he begins throwing up. Hot vomit scalds his throat and sprays violently beneath a decorative bush. Tighnari is all but frozen on his hands and knees while his body continues to empty itself. By the time he regains control of his stomach, Tighnari can barely think.

The nausea, at least, has abated. He crawls pitifully away from the pool of puke and leans against the solid stone walls of the building. Tighnari clings to his tail, hands brushing through it in a repetitive, soothing motion, and forces himself to pause. He has a near overwhelming urge to rush back into the apartment and check on Cyno - archons, he’s been gone too long - but he must first take stock of his body. If he doesn’t, he risks scaring them both. 

So, slowly, Tighnari does a mental intake of his current state. His muscles ache, but the pain is gradually diffusing, no longer so centralized to his chest. His breathing is shaky but finally effective, and while his heart is racing, it doesn’t hurt, nor does it sound so impossibly loud. He’s still shaky and his legs feel weak, and of course, his head continues pounding. Whether or not he can stand is a question he can’t answer until he’s testing it out, unsteadily managing to get his feet underneath him.

When Tighnari staggers his way back to the bedroom, Cyno is right where he left him, awake and looking devastated. He may have followed his partner’s instructions, but that clearly didn’t stop him from hearing everything. “Tighnari.” Cyno reaches for him immediately. Tighnari shuffles over, feeling dazed and embarrassed. His ears are still ringing. Cyno doesn’t comment on the way the hand Tighnari offers shakes, only shifting slightly to gently cup it in both of his own. They are warm and calloused, and so, so gentle. 

“I’m sorry,” Tighnari rasps, because he hadn’t meant to be gone for so long, and maybe he shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have fallen apart at all. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that he still doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t remember crying, but Cyno wipes some wetness from under his eyes. Tighnari feels his cheeks heat up and looks away, whispering again, “Sorry.”

Exhaustion hits him like a physical force, and he drops onto the bed, staring down at the way their hands intertwine. Cyno tugs him closer, and and Tighnari allows himself to rest on his partner’s chest. His heartbeat is steady now. A regular old life-force. His fingers move to card through Tighnari’s hair, and then to scratch his ears in a way that shakes out some of their tension. When Tighnari eventually musters the strength to look up, Cyno is watching him intently. His expression is steady and determined, and Tighnari knows what he’s going to say before the words leave his mouth. 

“I’ll go,” he says, and Tighnari aches because bravery is so integral to Cyno’s being. It’s something he learned so young and has had to rely on far more than is fair. “I’ll go to the Bimarstan,” he reiterates, and his voice is calm enough that if T didn’t have the ears that he does, he wouldn’t have even heard it waver.

He’s not going to make Cyno go there. 

Not yet. 

He realizes it all at once, as though just knowing that it’s an option, that Cyno won’t resist if it is needed, is enough to rebuild Tighnari’s confidence in his own abilities.

“Thank you,” Tighnari says, and Cyno tenses, probably steeling himself to follow through on his words. Tighnari is sure, now, that he would if it was asked of him, but he shakes his head. “I think– well, I may have overreacted a bit,” he admits.

Cyno watches him carefully as Tighnari continues. “Your fever feels better now than when I left, and you slept most of the night, which means some of the nutrients have stayed with you.”

“So,” Cyno’s voice is tentative. Tighnari nods, urging him onward. “I guess you could say I’m hereling for you.”

Tighnari groans. He can’t help it. “You’re–”

“Here-ling, like healing, and “here for you.” Get it?”

“Cyno,” Tighnari scolds. “Not the time.”

His partner shrugs, unaffected. “I think it was funny.”

Tighnari pulls away with a kiss to Cyno’s knuckles. He’s not actually upset; if anything, he still feels apologetic. But worry continues gnawing at his insides, so he gathers a few things from the kitchen before returning to Cyno’s side.

“Okay,” he says, holding up a glass. “This has some hydro-infused nutrients in it - they should be tasteless, and it’s meant to be rehydrating. I actually haven’t used them before,” Tighnari murmurs. “So although they come from a trusted colleague, if you feel anything odd after consuming this, let me know.”

Cyno nods and reaches for the glass. Unsurprising. Now that Tighnari’s offered him a way out of the Bimarstan, he’ll be content to try anything. Tighnari pulls the glass away just slightly.

“Cyno. This is important.” When he swallows, his throat is dry. “This goes not just for the drink - you’re not out of the woods yet with this ailment. If you start feeling worse, I need you to let me know. Can you promise that?”

The matra has gone still, listening quietly. When Tighnari finishes speaking, Cyno keeps looking at him attentively.

“Are you okay, Tighnari?”

The question makes his legs weak. No, he’s not, and Cyno can see straight through him. There’s an unsettling battle between the tension still running through Tighnari’s veins and the weight of his exhaustion, and his headache has only intensified. He allows himself the luxury of rolling into the bed beside his partner before responding with a sigh. 

“I’ll be fine,” he says, tempted to leave it at that. But honesty is a two-way street. “I’m tired and that makes me nervous that I won’t— I might not notice if something is really wrong. You seemed so much better earlier, and I had just convinced myself that you were fine.”

“I felt fine earlier.” Cyno reaches for the medicine and drinks it slowly. “And I feel better now. But I meant what I said: I can see a doctor. Especially if it will make you feel better.”

Tighnari’s heart swells. He waits patiently for Cyno to rest the glass on his nightstand, and then wraps his arms around him. He’s still sick and sweaty and warmer than he should be, and once he’s healed, he’ll have to regain some of his muscle mass. But Cyno still manages to feel strong when he returns the embrace.

“I trust you,” Tighnari says, squeezing a bit tighter, tucking his head under Cyno’s chin. “If you say you feel better, I believe you. I just need you to keep being honest. I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you because I didn’t realize I wasn’t doing enough.”

“Okay,” Cyno says. “I promise, Tighnari. I won’t lie to you.”

The words are probably more than he needed to say; Tighnari already knew this much. And yet, his body relaxes upon hearing them.

He doesn’t sleep for a long while. Cyno drifts off, still recovering, and Tighnari plays with his hair. Some of his restless energy begins to fade, but he’d rather watch his partner sleep peacefully than close his eyes. It’s a relief when the matra stays that way for multiple hours. When he wakes up, Tighnari is alarmed, briefly, and ready to reach for the trash can in the event of repeat from earlier. But Cyno only smiles lazily, yawns, and starts tracing gentle lines on Tighnari’s back. It’s soothing. Tighnari’s muscles complain as they loosen and readjust, but it isn’t the worst feeling. He fights against heavy eyelids until he hears Cyno chuckle.

“You can rest,” he says. “I’ll wake you if I need anything, Nari.”

Tighnari scrunches his face up, still resistant. It doesn’t feel right, and yet…

“I promise,” Cyno says. Tighnari doesn’t need anything to verify the truth to his words, but he listens closely anyway. Between the sound of one steady heartbeat and the next, Tighnari finally allows himself to drift off.

———

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[jodilin65]

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 30, 2013 Although it will probably take me forever, I’m going to try to catch up on the last few days after the both of us suffered through one of the worst illnesses we’ve ever had since meeting each other nearly 20 years ago. Damn, was that one seriously aggressive flu! I haven’t been that sick in over a decade. I’m not used to being sick, period. Since I quit smoking all I’ve had, for the most part, was ear and teeth pain and allergies.

Before I get into it let me go back and print a little retraction. I wasn’t quite right in saying that Andy treated a homeless woman to dinner, so he told me. She actually had an apartment. She just didn’t have a man to support her and her kids. Well, unless she’s disabled, she better hope to find a good-paying job because most women still get better support from a 5-year-old bra than a man.

Another thing is that I had to stop the Alli because that “bug bite” turned out to be an outbreak of hives. I have 3 big nasty raised red bumps on my inner right forearm that are sort of similar in size and shape to Cheerios, plus a smaller one on my stomach and one on my jaw. They itch like crazy and one is oozing. I don’t think they’re infected, though. The first one I got that I thought was a bug bite seems to be healing. It mentioned on the bottle to stop taking the pills if you experience itching but never said anything about bullous bumps, rashes or acne. Sure enough, though, when I checked online, I found others complained of the same side effect, but mostly on the face.

So once again Jodi gets punished for trying to find something to help her help herself lose weight. Being sick has taken over where the Alli left off and now I’m 143 pounds. I wanted to get to 110 but would have settled for 120. Instead, I’m going to end up at 300 if my metabolism gets any slower. Oh well. How often do I get what I want in life?

Because I’ve been too sick to write I may not remember all the details, but if I ever wished Tom and I had a nurse or someone helping us out it was when we were sick. Fortunately, though, he was a day ahead of me, so I was able to help him before the worst of it hit me, and he was able to help me, too. Surviving the storm together makes me so grateful to know we have each other for things like this. It would’ve been a million times worse to have to go through it alone. He is the most wonderful, most amazing person on earth!

He woke up sick Friday morning. Saturday night, I think it was, as I was falling asleep I noticed I had a tickle in my throat and began to cough, too. But I was too tired to drag my ass up out of bed to scald my throat with hot tea or something. Sure enough, I woke up the next day with a sore throat, and a bad cough and was achy as hell. After I showered and scorched my throat with hot coffee I thought I would be okay. Wrong! As I’ve learned, I can will away colds, but not flues. Just like Tom, I became so weak and all I wanted to do was sleep or just lay in bed. I could barely eat and my lungs were so congested. I had a bit of wheezing but the worst part was definitely the cough. Oh, how it hurt like hell to cough! Every time I coughed it would feel like a cat reached down my throat and clawed at it and tasted just awful. It was horrible. I couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time and whenever I’d manage to pull myself up out of bed to try to do things, I’d be exhausted within 20 minutes and would have to lie back down again. Both of us had fevers of up to 101°, but I didn’t have the runs like Tom did. He called out of work on Monday. Fortunately, he has tons of time off. Tomorrow he’ll be taking off so we can both go to the eye doctor.

Just when I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever feel human again, my throat and cough began to improve yesterday, and today’s the first time I’m able to be up and about for a little longer, even if it means getting my period a week early (yeah, I’ve had one screwy cycle lately). I even did a load of laundry and am airing the place out a bit. My head is still stuffed up so badly that it’s dulled my sense of taste, smell and sound. Yesterday I had allergy-like symptoms with a stuffy nose and sneezing, but most of this flu was in the throat and lungs. It was one long, hard road! Even the rats were worried about me. I was afraid they’d catch what we had and die, but they’ve proven once again just how tough rats really are, something I love about them that most people hate, and that’s the fact that rats are one seriously tough animal to beat down! Sugar was wheezing a bit, though. When I finally felt well enough to go near them, they were all happy and ran up to me as if to say, “Yay! Mom’s back!” I hated to neglect them for those few days, but it was better to be safe than sorry. I let them run around loose a bit this morning. When I get more of my strength back, they’ll be out and about as usual.

We usually do our weekly grocery shopping on the weekends, but since we were sick, it got delayed. Tom decided to try this service Raley’s has where you load up your cart online and they gather up what you want in the store. Then you go and pick it up and pay. He loved it. They were super-fast, too. I figured the person gathering the items would be some 18-year-old kid that’d fuck up half the order, but nope. They substituted a couple of similar items that they were out of, but they did a great job. It’s free for orders of over $100, so maybe we’ll do this more often.

This is the longest I’ve gone without working out and when I finally do get the strength to return to it I’m going to feel so out of shape. :(

Jesse came down to get some chain from his shit pile. I opened the door to see what he was up to and when he spotted me he said hello and asked if everything was okay. I told him we’d been really sick with the flu and he said he heard it was nasty. He heard right!

Despite the dreams and vibes that said big changes were coming in April I don’t see how we can possibly be moving that soon. Too many setbacks. There’s just one thing after another after another. Tom still thinks we will, but I really wonder if something is either trying to stop us from making a mistake that’d make us miserable or if it’s trying to prevent us from something good. Nothing up there usually cares to look out for us, so I guess it’s trying to hold us here to block us from something good. That’s what it feels like right now anyway.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 26, 2013 The good news is that Tom’s cold is mild and he has the whole weekend off. The bad is that he’ll need to spend it fixing his heel. Don’t worry, I told him, I know something up there is just trying to hold us back and keep us from moving. I told him months ago to expect all kinds of curveballs to be thrown at us. Unless God decides to drop a meteor on our heads, we WILL get out of here someday. It’s just going to be another year or two. For now, while I dread the next plumbing problem, I enjoy what I will no longer be able to enjoy once we do move – looking out the windows and seeing nothing but nature.

Anyway, Tom’s heel has been hurting him with the way they’ve been working him to death for so long. He needs to get a foot massager (I’ve always wanted one of those anyway), Epson salts, and new insole inserts for his shoes.

Now to bitch about my side effects and tech issues. The Alli’s side effects have finally caught up to me and I’ve had a yellow, oily substance in my number twos and slight staining on my undies. It’s harmless but annoying. I won’t buy any more Alli, though, once this bottle’s gone because I’m not going to lose any more weight.

I am so fed up with various website tech issues (especially on Facebook) that I realize that the fewer accounts I have, the fewer headaches. I can’t do anything anywhere without problems. If any account of mine is going next it’s definitely Facebook. I’m tired of all their changes as well as my messages and friend requests that don’t go through. Now some people can’t even see the things I post on their walls, so I’ve learned. It’s like I can only use some of the sites some of the time. Only problem is that if we really ever do move and we have a normal connection again, and if I ever do return to sweeping, I’m going to need a Facebook account because most sweeps are conducted there. That’s the way it was last time I was sweeping anyway.

Gosh, Tom’s cough sounds awful, the poor guy.

Anyway, nothing I’ve done on Facebook is against their TOS, so I know I’m not being blocked from sending messages and friend requests, and I know it’s not only me that’s had this problem. Besides, some messages won’t even go through to friends. But how am I supposed to try to connect with old friends or people like Jan if I can’t get through to them??? It’s frustrating as hell! Also, the site is running so damn slow that that alone is making me not want to use it.

One of my dreams in life was to sue someone if I couldn’t win a lot of money. Well, I got an email about a class action suit against FB. Apparently, I was featured in a Sponsored Story. I don’t know what “story” of mine they featured. Something I liked or shared, I guess. I first thought the claim had been filed due to a breach of privacy, but I guess that instead, it had to do with FB profiting off of stories. Hey, I always did say I felt like I was put here to make other people money and not myself. Like I said, I always wanted to sue someone or some company for big bucks, though this is anything but big bucks. It’d only be up to $10 if I choose to file (and I do) but if too many people file claims, the 20 mil FB set aside for this latest fuck-up of theirs goes to charity. I’m still going to file against their asses anyway. Those sponsored stories and suggested pages forced into my news feed sure are annoying as hell and this was why I left Twitter. Too much shit was being thrown at me that I didn’t want to see. If I want to like pages or read stories, I’ll do it myself.

I don’t know yet if I’m going to dump my FB account or not, but if I do I’ll let my closest friends know and make sure they have my newest email addy…until that one starts returning whatever I sent from it, too.

That’s another thing that’s weird and I don’t know if someone’s fucking with me or if it’s just the usual cyber glitches, but when mail.com returns some of my mail, they say my IP is blocked. But I accidentally sent a message to a friend that went through, and Tom sent me a message. Well, he’s got the same IP, so I don’t get this. Usually, when they block an IP it’s cuz of spam or phishing. But can’t they see that I only send emails to the same few people? I would have noticed if my account had been taken over by a spammer for a while, so I don’t know what to think. I’m just so frustrated that I wonder if just my other email addy and my blogs are all I should have account-wise. It seems the more I try to do online, the more headaches it brings.

Another thing that frustrated me was not being able to remember login info to our bank account so I could add that info to the claim form I started filing online. sighs I almost miss the good old days when life was simpler! For now, I guess I’m going to have to change my existing accounts using mail.com to my other addy, then I’ll shut the bouncing account down.

Just heard from a friend of mine and now I’m yet another step closer to shutting down on FB. Not just due to the glitches, but it’s getting kind of scary there. The latest scam is to set up accounts in people’s names, using their profile pics. Then they add their friends and beg for money. It looks like one of my online besties had that done to her. I friended an account I thought was hers that I was in the “suggested friends” section, but she says she only has one account. I can’t find that account, but I did find another one. I sent her the link. I’ll check for my name regularly so that if someone sets up an account in my name using my info I can report it ASAP.

One has major balls to do this to someone working with the FBI. Goes to show how much they either don’t know right from wrong or simply don’t give a shit what kind of trouble they get their asses in. Impersonating a pig is a serious offense. Impersonating an FBI employee online is no less serious. What’s the matter with people???

A quick reminder before I go. Just because I’m “getting along” with some people doesn’t mean we’re buddies. It just means we’re not having any problems. Period. This also means I would prefer it if you didn’t read my journal even though it’s public, and would like to ask that you please move on. There’s nothing here that should interest you. If you’ve come to see if maybe your name has been mentioned, you’re going to be disappointed. Unless you’re reading backdated entries I’m posting on other sites, but even then you may still be disappointed. Just please move on is all I ask. I can block IPs from my blogs altogether but would like to give people a chance to not visit it on their own before I resort to that.

Tom just got up and is still tired and hungry after 14 hours of sleep. He’s pretty sure he has the flu. He said people were getting sick like crazy at work and dropping like flies. Well, I hope that’s all it is cuz if my husband ever gets seriously ill due to being overworked by that place, I’m going after that company and the people running it. Yes, I just made a genuine threat. So sue me. :)

Later…

My two favorite men, my sister and myself aren’t doing the greatest right now. Tom’s been sleeping a whopping 17 hours due to this flu, only waking twice to eat, pee and drink. If his wife didn’t have a driving phobia she could do the grocery shopping. Tom has never complained, has always accepted me as I am and even said he’s kind of glad I don’t do the shopping regularly cuz I’d be tempted to overspend, but I still feel helpless at times. Oh well. I have what I have and I suppose it’s useless to beat myself up for it. I do my best and contribute in ways that are within my means. My mother (and others) were always quick to condemn me where my shortcomings were concerned and made like they were their problem as well, so I really appreciate people like Tom who love and accept me as I am. I can’t give you a ride, but I’ll tell you what those signs mean if we’re ever in Mexico, Puerto Rico, Spain, Argentina and places like that. Even some in Italy, Brazil and Germany.

Andy wants to get the hell out of Phoenix and never return. As I always said, good things have a way of coming to an end, and Phoenix sure did just that. The whole damn state did. He’s having trouble breathing and feeling let down by “friends.” He at least got to enjoy the warmer weather and was even nice enough to help a homeless woman out by buying her dinner. She didn’t seem to be on drugs or anything. Yeah, as my husband and I proved for a while 6 years ago, not all homeless people are lazy druggies or alkies. Some of them are just getting their asses whipped by the short end of the stick that is too often in the hands of society, fate and God. Well, we may’ve been a victim of the worst economic crisis in the US since the Great Depression for nearly half a decade, but we WILL get out of here someday even though something evil is determined to hold us back. A few setbacks and you figure it’s just life. More than a few and you start to wonder. Like maybe we ARE home. Maybe this is home at least until he retires and maybe THIS is where we’re meant to be. Only we’d kind of like to be where WE want to be, thank you.

My sister’s still upset over having to take oxygen and said that Walter’s going to be emailing me. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve heard this before. I just want to actually get an email from him! I know he’s done a great job and that doesn’t make me any less appreciative, but I just want to get this done and over with, even if we might not be able to get what we want home-wise no matter how much money we have saved.

We got approved for the credit card we don’t even want, but that’ll help us establish credit. I still worry we’ll just be going from one dump to another but if that dump can be ours, then it’s a better kind of a dump. I don’t see how it could be quite as dumpy as this thing, though. Cali parks don’t even allow mobile homes this old or in this condition. They can be ugly, but they can’t be dumps. Exterior doors like this, bathrooms like this…no fucking way. They inspect everything that’s brought in there and if you even so much as thought of bringing a trailer like this in there they’d laugh you out faster than fast. They want them built like homes, not traditional trailers. But I still don’t expect to have that much more space or niceness.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 Every time I find something that I’m sooo sure will get these extra 20 pounds off, it proves to be a bust. I’m sick of this constant failure with diet and exercise! I work out hard, I watch what I eat, but I never seem to lose more than 5 pounds. I’m naturally heavy due to muscle mass, but I still have more fat to lose. Nonetheless, it seems that 145 is as low as I can go. Time to seriously consider seeing a doctor about what’s keeping the weight on. Diet and exercise with or without Alli should equal more than a 5-pound loss. Or maybe I jumped a pound in water. My boobs are getting sore which is a sign of water retention, and if all is back to normal with my cycle, I’m 12 days away from a period. Seems a bit soon, though, to start getting watery, though I often do.

If I absolutely had to go back in time and keep two subjects out of my blogs it would be any medical and legal issues I’ve had. Hearing people tell me my sleep issue is an excuse to be lazy gets old, and having people defend my perps all in the name of color is unfuckingbelievably insulting as hell. Anyone who knows me knows that if I didn’t really want to work or did something to someone I shouldn’t have done, I’d come out and say so. What can anyone do to me for it, come beat me up? Hey, I’m too lazy to clean the bathroom right now even though I should. Gonna come kick my ass for it? So my point is that I probably won’t divulge any further medical problems I might have in the future. That way people can spare themselves the self-flattery of thinking that I think they have some kind of power over me that could harm me lest I tell the “truth.”

One thing I’m definitely guilty of is being stupid. I mean really stupid! Marie left a comment (saying it makes you wonder, LOL) on my entry where I was wondering who the hell I was talking about missing after a year, and then I realized I had counted the years wrong and it was actually her I was referring to. Duh! She really has changed a lot, though, just like she said.

I noticed I’m getting more “likes” on my MyOpera posts from non-FB friends. Wonder who all the “likers” are?

Interesting dreams last night. My parents were still alive and my sister, nieces and myself were all visiting them. Mom pulled me aside and said it would really cheer Dad up if we could all spend some time with him cuz he was to be spending the next two months in jail, though I don’t know what for. Then I was helping to manage someone’s store (Jan’s?). Love how I can always keep schedules in dreams. Then it occurred to me that Dad would be in custody by now and that I simply couldn’t picture him locked up in a jail cell. I wondered if I should call the jail to see how he was doing.

Tom just got up and might have another cold. Geez, again? :( They better mean it this time when they say the OT is going to back off! Then again, everyone’s sick now except for me. He could kill it, though, if he’d just listen to me and burn his throat with the hottest liquid he can stand. When a cold starts in the throat, that’s the time to kill it.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 24, 2013 Molly updated her blog about how tired she is, but no one left any comments. I noticed that Jackie S is following Aly on FB. Wonder if she knows this and how she feels about it.

I feel both sad and glad for my buddy vacationing in Phoenix, Arizona. I guess it’s okay to mention this, but he can always tell me if he wants anything edited out. I think it’ll be okay, though, cuz I’m not mentioning anything personal. Just that while he’s enjoying the weather there, he’s been bored and saddened by the lack of Latinos in light of the new laws there, and how so many businesses, homes and apartments are empty. Also, there are still beggars and cops everywhere. Ugh, I remember that! Downtown Sacramento has its share of beggars as does any major city, but I remember the pigs being everywhere I would look when I’d be out and about and how it was anything but a fun reminder for one who’d been run through the wringer by a bunch of white/Jew-hating corruptos. It was about a 20-minute drive to pick up our mail at the PO and we’d be lucky if we didn’t pass half a dozen cruisers on the way to and from the place, and this was out in the middle of nowhere! In the city, you couldn’t go a block without spotting the corrupt little turdballs.

Someone once said I’d love them if I had to call on them for an emergency. Oh really? I’m not so sure about that cuz wouldn’t I automatically be disbelieved if a black person went to attack me that cried racism and said I attacked them when it was really just me defending myself? Wouldn’t I somehow be blamed if I were raped and told that if I’d just worn my dress a little longer or not been at a particular place it wouldn’t have happened? So no, I doubt I’d have much love for any cop, most of which are high on abuse and power and not the “serve and protect” idea. Hey, none of them are going to enter the academy and say, “I’m really here to act macho and act out my aggression and to speed even when I’m not chasing anyone” and shit like that.

Anyway, the emptiness there is mostly the economy. As for the Latinos, I don’t have much sympathy there cuz many were/are illegals that drain our resources. Especially from those that truly need help. The drug cartel was killing off both civilians and cops like they were merely stepping on bugs, and in general, they just weren’t any real asset to the area. People don’t want to hear this, though, no matter how much the statistics are right there in their faces. Say bad things about whites, Jews and gays, however, and they’re all ears. There are still a lot of hard-working Latinos out there and it’s sad to see the lazy ones who resort to crime and welfare make them look bad.

So, while losing our home there ended up being a good thing due to the dangers from the cartel and old enemies, the taking of our home is one thing I’ll never forgive God for. That and the legal abuse were basically the final straw where God was concerned.

I have a friend that’s trying to conceive right now. She and her husband are so sweet and would be excellent parents. But they are a prime example of God’s cruelty and life’s injustices and unfairness with all the trouble they’ve been having. Meanwhile, I still see mean, crazy druggies having no problem at all. She wonders if God has some other plan for her. Well, she can tell herself this if it makes her feel better, but it’s her life, so shouldn’t she be the one to plan it? And what if it’s not for some “better” plan but actually a punishment? God truly seems to punish good and reward evil. Makes me wonder if I’d have spent half a decade cramped in someone’s trashy old trailer if I’d had kids I’d abused, beat the shit out of people, robbed people, and done all kinds of horrible things I know I could never do.

Later…

Something bit me a couple of days ago and it itches like hell. Can’t figure out what it is. No bite has ever annoyed me this long and my anti-itch cream has been worthless.

I’m more worried about Tammy. The autoimmune deficiency disease she has causes her to have trouble breathing and she blacked out the other night for the first time, scaring both Mark and herself and was at the hospital undergoing testing. I guess some oxygen company is to be delivering oxygen to her. Nothing I’ve read says what she’s got is deadly, but if she dies I’m going to really start fearing for my life after losing my parents and brother in the same year! What a frustrating way to live, as she said. I remember back when I smoked and had to be rushed to the ER with all those asthma attacks just how terrifying it could be. A couple of times I wondered if I was going to make it, but I never blacked out. At least I don’t think I did.

I feel bad for Andy too, cuz he’s having trouble breathing as well in Arizona with all the pollution down there. I remember that all too well, as I told him. I stopped wheezing after quitting smoking but always had a tightness that remained until we left the damn state altogether.

It put a smile on my face to think of Tom and I enjoying the new house and the rats running around playing in it. They love running up and down the space between the slider and vertical blinds, so if we have such a thing in the new place, the neighbors are really going to be in for quite a surprising sight, LOL. I just hope it doesn’t take much longer and that it really does work out and we’re as happy as we think we’ll be there. I don’t expect any place to be perfect, but I hope it isn’t bustling with too much activity in the daytime. We’ll finally be in a place where we’ll be able to stream movies and so many other things we couldn’t do for so long and I’ll want to do it without the annoying background distractions. My biggest concern is being able to sleep.

Yesterday I was feeling kind of down and out just thinking of life’s injustices and unfairness. While my parents once thought of ways to spend money that could’ve helped me, I had to spend a half-hour trying to figure out how to make room for a fan. Just one lousy fucking fan. Yeah, we ordered another stand fan for the bedroom. Besides, we’ll only need them when we move cuz if any of the rooms there have a ceiling fan it will probably only be the living room.

Still, some people have beautiful homes yet will complain if one single carpet fiber is out of place while my husband works his ass off all day just to come home to this dump. He may not be the complainer I tend to be, but it still saddens and angers me nonetheless. Life is so backward so much of the time – people struggle to conceive while others run for abortions. People fight to live while others throw their lives away. People who would love to work but can’t while others laze around on welfare that are capable of working.

We really ended up with a great pair of rats. They may not care much for Tom, especially Romeo, but they’re fun, playful, friendly and smart. They were off to a dumb start, but they’ve learned their names and other things as well, a reminder that rats really are teachable and can figure things out on their own as well. Sugar’s getting to be a bit of a mama’s boy when they’re out, LOL, nestling up with me and climbing all over me. He loves to explore and playfully bounces around the place, then he runs up to me for attention and burrows in the folds of my robe. They’re going to miss this thing in the summer! They’re copying my schedule a bit more these days too, staying up later in the mornings as I roll onto days. They didn’t crash till after 8am today. They’re naturally nocturnal, though, so I can’t expect them to stay up all day.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 23, 2013 Facebook is at its worst ever with the glitches and it’s driving me crazy! The site is not only running in slow motion for me but there are still issues with sending/receiving messages and friend requests. I looked these issues up in their help section and it says that if you’ve sent friend requests that have gone unanswered or you’ve sent too many messages or spam or anything considered unwelcome contact, they can block you for a few hours to a few days from sending messages to non-friends and also friend requests. But it’s been way longer than just a few days and none of this applies to me so I would think FB would tell me if they were going to block me from some of their features, and it isn’t just me that’s experiencing this problem. What I don’t get is why the assholes won’t fix it!

Anyway, I probably should’ve said this yesterday when I shared the interview with Bill Cosby, but the only thing I disagree with is how he made it sound like all women have lots of “husbands” or men with the kids they have. Yes, fewer people are marrying, fewer people are having kids, fewer marrieds are having kids, more kids are being born to singles, and this is a trend we’ve been on since the 90s. But to me it isn’t one’s marital status that matters, it’s THEM that matters. I’d rather be born to one loving parent than two abusive ones. Who wouldn’t?

But not all moms are single by choice and I don’t think it’s fair to blame the woman if daddy runs as soon as he finds out she’s expecting, as is a very common occurrence. Statistically, most men don’t want the responsibility of children. They either don’t want to compete for the woman’s attention, don’t like the idea of smelly diapers – whatever – but if a man’s going to be dumb enough not to insist on BC if he doesn’t want kids, or goes and tells the woman what she may want to hear just to get her in bed, how is it the woman’s fault when she finds out he really didn’t want kids and that’s why he ran? It’s getting increasingly difficult to find a man who will not only be faithful but who truly wants kids. So that’s the one thing I can’t fully agree with Bill on. Some moms are single by choice, but some aren’t.

Later…

Just read the following paragraph in my journal in Word dated 1/24/11 that reads:

I’ve been missing her lately. No, not her. And not Nane either. The other her. I’ve thought of her every day since we stopped talking, but lately, I’ve been missing her more than usual and more than I ever thought I would. I’d just like to respect her wishes and not mention her name even if some people may be able to put two and two together and figure out who she is. But yeah, I miss her at times. I know, however, that to go back in time would be to start a whole new round of trouble. Trouble I don’t need. I have absolutely no reason, no matter what I may be told, to believe anything would be different now than it was a year ago. So I’d rather just miss her, wonder how she’s doing and hope she’s doing well. It’s easier that way.

But missing who? I have no idea who the hell I’m talking about. I know I’m not talking about Marie, Nane or my southeastern buddy. So who then?

TUESDAY, JANUARY 22, 2013 Molly hasn’t updated her blog, but she did go in and delete comments and she did peek in on me. Until she makes an update, I can’t say for sure if Kim’s been scared off by my contacting her sister or not. I still think that if I returned to Ask, so would she. It’s hard to scare the crazy. If you have no sense of right from wrong, don’t think you’ll be caught or don’t care, why would you worry?

For an instant, I thought of having Kathy casually ask Kim how she’s been just to see what she may say, but I don’t want to get Kathy involved and I know Kim’s likely to lie about what she says anyway.

We’ll believe it when we see it, but supposedly they’re going to really back off on the OT at work. If they could do that and throw Tom on second shift, it would really help with getting a place and getting out of here unless something up there is so damn against us that no one will take us anywhere. I still think we can get a dump in a dumpier park.

Tried to call my Italian Dad yesterday morning, but one number was out of service and the house number just rang. He’s 84. I learned that much when looking up the numbers on Zabasearch. If I end up unable to get a hold of him I’ll send another letter in time.

Still no meaningful dreams lately, but they’re not as negative. Just a bunch of junk dreams that couldn’t possibly be signs of anything to come. These spam dreams are often just quick snippets of this and that – sleeping on a coil spring mattress that has coils poking through at me. Silvery moonlight glinting off of spider webs on grassy areas outdoors. Trying to convince some woman in her late 60s to let me move in with her by assuring her the 52-inch TV I won (that’s really a 32-inch) would look great on her living room wall. Letting a 6-year-old girl “beat” me up by practicing the karate moves she learned on me.

MONDAY, JANUARY 21, 2013 Tom still thinks we’re moving in April and that my dreams and vibes that suggested this are “reasonable.” To me, it still feels like we’ll never get out of here.

I’ve been neglecting the stories I know I said I’d get on with finishing or at least expanding, but I’ve been rather busy. I had to smile when my good Pakistan friend deactivated her Ask account because I did, LOL. I appreciate the loyal fan that she has become.

I re-opened my blogs (I will not pick up or respond to messages on MD) for two reasons. One is that Facebook is still running slower than molasses for me for some reason, so I don’t want to spend much time there. Two is because I don’t see that it could hurt anything if people can read my stuff but can’t make me “accidentally” interact with them like they can on Ask. So if my re-opening of my blogs has sparked any hope in you that I’ll reactivate on Ask, sorry, but I’m not going to do so anytime soon. For now, I’d like to stick to sites where I’m harder to contact and I have a better idea of who’s who and what’s going on.

Later…

Nothing from Kim on FB or MD, the only places she could message me. I think the real test will be when Molly updates her own blog. Kim almost always leaves comments. If she’s not using her blog to insult others, she’s using it to try to befriend Molly. Just like Molly, Kim seems to like to try to win over those who don’t care about her. Can’t tell if she’s reading my blogs since she likes to hide from my tracker, but my guess is she’s checking in every day. Same with Ask, to see if I’ve reactivated.

Andy had me laughing like crazy yesterday on FB in regards to one of Nane’s posts on my wall where she sends me an ersatz haus (replacement house) since we couldn’t get that other one. He said that maybe Nane could buy me one with her street fight wins since we’d joke about her going to have fun fighting in these other countries that seem to live for fighting. We’ll find out next month, cuz my German hottie’s going to TR for a week. Aber das Haus war mein Traumhaus wenn nur sehr groß!

The rats were so funny yesterday. Both of them were out playing with us in the morning before Tom left for work. They’re so damn cute, though Romeo still isn’t overly fond of Tom.

Tom says he’s “almost sure” we’ll be giving notice in March and explained why he thought this. I see where he’s coming from, but it still seems a bit soon, even though my dreams have been saying we were in for a big change in April. Then again, if we just take the damn dump we were meant for, we could be out of here even sooner than that! It’s okay. Really, it is. I’m used to living poorly and that “dump” will be OURS and we can fix it up the way WE want. This is because I realize that no matter how much money we save, our credit is always going to be an issue cuz we’re A, not going to borrow money because we don’t want to borrow money and we don’t need to borrow money, and B, we’re not going to pay off those trying to scam us. I’m not without compassion. I would still lose money to help a friend in need that I know would do the same for me. And I’m not greedy either. I would share some things with those I know and trust. But I do draw the line at letting those with ill intentions profit at our expense.

I read this interview with Bill Cosby and I couldn’t agree with this guy more about the way people talk today, especially blacks! It IS about behavior and not color, and it IS a shame people can’t speak proper English. It seems all races are actually getting sloppier and sloppier with their English, though, and not just blacks. Maybe it’s just the writer in me that notices these things, and I know that some people aren’t the greatest typists and find it easier to abbreviate and make shortcuts when typing as even I sometimes do, but it is so damn annoying to have to read so many messages and comments 5 times over just so I can understand what the hell they’re saying. The way so many people talk and write today is a shame and I’m truly embarrassed for many of them. Don’t they realize or even care just how dumb and immature they appear? People have taken being creative and unique to extremes that are getting to be a bit overkill. Anyhoo, dat, dis, aks… those aren’t real words. At least not in the English language. I say, talk right, folks! The way we write says so much about us. In most cases, it may not matter what others think and no one’s perfect of course, but if I were submitting job applications, manuscripts or looking to date mature, intelligent people, I wouldn’t want to come off like a 1st grader. I have no problem with unique names and old traditions dying out (like how most parents are single and most marrieds don’t have kids these days), but let’s speak English unless we mean to speak some other language altogether!

SUNDAY, JANUARY 20, 2013 Nane and Irene are connected again. I didn’t think that after 30 years they’d stay away from each other forever.

My craziest niece (Lisa) is now 30, and I still haven’t heard from Jan. She doesn’t appear to have been around since the 16th, but who knows for sure?

Surprisingly, Kim didn’t comment to me through Molly’s blog and because Ellington, CT didn’t show up on my tracker list, I’m thinking it was Kim’s sister that was the hit from there and not Kim. If it were Kim she’d be showing up every day. Still, if Molly knows about my LJ blog, then so does Kim. Therefore, I’m not going to update it with current stuff.

I sprung the Justin account to life on Ask, curious to see if either troll would ask anything and they didn’t. I’m surprised. I wonder if Kim’s silence there and on Molly’s blog had anything to do with me complaining to her sister. It’s amazing how one sister can be so fit and successful and married with kids while the other is a fat mental case on disability and forever hopelessly single.

I would’ve done this entry sooner, but yesterday I was too tired, then I was too busy, and then my allergies just had to go off. Why are they acting up at this time of year? I’m guessing cuz it’s been warmer? The heat of the afternoon has been messing with my sleep, but I’m always too lazy to get up and crack a window. Oh, to have a house with a normal roof instead of this tin bullshit, and to have your standard 4” walls and an AC for when I’m not up to open windows. It seems like the only times the weather doesn’t mess with my sleep here is in the dead of summer when the windows have to always be open for the swamp cooler to work, or in the dead of winter.

I hope whoever we end up next to has an AC and doesn’t leave their windows open all the time. I don’t want to have to hear their mutts from indoors when they run up to open windows to bark at people walking by or smell their cigarette smoke.

I worried that if we didn’t get out of here soon enough, another crisis would occur and we’d be the ones to have to deal with it. Well, sure enough, I noticed the water pressure was low at around 2am and had to wake Tom up nearly an hour early to check for leaks outside. I’m so sick of him having to lose sleep for someone else’s old shit! And why do things have to break at the end of my day?

But there were no visible leaks outside. So he waited and called up to Jesse at 6:00. It turns out that a flap didn’t close right in his toilet and so that’s why it started draining the tanks. Next time maybe he’ll know to check this when he goes to empty that ass or the old hotdog. This is when I resolved to get out of here ASAP. I’m sick to death of all the problems here and not sleeping well in the daytime!!! Even if the weather is perfect for sleeping, in the back of my mind I know he may come down for whatever and I’m sick of it! Sick of the well (those are always an issue), sick of him, sick of his mutts, sick of the lack of space, sick of the internet, sick of everything! I don’t care anymore where we go so long as it’s not attached to anyone. Tom’s adamant about doing it right so we don’t swap in one problem for another, but I already know and figure I won’t sleep well in a park during the daytime either. Too much traffic coming and going. Most people come and go several times a day and they have company at least a few times a week, too. Delivery trucks, service trucks, trash trucks… I already know this will be an issue. It pretty much has to be in a place that houses that many people that close. But it will be ours and it will be bigger, and I’m sure I’ll sleep just fine at night. Besides, if it got to be overkill in any way we could add special padding under the bedroom carport that acts as a shock absorber. I can play the sound machine loud enough to drown out most sounds so long as no mutts are literally right outside the window or screaming kids that visit, but the vibration of all the car door slamming could very well be an issue.

Someday. Someday I won’t walk up to the sink and wonder if there’ll be any pressure when I turn it on. Someday I won’t take showers that smell like bleach half the time. Someday we will escape this bummery and our home will match us, so to speak, in that we will have what two people who work as hard as they can and to the best of their ability, truly deserve. God can’t hold us back forever. I won’t let Him. This doesn’t mean He won’t curse our new home with problems no matter how old it is. I know He doesn’t want us having our own place again, but tough!

Later…

The realtor called about a different home in that same park, but forget it. I’m not interested. The nicer homes are going to be in the nicer parks and I doubt the nicer parks will accept us so why bother wasting our time?

Besides, we’ve still got the management company in Oregon saying we owe them a couple of hundred bucks we don’t owe them, a common scam for management companies to try to make a buck extra in the end while spiting others by fucking up their credit. We always got along with them just fine, but I know that this is something they often do to everyone. No matter how clean and in fine condition you leave a place, they always claim you owe them money.

Then we’ve got some book club trying to scam us for $300 worth of books I supposedly got a few years ago. What books??? And where are all these books I’m supposed to have gotten? Tom’s still hoping he can dispute at least the books and that because we can easily afford it, we should just go ahead and pay the management company off. No way! Although not directly, we were already forced to pay those that fucked us over down in Arizona and I’m not doing it up here. Besides, that’s how you get taken advantage of. Give the blackmailer 10 grand and they’ll be demanding 10 more. I’m not going to let scammers profit at our expense just so we can get ahead in life.

My dreams have been too vague and erratic to possibly mean anything. In one dream I’m in a nice new, modern, spacious bathroom, while in a dumpy old place in the next.

Tom said the house we wanted wasn’t nearly as nice in person. When I saw the pictures I thought, ooh, brand new sculpted carpet, but he said it was actually old and worn. Also, when he went through the This is What’s Wrong papers, he found something bad with the electrical. It was okay for lights, but bad for computers. The park and the location within the park would’ve been ideal, though. However, no one has the “ideal” place unless they’re rich, so as I’ve always figured, we’ll end up in a dump in a dumpier park, but even the “dumpy” parks are nice. And if we have to invest 10 grand or so to fix and pretty it up, so be it.

I still feel like something is totally against us and is going to do everything it can to delay us from moving. Then when we finally do get our way it’s going to “punish” us for it. I think the best thing to do is just say “fuck it” and give it up for a while. We still don’t even have the money I’m supposedly still getting from Walter, and well, I’m just sick of this. I’ve had enough talking, planning, thinking, hoping and dreaming and I need a break. Sometimes the best way to deal with a problem is just to step back, remove yourself from the situation if you can, and take some time off. Meanwhile, things could be worse. We’ve got a home, we’re not on the streets, and it would be better if I just did what I can do to make this place as comfortable as possible and have the attitude that we’re going to be here for quite some time to come.

Things are otherwise going well. I’ve lost 5 pounds on my first two weeks of Alli and I can see where this is something that wouldn’t and couldn’t just stop working like a lot of things tend to do. It’s nothing one builds immunity up to because Alli always does what it was designed to do – block the absorption of most of the fat we eat. I love how it helps curb hunger too, and I don’t have to practically starve myself all the way down to just 1000 calories a day or work out for hours every day. They say to expect to drop about a pound a week, but I’m still hoping for two a week. That way I won’t have to buy the pills as much.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 2013 Sure enough, after being empty a whole year, someone made an offer on the house and Tom had to turn down her “silent” offer to make an offer of our own because I do not yet have the money we’re waiting on and am beginning to wonder how many more months it’ll be before I do. It doesn’t matter anymore, though, because we have enough money for what we can get. I realize that no matter how much we save, the nicer parks are going to turn us down for lack of credit no matter how easily we can afford to buy the damn place outright and afford the lot fees. So more than likely we will transfer from one wooden crate on a steel frame to another that’s in a dumpier, cramped park, but that’s okay. This is basically all I know and at least it will be ours. If we furnish it according to its size, the lack of space won’t seem so bad, though I would still like an extra bathroom. Tom still thinks we can get a doublewide that’s older, and that this may be better in some ways because that would be easier to make into exactly what we want, as opposed to a place with appliances and things that aren’t quite what we want but not bad enough to change. I can kind of see his point cuz even though I’d prefer pink carpet, why change tan carpet that’s brand new and in mint condition just cuz it’s tan? Gray or olive may be tempting, though.

A friend of mine said she prayed that we would get the house we wanted, but it goes to show that the “sky daddy” and the notion of being able to simply ask for what we want is pure wishful thinking. No one would want for anything if they could just ask, and as I always said, you can’t pray for what isn’t meant to be and you need not pray for what is meant to be. I understand people’s need to tell themselves otherwise, though, so they can feel like they have a little more control in their lives.

I still think we were fated – and yes, I believe in fate – to live in tiny dumps. Seems obvious enough anyway. On the bright side, those dumps are going to be on dirt-cheap lots that’ll save us a fortune, along with the heating/cooling savings. By the time he retires, we just may be able to buy an on-site house outright and we could have one last shot at something newer, bigger and nicer. So fine, let’s keep living like bums as rich as we’re getting and just GET ON WITH IT ALREADY! Damn, I’m sick of this waiting game. Another 6 months or so and I’m really going to lose interest altogether. I’m like that in that the more I just talk about something as opposed to actually doing it, the more I either lose interest or it just seems like a dream not worth bothering with. Just give us another bummy old trailer like this that’s OURS and that’s HALF the cost and let’s move on!

Meanwhile, I was pissed that the realtor couldn’t have simply said why she was calling instead of interfering with my sleep and schedule one more time, but since she did, I’ve been dragging since I got up at 2pm after not crashing till after 8am. I woke up a million times, too. Had more vague and obscure dreams about packing or talking about moving, but again I never “saw” where we went.

Still pretty tired and it makes me glad Andy’s on vacation and that we’re not doing Ask. I know he’d be looking for me or at least for a journal entry. I haven’t even posted today’s old entries yet.

I’m down 5 pounds now, and Tom says there’s talk of starting a second shift in March. We’ll believe it when we see it, though second shift would be ideal for moving.

Still nothing from Jan. Although it won’t do me any good, I complained to FB about the problems sending/receiving messages and friend requests. She doesn’t appear to have been on FB since the 14th, so there’s still a little bit of hope that she may get my message and friend request.

She must’ve been married at one point, presumably to a guy, because her maiden name is listed as Ogden.

I also got a half-hour visit to my LJ blog from Ellington, CT right around Kim’s area, so it was either her or the sister. Different provider than I knew Kim to have, though, so my guess is the sister. She must’ve gotten the link from Kim because I blocked her on FB cuz I didn’t want to discuss Kim with her, I just wanted her to know what her sister was doing, talk to her, and hopefully scare Kim off. I don’t think anything will, though, unless she’s physically restrained from going online because she’s back to playing “Janet M” on Molly’s blog. Does she really think people are that stupid? How dumb can you be to use an alias people know damn well is just an alias? Regardless, I didn’t block the sister’s group page, so she might’ve linked to my blog after linking to my page from there, but Kim still would’ve had to give her my name either way cuz I didn’t. Or maybe it was Kim herself. She’s been disabling cookies this long, though, so I don’t see why she’d turn them on now.

And Norma has a proxy. Yeah, I thought it odd that she never appeared to visit my blog before I turned it to friends only, but when she said she wished she had known what I was going through as a kid (how sweet of her, though I don’t see what she could’ve done), I gave her my bio link on LJ and saw she was going through a proxy.

Anyway, Kim probably would disable cookies before she went through a proxy cuz that’s less complicated.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 18, 2013 Andy is now in the air and on the way to the desert!

Anyway, looks like Jan has no children and is in a relationship with a woman as of last year. Wow, I’m kind of surprised. So that married woman with 3 kids that I thought might be her really wasn’t her after all, just like the daughter Betsy had said when I went looking for her a year or two ago.

Jan was a pretty good-looking woman. What I usually go for – tall, dark, and older. She was part of the Klamath Indian tribe and was just an attractive lady overall. I got the feeling she was smart, capable of putting her foot down when necessary, but not mean or crazy in any way. What I like in a woman but tend not to get.

Thank God I could get a guy as great as Tom is or else I’d really wonder what the hell was wrong with me. And so I love women but choose men. I pretty much always have. Oh, I could get a woman, all right. She just has to be everything I wouldn’t want her to be.

Anyway, Jan had a cute little gift shop but eventually sold it to take her treasures online. She had given me a pen with the web address on it, but I haven’t seen the pen in a million years, so who knows where it is. I could never find her site, if she still has it, either.

In her profile picture, she still looks the same, but maybe with slightly shorter hair and maybe a shade or two lighter. Saw a picture of her woman and I would never peg them for a couple. Neither of them looks like lesbians. I know it’s a matter of personal taste, but I never liked the lesbian “dress code” anyway. Maybe that’s why I always had such a hard time attracting women. I refused to cut my hair off (above the shoulders) and act, talk, dress and walk like a guy. I was meant to be a woman, like it or not, but again, to each their own. To me, it just defeats the purpose of being attracted to women, IMO. I have always wondered about women who were attracted to people like Ellen Degeneres and KD Lang. Are they really attracted to women, or could they perhaps be attracted to men with pussies? I guess it depends on what’s important to you. I tend to look at people as a whole and I think that’s why I’ve always found women more attractive than men or women that look like men; because I like a more feminine look overall as a whole. Not as feminine as I used to but sort of in the middle. You can’t tell Jan’s gay, though I have seen more feminine.

Anyway, maybe that’s why I like to have a cyber GF or two. It’s my way of having what I can’t have. I keep them at a safe distance while I get to keep the man I would love even if he became horribly disfigured in a fire or something. Only problem is I don’t do much better of a job attracting good-looking, sane women with brains in cyberspace any more than I did in the real world. Then again, once I was married I did actually do a better job of attracting what I wanted; I just couldn’t have them. Someday. Someday I will have a friend with benefits and enjoy the variety of both worlds. I just may have to settle for a little craziness or a little ugliness cuz I ain’t hot enough for the hotties and am a little too batty for the sane ones.

I was thinking back on dream premonitions I’ve had that weren’t premonitions at the same time they were. I dreamt a friend’s Mom would die at the end of last year. Instead, it was my Mom who died. I dreamt my sister would die. Instead, my brother died. The point is that someone did die. Kind of makes you wonder.

Speaking of dreams, I asked for a sign in my dreams if we had any chance of getting the place we want as I was falling asleep. Well, I had a dream I was packing some stuff but never saw where we were going.

Meanwhile, the realtor left Tom a message asking him to give her a call but didn’t say why. God, I hate that! I hate people leaving us wondering what the hell they want. She probably got an offer on the house or needs to reschedule this weekend’s showing. Or maybe the place sold, though I don’t know why she wouldn’t have just said so.

She did tell Tom that she managed the park it’s in for 18 years and that she isn’t very fond of the current manager. I hope she’s not another Stacey! If it is we stand no chance of being let in without credit.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 17, 2013 I was surprised to learn Dad’s still got the group home up and running. I thought they would have sold the business years ago, but it’s a family business that Mom’s Mom started, so I can see where it wouldn’t be that easy to just give up. Can’t imagine Freddy taking it over either. Freddy always seemed to be the exact opposite of his parents in that he came off as cold, macho and uncaring. Totally not the sensitive, compassionate type it takes to run the type of group home LaRagiones is.

Anyway, I’d help if I could if I were there. I was remembering how grown up it made me feel to help serve dinner to all the people. There were about 5 or 6 large round tables set up in the main room in front of the main house, and I would have fun carrying out all the plates of food. Or some of them anyway.

Although I will miss having public blogs and the anonymous fun on Ask, it’s nice to be free of the trolls and not “forced” to give them the attention they want, in a sense, when they would ask me questions I couldn’t know for sure was really them. The break from their annoyances is nice. Like shedding a heavy coat on a day that’s hot as hell.

But I don’t want to be in hiding forever, as forever is such a long time. Right now I’m willing to give up some of the fun I was getting from it in order to frustrate them by wondering where I am and what I’m writing about in order to give myself a break from the same old kiddy crap I’ve been dealing with for years. Kim, however, proved to be a million times worse than Molly ever was and Molly was plenty bad enough. Most of the time Molly was a silent observer, following me from site to site, but Kim was anything but silent.

What was almost certainly Kim, asked Andy why he lets me tell him what to do. LOL, yeah, that’s a popular one they’ve both asked me and other friends before. Whenever we deactivate an account it’s automatically assumed it’s because someone told us to. Andy’s account still exists, but he hasn’t been using it much, so the trolls assume it’s because I ordered him not to. I don’t care, of course, what he does as long as he keeps my name out of it. Bringing me up would not only defeat the purpose of doing what I’m doing, but in their twisted minds, it would give them false hope of me returning. I may “wake up” my account there periodically in the middle of the night when they’re not likely to catch me, just to keep it alive. I hate to throw the account away altogether, glitchy site or not. That way it’s always there as an option to use, though I don’t think a year of silence will do the trick. I really think a decade could go by and they’ll still be looking for me. Just maybe not every day. But sooner or later they’ll think to look for me.

Had that pain in the lower right side of my stomach that I suspect could be a cyst on my ovary that flares up every so often.

I hope the trip to Arizona perks Andy up. I’m sooo glad he’s clean! Not just for obvious reasons but because Arizona’s the last state a white, Jewish, gay person wants to get caught in and deal with law enforcement. He’s definitely the minority of the wrong kind for that state. Even though what happened to me can never be undone and not every single person in the state was responsible for it, I cringe at the thought of placing just one toe over the border of that state for just 5 minutes. So if my toes won’t visit that state, neither will I! Tom feels the way I do, too. I had some fun times there, did some really neat things, and saw some amazing scenery and storms, but I’d go back to Massachusetts before I went to Arizona.

Sometimes I wish my friends and some family members that aren’t already there could one day meet up and retire in Florida so we’d all have each other to finish off our golden years with, but that’s just a fantasy. Still, growing old with Tom may be wonderful by itself, but growing old with Tom with Andy down the street, and another friend up the street, and maybe another a few blocks away, sprinkled with some family members, would be heaven.

Later…

Someone in Chicago spent two minutes trying rather desperately to access my MO blog. Could it be Kim’s “sources” trying to get a copy of it for her since she can’t read my MD blog? And if it is, does that mean Kim doesn’t know about my LJ blog? I know Molly does because she accessed it when she couldn’t access my MO blog, but does Kim? Well, if she does, she’s not going to appear on my tracker because the little coward prefers to hide. Aly once said Kim had issues with someone in Chicago, but are they still friends? Whoever it was really wanted in bad to try for two minutes.

A part of me is amused at the idea of just Kim knowing about and reading a blog where she doesn’t know I know she’s reading it and I can throw in all these little stories to piss her off, but the problem is Aly and Kathy. I can’t do anything to Kim or Molly (like drop my LJ link on Molly’s blog) without them knowing about it cuz they watch what she’s up to too, even if they remain silent. I don’t mind Aly and Kathy knowing about most things, but sometimes I just don’t want people to know things. Not everybody anyway.

Anyway, I don’t care about Molly’s lame blog, but I do find Kim’s paranoia interesting and a bit amusing. For some reason, she’s trying to buddy up to Molly and seems to think that everyone who leaves anonymous comments is pretending to be her.

I have some friends who want to read my blog yet don’t have FB accounts. So now I have to decide if opening at least one of them back up to the public is worth it or not. Although I know my stalking trolls would gladly stick their nosy little eyes into it, they can’t contact me on most of them, though I’m definitely NOT going back to Ask anytime soon. That much I’m definitely going to stay away from for quite a while, but not just cuz of them. I’m sick of their tech issues and need a break. But what to do about my blogs… hmm… I’m just not sure yet.

Now here’s some good and bad news for two people who aren’t meant to live in nicer places. We could practically move tomorrow if we wanted to cuz Tom works with a guy who’s tight with the owner of a 55+ park here in Auburn. They’re old single-wides that are “well maintained.” But we would still be cramped in like sardines with flimsy walls and single-paned windows. Ain’t it amazing how easy it is to get what we don’t want? However, the monthly lot fee would be dirt cheap. We’d save an unbelievable amount of money, and well, it just may be tempting when the inevitable happens and the nicer places turn us down for not having credit. I’m not used to nice places anyway. If we had around 1500 square feet, just what the hell would we do with it? I’m not materialistic and have sold most of my doll collection. So is bigger, newer and nicer really better?

There’s another co-worker, a woman who once managed a park in this area, that’d help get us a place there, but it’s a family park. She said there was no barking and that the few kids are quiet.

Yeah, right. Until we got there.

Looks like I finally found Jan on Facebook who used to own the gift shop I’d buy incense from up in Oregon. Facebook is really pissing me off, though, with not letting messages and friend requests go through, so I doubt I’ll be able to actually contact her. I couldn’t contact Kim’s sister there either, so I went directly to the martial arts website she owns and teaches from and emailed her there. I’m sure she’d take her sister’s side, though. Yeah, Kim will say I’m the one bothering her and big sis will be quick to believe it. That’s why I didn’t give my real name and address. But maybe this will finally make Kim think twice before she harasses people. It may make her try to reach out to more of my friends/family, but they’ve long since been alerted to both her and Molly’s shit.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 16, 2013 Sometimes I don’t know if Andy’s playing with me or if he’s just plain stupid. It REALLY bothers me that he answered one of Ask’s questions with: Jodi can still ask me questions here if she wants.

First of all, he should know the importance of not mentioning my name and that the more I’m mentioned, even if it’s not by me, the more they’ll come around. In their twisted minds, they’ll see it as false hope of me eventually returning. He said he deleted a question from the trolls AFTER he said he’d let me see it first, but wouldn’t say what the so-called question was. Like he doesn’t want to tell me or something. I’m sure it was just asking that I return there or whatever.

Secondly, I already told him I wasn’t going to continue on with questions there because they’ll know it’s me, and again, that will keep them coming around and using him as a means of trying to get through to me. Didn’t he read my journal entry about all this? He may not mind, but I do. I do NOT want to give these sickos the attention they want. Not directly, and not through him either.

Tom said Andy may like the trolls cuz he’s a natural troll himself. Yeah, I suspected that, but it’d be nice if he’d consider me a little more than he has.

I’m sorry he’s depressed right now and all that, but I want my name left out of things! Argh! Sometimes I wonder if I should just dump all my friends and go back to living like a hermit both in the real world AND online. It really gets under my skin to see my niece post: I have the most wonderful daddy in the world! He let me use his car because my heater is broken.

Yeah, well, her “wonderful” daddy had a big hand in ruining her aunt’s life for years, and her BIL’s, too. So to be reminded of this asshole isn’t a very thrilling concept.

Anyway, Andy became depressed in December and still is. He longs for the Mr. Right which obviously isn’t meant to be any more than I was meant to have kids, and he really hates winter. He’ll be vacationing in Phoenix soon and hopes that will perk him up. He just doesn’t want his broke friend there using him, nor does he want to stay with her. He said that last time her apartment was hot as hell and her kids were annoying him so bad and going through his stuff that he checked into a hotel. I also get the impression he’s not doing too well financially now, so why he’s going on vacation at this time beats me.

Later…

There was a good God in the sky today after all. Oh, I still don’t think we’re going to get the house we want, but not only did the propane people wait till after I got up to come refill us, but I also got a letter and picture from Harry, my Italian Dad! I was surprised. I didn’t really think I’d hear anything back and figured that if I did, someone may have to write for him as old as he is now. The letter reads:

Dear Jodi,

I don’t type so please accept this handwritten letter from your Italian Dad.

I loved your letter and appreciated it and how you cared for your Italian Mom. I am so glad everything is going so good for you and your husband. Sorry about your biological Mom and Dad. I am still trying to keep the group home going but it is very difficult without my Anna. She meant everything to me. I am lost without her. I am enclosing a picture of us.

I called the number you stated in your letter but someone said I had the wrong number. I don’t do computers or email. I am too old for electronic gadgets.

Once again I want to thank you for remembering us.

With all my love, Your Italian Dad Harry, xxo

I saved a copy of the letter I sent and I did give him the correct number, so he probably misdialed. I’ll use the cell to call him sometime soon.

The picture is as nice as the letter, but Mom sure looks different as opposed to Dad! Dad hasn’t changed much, but I’ve never seen Mom with straight silvery hair swept to the side. I remember her with short jet-black curls. I never cared for the look, but perms were a big thing in the 80s.

Gosh, such mixed emotions going through me now – so happy to hear from him, so sad to know Mom’s gone, so guilty for not keeping in touch. Thank God I studied Italian so I could recognize the spelling mistake I was making when looking up their name online.

Still wonder about that “strange” night, too. Was Mom saying goodbye? Did my psychic side just sense something was up? Or was the timing just a coincidence? I think it’s a combination of the first two since I’m not really a big believer in “coincidences.” The rat freaking out for no apparent reason kind of helped convince me all the more that my dear Italian Mom was indeed here, saying farewell from the other side.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 15, 2013 Deactivated Ask and turned my other blogs private/friends. Kim made up my mind for me when she asked me if I liked an actor I’ve known her to be obsessed with. She asked Andy a couple of questions too, and while they may’ve been harmless, that’s not the point. It wasn’t what she asked, it’s that she asked in the first place when she KNOWS I don’t want her contacting me OR my friends. Sometimes people just won’t let go of us and we’re the ones that have to do the letting go. Shutting down and going incognito was the only way I could think of to throw both Kim and Molly off my tail, though Molly hasn’t bothered me much lately. Kim’s the much bigger problem these days. Damn, I still can’t believe it! I’d never have guessed she’d do this to me. If only I’d known!

Andy may be disappointed that I left Ask, but I did it his way for a while and now it’s time to do it my way. It doesn’t have to be for forever. But if he’s right about them going away for good after a year of no contact, then I need to finally give them that year, and remaining public isn’t the way to do that. As I told Andy, I won’t be able to ask him questions there cuz they’ll know it’s me and will use him as a portal to keep the communication going. There are email, Formspring and other places we can keep in touch and share graphics and all that fun stuff.

I created a ‘smart list’ for select FB friends and that’s where I’ll share some entries from now on. Adonis and Andy aren’t on the FB note list cuz Adonis is on MO and Andy likes his emailed. I’m still going to carry on with my blogs as usual, too. They just won’t be public.

If I had to guess I don’t think even 5 years of silence will get these nuts out of my life forever. I think they’ll continue to look for me on and off all their lives. These are crazy people with no life and nothing better to do and no hope of ever having anything to divert their attention from those they stalk. They’re not just people being mean but that still have a life and can eventually have things to move on to.

I did it for other reasons as well and not just to escape them asking questions as if we were old buddies and shit like that. I did it cuz I’m sick of the glitches on Ask and to piss the trolls off. It’s going to really frustrate the hell out of them if they can’t see what I’m up too, LOL, though I believe they read my blogs for different reasons. In Kim’s mind, it was probably because she believes we’re damn good friends. In Molly’s mind, it’s to see if I’ve mentioned a friend of mine who used to be her friend as well.

Also, while I’m always careful what I put in public, these trolls don’t need to know what I am willing to write about online, even if it’s something as trivial as the soda I’m drinking.

I’m going to want to share pics of our new home eventually, and even if they don’t know the address, do I really want to let these trolls see inside our home? That’d almost be like opening the door to them in person and saying, “Come on in.” Only difference would’ve been that online they’d actually get out alive.;)

Later…

I’m totally dismayed but not surprised by Tom’s good and bad news after seeing the house today. For years I suspected that something up there has wanted us to live in tiny old dumps as if that was all we deserved. Well, when he described the house as being not perfect but totally ideal for us, it convinced me that nothing’s changed with this twisted “rule” because the park only accepts people with super good credit. It’s not just the house itself that’s ideal, but the park and the home’s location within the park as well.

Tom thinks we only have a 20% chance of getting them to give us a break and consider the fact that it’s been empty a year now and that if the owner gets tired of making the monthly payments, they’re the ones that are going to have the expense of having to repossess the house and fix any repairs that are needed, however minor they may be (flashing around skylights, chips in bricks, cracks in plaster, chips in an edge of the kitchen’s porcelain sink). Yet I know that people are greedy, stupid and stubborn. They won’t care that they could actually lose money that way. They won’t care that the monthly ownership expenses there are comparable to what we’ve been paying here for nearly half a decade. People’s rules and expectations are what they are and they don’t usually want to be flexible about them in any way.

It isn’t just the park’s standards and people’s stubbornness that makes me believe we’ll never get this house but the bastard above and His obsession with us living in little old dumps. It’s wrong, it’s unfair, and I don’t know why this is our “fate,” but there’s not much we can do about it other than accept what we can’t have and just continue settling. Whatever we do finally get will be too small, too old and too dumpy, but there’s got to be some park that will give us something better than this place that belongs to someone else, even if it’s not “ideal” or what we really want. But it will be ours.

Tom described it as being the Beverly Hills of parks, it’s that nice-looking and looks like you’re driving through a regular neighborhood due to how the houses are all at ground level. There was an empty spot next to it from what we saw on the satellite and we figured that since most satellite pics are old, by now a house had been brought into that spot. But nope. That’s a drainage ditch and will always be empty.

There’s more I could say about what Tom saw and discussed with the realtor, but why bother? It’s not in our “cards.” But it sure is in our cards to live cramped into shitboxes as if we were lazy little bums. Tom wants me to go see it this weekend, but I don’t see the point. He did tell the realtor we have no credit, but even she thought we should still go for it anyway. I guess Tom would rather go as far as we can with trying to get it and until and if they actually turn us down, but I say why fight for what’s not meant to be? I told him I’d think about it, though.

Later…

Andy agrees it’s ridiculous how the owners have different standards than the park’s. People want to sell their homes and are willing to work with those who at least don’t have bad credit and can afford the place, yet the parks want you to be perfect. If we did have great credit, what would they demand of us then? That we are able to stand on our heads for an hour? That we are able to run through fire, breathe underwater, and jump 20 feet off the ground? Makes me wonder if any park anywhere will take us unless it’s an all-out dump for all ages. Well, I’m sorry I didn’t have children to abuse to make me as “deserving” in God’s eyes as my fucked up mother was, but we will not live like bums forever! Fine, give us a dump with adequate space if that’s supposedly all we deserve and we’ll fix it up and make it what we want. It takes years to establish a score of 720 and I won’t do it. I refuse. I refuse to stay here and rent this dump from this pesky landlord for more years, even if he and his mutts have been quieter lately. God may feel otherwise, but my husband and I know we deserve better than this, especially after so damn long.

Speaking of that pesky landlord who’s been quieter, I figured the rising temps would bring him out and about more and they are. He was buzzing around on the ATV when I got up, and I know it’s just a matter of time before the motorcycle starts up again and he finds some reason to come down here cuz it’s been a while. Unfortunately, I don’t see any chance of getting out of here before the roofing excursion, and that’s going to be maddening if I’m on nights at the time. Then I gotta worry about the place falling apart on us while we’re still here. We have leaks everywhere in here! It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if the roof started leaking, too.

Gonna start taking melatonin again to try to hold my schedule on days as long as I can each time I’m on it. Right now I gotta hold it to make the waste-of-time appointment to see the house this Saturday at 4pm. I find the Neuro Sleep drink easier than the melatonin pills cuz one of the side effects of melatonin is that you wake up too soon. Well, just a few swallows puts me back out.

Tom said he’s going to see if the park will accept a deposit but I doubt they’ll budge. They’ll say something like, “Well, if we do that for you, we have to do it for everyone.”

Not if we all keep our mouths shut and don’t tell anyone you did it for us, duh!

MONDAY, JANUARY 14, 2013 Still wondering if I’ve got more than two trolls tailing me. Unless Kim has some amazing alters, I’m getting more than just her questioning me on Ask. I’d really, really hate to think Aly could be playing a joke on me! When I told her about the latest round of questions, Dustin said Aly was asleep and he was just checking her messages cuz she was waiting for info from her aunt.

Anyway, I don’t think it’s her, but I never would’ve thought Kim would harass the hell out of me either. Then again, Kim’s crazy, Aly’s not.

“Admit it, you’re just as bad as me,” was what I assumed was Kim saying in regards to Kathy and I anonymously messing with Molly on her blog last night.

So she does know what she’s doing then when she goes overboard with the role-playing? Is that what she’s saying? Either way, I didn’t answer this one.

And how did the person being so nice to Molly who Kathy and I thought could be Alison know there were two of us when they told Molly there were two people pretending to be anonymous? “Shall I contact you about what’s going on?” they asked her.

Today, however, Molly’s still stumped as to who we are. She wonders about me, Kim, Roman and who knows who else.

Dustin, however, says Molly’s back to harassing Aly. But how? If she can just block her and she doesn’t have her current phone number, then how could she harass her? She’s not blogging anywhere or using Ask that I know of, so it should be fairly easy enough to escape Molly.

“Bullying is never the answer.”

Kim? But why would Kim defend Molly? Does Kim wish they were friends?

Molly? But then why did she ask if I follow her on Twitter? Like she hoped I did or something. In truth, I don’t follow anyone on Twitter.

A while passed, then I got, “Is Alison as retarded as Kim?”

I wouldn’t answer and then they asked why not, because they were right? So now I’m dealing with someone who also has a grudge against Alison? The only one I can think of is Kim, but the person wrote kind of well for Kim. At least the Kim I once knew. These questions came in a little late for Molly, so Kim either has a friend, an amazingly brilliant alter, or there’s someone else I’m unaware of that’s tailing me.

There were other questions that I did answer that may or may not be Kim – about the rats, if I’m a trusting person, if I think anyone’s lying to me, and how Tom and I met. The one about Tom doesn’t seem like Kim, and she should know we don’t have cats (someone asked if the cat in my background pic was mine).

They also asked how many online friends I have, and then said they had to work in the morning and were going to bed and would ask more questions tomorrow.

The more I look at the questions, the more I see the spelling isn’t that great. If I had to guess, it probably is all from Kim and her alters. I can’t believe that many people are out and about asking anonymous questions. But if it isn’t Aly pretending to be Molly’s friend on MO, then who is it? The person writes very well, whoever it is.

Later…

“Why not go non-anonymous?” I was asked today. Maybe I’ll just go to Formspring instead. It sucks over there, but I’m sick of the glitches on Ask and so I’m going to see if I can convince Andy to sign up over there. I kind of miss having more privacy, so to speak, in a fun place where we can keep in touch yet be a little more open. But I won’t deactivate my Ask account. I’ll just keep it non-anonymous and check in every so often.

I’m also thinking of turning all my blogs to private/friends and sharing entries on Facebook, but only with some of my friends there. Not Andy, of course, since I email him entries, and not Adonis either since he’s a MO friend. And no, I wouldn’t accept new friend requests so don’t go thinking you could create a bogus account to friend me with if I did decide to do this. But right now it’s only a thought. I haven’t decided on anything for sure yet. It’s just that any friend is a potential enemy, as I’ve learned the hard way, but keeping info confined to FB should cut down the number of potential enemies I might regret sharing it with.

Aly says she doesn’t blame me for considering that and that Molly found her Gmail address which she has deactivated since a reply would be exactly what she’d want. So that’s how Molly’s back to bothering her. We’re just not sure if Molly’s smarter than we give her credit for or if she’s just that lucky to be able to find email addresses like that. Who’s found mine that they’re giving it to every single spammer in the world? I still think that was probably an abusive FB app, but you never know.

Anyway, Aly insists it’s not her messing with Molly and that someone else is trying to come off as her unless it’s just Molly reading things into what’s not really there. I wonder if Kim is trying to come off as Aly and give Molly the impression she’s on her side and wants to be friends.

Aly is against the idea of cyberbullying since her job, after all, is with cybercrimes, and while Molly may’ve done a lot of bad things, people have actually killed themselves after they were bullied. I agree that Kathy and I have been sort of stooping to their level by pestering the pests, so I’m going to just sit back and let Kim, Kathy and whoever else may be involved have all the fun.

The propaners are coming Thursday. I’m totally not going to miss having to call for propane and worry that it’s going to run out before they get here and all that! Plus, it stinks up the place when they open the tank and I always worry about leaks in this old dump, too. The house we want uses both electricity and gas which is good since gas is cheaper. The only real expense will be the AC in the summer, but I like it kind of warm, so it shouldn’t be any big deal.

Anyway, although I’m trying not to get my hopes up, Tom’s going to talk to the realtor tomorrow after work, since he’s the one who’s 55. If it looks good, then I’ll go see it, too. All the lost sleep I’m no doubt in for with the upcoming changes and appointments will be totally worth it.

This can’t go in public (yet) because after all, how hard would it be for a stalker to locate someone in a 55+ park next to a pet cemetery? Yeah, it’s a pet cemetery, Tom learned today, not a people cemetery. Good. They may mow the grass regularly there, but I doubt there’d be that many ceremonies. There’s a wall between the park and the cemetery, but we don’t know how high/thick it is.

We’ve both got eye appointments scheduled for the end of the month, then at some point, I’ll have to have the rest of my dental work done and move on to other long-neglected doctor appointments as well.

Lost 3.2 pounds after week one of the Alli. I’ve had no side effects and little hunger. Don’t know if I can keep losing 3 pounds a week, though, or if I can get under 120 pounds. I think 120 today would be the equivalent of the 100 I was at when I was young due to my current muscle mass. Tom and I were laughing at the BMI chart and how deceptive it can be when you’re on the muscular side. It was trying to tell me I was on the edge of obesity, LOL. Working out definitely makes you heavier than you look, so I’m going to go by inches and just how I feel for the most part.

Alli’s definitely been better than cigarettes as I really did not want to return to smoking! It may’ve helped me lose weight, but it would’ve also given me worse problems and cost a fortune.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 13, 2013 Boy, they are really kicking us offline more often and for longer these days, and I totally can’t wait to get the hell outa here! The hotspot is a joke out here, too. So who knows how many hours it’ll be before I can post this.

On the bright side, I love the idea of the agonizing anticipation the trolls are no doubt suffering as they peek in every other minute all day long wondering when the hell I’ll make an update and answer questions. Poor Andy, though. Then again, he has a life and better things to do than follow those who don’t want to know him, and he knows that some days I’m just too busy to make it to Ask. Still, the wait has got to be sheer torture for those trolls, hee hee!

I deleted the questions I know are from the trolls, and while I probably shouldn’t, I’ll answer the ones I’m unsure of.

Finally heard from Nane. She’d been very ill but didn’t say how. She got a kick out of Andy’s comment about her street fighting in Turkey when I statused that I wondered where she was and all that. She’ll be doing just that in February, LOL.

We also got an email from the realtor. We were surprised to hear from her on a Sunday. Tom probably won’t call her till Tuesday, though, cuz he’s got to set up eye exam appointments for us both tomorrow, and call the propaners out for what will HOPEFULLY be the last time.

Been having dreams and vibes about a big change to come for April, as I said a while back, but didn’t see how we could get moved by April. But now that we have a better idea of what I’ll be getting money-wise, maybe we will. I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high after all the setbacks we’ve already had. We still don’t know if the park itself will accept us and this may not even be a 1@55 park for all we know.

Anyway, the realtor said the house is a 3-bedroom and not a 2-bedroom. 3 would be great cuz then I could separate my office from my bedroom (unless the regular sound machine isn’t enough to sleep with). I could have my computers, stereo and treadmill in one room, my bedroom in another, and Tom’s bedroom in another. Then the living room could be a traditional living room plus Tom’s office.

I just hope to hell we don’t get “punished” for buying a place of our own this time around like we did in Maricopa. Clearly, something did not want us living there. I just hope the blacks and pigs aren’t waiting till we move to jump out at us like they did the last time, figuring it’d be harder for us to run if we owned rather than rented, but like I said, if they ever decide there’s to be a round two, they’re the ones who will lose, not us. If I’d killed someone, beat someone up, ripped someone off or burned their place down, that’d be different. Meanwhile, I’m not going to play court or jail for something I wrote over a year ago just because some people don’t want to hear it. She chose to read the email instead of marking it as spam.

Had a dream I was either staying with or living with Mary. At least I think it was Mary. Anyway, I was tipped off that the pigs would be around the next morning with a search warrant, though I don’t know what for. I spent the rest of the day and all through the night hiding my shit, but I’m not sure what I did to hide it and what it was I hid. I just hope that dream wasn’t a bad sign because I will treat anyone who busts in here with a search warrant, legal or not, same as I would any old burglar. Just because something’s “legal” doesn’t always make it right (it’s not like we’ve got drugs or stolen goods in here). It’s “legal” to discriminate against gays in most places. But is it right?

It’s a few hours later now, and after being offline for nearly 4 hours, Tom got the hotspot to work well enough to submit a troubleshooting ticket to our joke of a provider and they rebooted us from their end after finding an error on the line. Funny how there are “errors” almost every single fucking day at around the same time. I didn’t get online till around 4pm and all I had time to do was touch base with Nane before it went down, and that’s been it till now. So now I can finally post this after I mention how cute and funny Romeo is. He’s decided to be a little gymnast and loves to climb the drying rack.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 12, 2013 Got up at 1pm and have been busy as hell ever since. Every time I’d get a chance to go online, barely two minutes later I’d have to get up to do something else. But now, at coming up on 8pm, I can finally take more than just a few minutes to catch up with things online.

Only I don’t have much to say. I’m doing laundry, hanging with Tom, keeping the rats entertained, and now I’m off to do tomorrow’s grocery list and some other writing.

Damnit! Now I can’t get online. Could be an hour or two before I post this, but again, there’s not much to say anyway. Tom emailed the realtor about the house we want. There was another one listed for the same price in the same park only it was bigger and older. It appears that the “cemetery house” we want has been empty for a year. It started at 45K. It’s a lot of house for the $12,500 it’s now at and I’m guessing they’ve had trouble selling it either due to the park being more expensive or because it borders a cemetery. My guess is the price. It’s one of the fancier parks.

Tom let them know we’re looking to buy within a couple of months, and next we have to hope we see it, don’t find anything wrong with it, and that it looks as good in person as it does online. Another thing I like about the place is that it’s at ground level, which would greatly reduce the vibration of any car doors and whatnot. I just hope the park will accept us, too! It’s just beautiful. Pools, clubhouses, community gardens and other amenities, including security. You can’t just drive into the park. You need a passcode. It would be just our shit luck, though, if it were an all-at-55 park. They don’t say online, so that’s the first thing we’d have to ask, cuz some are 1@55 and others aren’t. Funny it’s in Citrus Heights too, after having a dream a while back about being surrounded by citrus trees. I also had a dream about Lincoln, but that one wasn’t as “prominent” and as memorable.

Romeo was so funny earlier. I had the drying rack set up and of course he not only had to have fun pulling socks off and things like that, but it was so much fun to climb it too, LOL. It’s like a little jungle gym for him… until he falls off.

Later…

There are a few people/things I’ve been too busy to mention yet, so let me start with Mary. The poor girl was fired. She said some dude hit on her, she reported it, and she was fired. This sucks, but I’m just amazed she got two jobs, housing and all the gadgets and electronics she’s got so damn fast and after spending over a decade locked up. I’m sure friends and family helped with some of the material things, but I still don’t get how she can get so much so fast, not only in this shitty economy but after being a high-profile case that was in prison. No one would give my record-free husband just one job for years, yet this ex-con, as much as she was more the victim than the criminal, gets two jobs and the apartment of her choice? Well, I’m happy for her though it hardly seems fair.

I called Paula and she is so damn annoying to talk to being so hyped up as she always is and so damn dumb. She interrupts, changes subjects faster than a speeding bullet, and doesn’t get half the stuff I say. I tried to tell her I wanted to conserve minutes (though the real reason was that I didn’t want to gab for two hours), and the dumb shit turns around and calls me back 3 minutes later to ask if I pay double for minutes out here. sighs I said I’d send her a letter and we’ll keep in touch that way since she’s never going to have regular internet access. She’s lucky this country doesn’t take violence very seriously because as I suspected, she didn’t do a day in jail. Just got an additional year of probation. If ever there has been someone who hasn’t changed a bit since she was young, it’s Paula. Even my mother changed a bit over the years compared to her! I still love my friend and have been friends for nearly 30 years now, but boy can she be one frustrating chick!

if the pigs are lying in wait with any nasty plans up their sleeve now that we’ve passed the 1-year marker since they contacted me (if it was really them), I don’t know about it. Again, though, they lose next time, so they better hope there isn’t a next time. Still wish I knew what “case” they made up on me if there really ever was one, and how much time they have on it before the statute of limitations ran out. It could be years, since after all, I was charged in 2000 with something I was supposed to have written in 1996, so it’s important that I don’t contact the black bitch. One simple “boo” sent 20 years from now could send the pigs running for something I never did 5 years ago. Sure wish I could torment her at times, though. She’d read every single word I wrote, not because she’d be interested, of course, but to see what she could get me with.

I have been playing with Kim, though. Sort of. Not directly. I haven’t mentioned her in my blog publicly. Kathy and I played with Molly a bit on her blog and Molly doesn’t know what to think, but Kathy and I both agree that Kim just might have a friend a little above and beyond her. She too, has noted how Kim writes like a third-grader, but this person not only writes better and defends Kim to Molly (mostly by bashing me), but has also been nice to Molly. The weird part was when they asked Molly if they should contact her “about what’s going on.” So other than saying that I’ve been going off the deep end trying to make Kim look bad and that Kim’s “not that bad,” they told me I should be ashamed of myself on Ask. That’s all I’ve gotten for two days now, which is kind of surprising. It won’t last long, though. Kim never seems to go more than a couple of weeks without pestering me.

A part of me is a little worried that even though Aly said she hasn’t talked to Molly since October, she could be the one being nice to Molly. Even Kathy wondered that, but if she were, why wouldn’t she say so? I just hope that if Aly does talk to either troll she won’t out us, but it won’t be the end of the world if she does. I just wonder how much I can really trust Aly. Kim’s turning on me has made me wary and paranoid. I assumed most of the shit I got on Ask was Kim’s doing, but what if it’s not? What if she’s got a copycat or someone that has nothing to do with her at all? Someone I least suspect. I’m either paranoid or Alison isn’t quite the friend I always thought she was. After all, I did catch her outing me to Kim once, but hopefully she’s learned from it. I wonder, though, if she could be behind some of the questions I get.

What’s got to have Kim totally freaking out, assuming she really is watching all our accounts all day long, is how I mentioned names of her family when pretending to be her to Molly. Hey, she pretended to be me and a million others, so why not, even if it was a bit childish and I don’t intend to make a regular habit of it? Kathy claimed to be Jennifer, a name Molly once used to stalk her with on the old Kiwibox, LOL. Nonetheless, Molly goes back and forth between suspecting Roman, a guy she stalked in her hometown, Kim, and probably others as well. She asked me on Ask if I were behind it, pointing out that we’ve been getting along. I asked her not to answer it and told her in the form of a question that it wasn’t me, but was probably Kim, and she honored my request.

Anyway, although she’s been playing peek-a-boo, Molly really has backed off and I shouldn’t mess with anyone that isn’t making trouble for me. It’s only fair. But I still want to see if not mentioning Kim or answering questions that are obviously from her can get her to leave me alone, since I can’t get through to her sister, the only seemingly sane family member she’s got.

Yeah, here’s where it gets a little funny. I looked up obits on Ms in CT, remembering that Kim’s father died last year and found the stern-looking guy’s obit. Again, I have to wonder what he might’ve done to his kids, especially if Kim really does have MPD. That’s usually the result of childhood sexual abuse. Anyway, She has an older sister who’s married with kids and is a karate instructor while her younger brother and sister are supposedly as fucked as she is and living in group homes. Still, Kim always keeps her friend lists hidden and I’m sure this has got to be at least a little shocking to her to see these names mentioned.

Anyway, Facebook has been having major issues with sending and receiving messages and they obviously have no intentions of fixing this problem, so my message to Carol, explaining what was going on and asking for any help she could give me to get her to leave me alone, hasn’t been read and therefore probably never received.

I remember once Kim said she was sad that family members deleted her on Facebook and she didn’t know why. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I wonder if her alters showed themselves to them a bit too much and they dumped her for going crazy on them, and of course, Kim wouldn’t remember any of it.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 11, 2013 I’m not sure if I mentioned this in public or not but a week or two ago I had a dream that I would get more than just 2-3 grand once my parents’ affairs were all wrapped up. It was a feeling I continued to have even when I was awake. I figured I would receive around 5K, though Tom still thought it’d be 2-3 grand. So when Tammy left a message saying she had a lengthy talk with Walter and that while it could be a little less or a little more to expect around 10K, I was quite shocked and pleased! That’s more than my biggest win! Then I burst out laughing at knowing that another month or two from now, that money combined with our savings will make us worth around 15-20 grand while my parents are a big fat nothing. What a refreshing change, huh? I almost wish they could come back to life and appear at our door, wanting to be let in out of the cold with no clothes, food or money to their name. Then I could say, “Nah, we’re too busy thinking of all the things we could do with your money.” LOL

Before anyone thinks of insulting me by suggesting I thank God or apologize to Him when I thought we’d get nothing…don’t. That’s like being told to thank or apologize to a rapist for giving me money I never expected he would give me. I’m grateful as hell to Walter and to all those who had a hand in seeing that we got anything at all, let alone as much as we’re looking at, but that can’t change the past. What’s done is done. No matter how many heartfelt “I’m sorrys” God may care to drop down from the sky long enough to give me, it can never make up for all the abuse He allowed my parents to inflict upon me. When any God or human being sits back and lets someone abuse someone without doing a damn thing as far as stepping in and intervening, that person is not only just as guilty, but they’re basically saying it’s okay. Well, it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay when my mother slapped me around. It wasn’t okay when she called me a fat idiot who would amount to nothing. It wasn’t okay that she made me so depressed that I wanted to die. It wasn’t okay that she finally gave up on me and sent me away, even before the state took me away. She should have been properly punished, but since God thought it was A-Okay for her to do what she did, she never was punished, and if she never was punished here, why should I think she would be in any kind of an afterlife? If it’s okay here, why not there, too?

Same with the shitsters that legally screwed me. Yes, I was vindicated, yes Mr. Corrupto was dealt with, and yes, they should’ve been made to pay back the money we lost on account of their hate and vengefulness, and while money would’ve been nice and helped a bit, no amount of money could’ve paid us back for the time we lost together. You can’t put a price on time and you can’t put a price on mental anguish either. There may have been more I could’ve done as far as counter-legal action against them, but then I’d be stooping just as low as them by being just as vindictive, and these are the kinds of people that kill people and that have the connections to cover their asses and get away with it, too. And there’s no doubt in my mind that God would give them any added protection they needed. Remember, it’s okay to wrong Jodi S. So unless I am literally forced to take action against them or anyone else in the world, the safety of my husband and myself come first and foremost.

For me, it’s not so much about the money as it is what my parents can help do for us after not helping nearly as much as they should have and could have back when they were alive and we needed it most. We would’ve saved up enough to buy a place on our own; it just would’ve taken a few months longer.

Anyway, Walter’s doing this for nothing. I didn’t realize he knew Dad and I had assumed he had been paid up front. Again, I’m very appreciative of all he’s done! As soon as I receive the check and know his email address I will send him a hearty thanks and my book and blog links as promised over the phone a few months ago. It might be another month or so, though, cuz they’re now in the tax phase, the final phase. At least they don’t owe much there cuz they didn’t make much in the end.

When you set aside the fact that they weren’t always very nice people, it’s kind of sad to see their lives get picked apart and torn down piece by piece till absolutely nothing at all is left. And at the same time, I blame my father for protecting my mother right along with God, I know that if he could’ve shot someone who tried to kill me, he wouldn’t have hesitated even if he knew it would mean he’d go to prison for the rest of his life. sighs So, as usual, there are a lot of mixed emotions going through me now. Maybe it would be easier said than done to let them starve in the streets if they could come back to life, but it’s a funny thought to think of them out there nonetheless with absolutely nothing. Right now, though, I am mostly happy and grateful. And stunned too, to think that barely a year and a half ago we were thinking of the best way to die with some comfort and some dignity as opposed to dying hungry and cold on the streets, not knowing that a miracle would save us in the end and that a happy ending awaited us.

As I’ve learned, all we can do is our best, and sometimes we can survive while other times we can’t. But we did in this case, and now it’s time to happily move on to making new plans. I’ll get to that in another entry since this one’s getting kind of long. I just know that soon enough, the rats won’t have a nicer home than we do, and that if I never see another piece of paneling again once we do move it’ll be too soon!

Later…

Because Tammy was a lot older than me and our parents took off a lot, she was sort of like another Mom as well as a big sister. Sometimes she spent more time looking out for me than our own mother did, and I know she’d be the first in line ��� and probably the only one – to want to take me in if I were suddenly a vegetable in need of regular care but didn’t need to be hospitalized and didn’t have Tom. It seems so, so long ago that we’d lie on the grass as kids and gaze up at the clouds. We’d each decide what animal or object the clouds resembled depending on their shape.

Losing 3 family members in the same year, even if they won’t be missed, has brought us closer. I think that now that she’s gotten away from abusive men, and the evil mother that pitted her against me for God only knows why has died, there shouldn’t be any problems. We’re different in the way we think and believe and we have different skills, hobbies and interests, but we also have a lot in common at the same time.

I may never again be a phone person but it will be nice to get the computer phone up to speed once we’re gone and to be able to know it’s an option. I could use it at the computer and still get things done while we talked, instead of having to be glued to a shaky cell that wastes minutes in the kitchen. That’s the only room we get decent enough reception in.

But why doesn’t anyone want to talk for just 5-10 minutes? LOL, everyone wants to talk for an hour or two.

I also had a dream Tammy was in a few nights ago but didn’t think much of it. It still may not mean anything, but in the dream, I had just woken up and found her sitting in the living room reading. I said I had a dream where I was cleaning the kitchen of the house we want and hoped that was a good sign.

In reality, I don’t think that house will be available by the time we gather all the money together and start actually talking to people. However, I should soon start “seeing” things in my dreams to give us more of a clue as to where we’re going, the closer it gets. I did for the last two moves anyway.

Florida still has to wait till he retires cuz we don’t want to throw away such a great-paying job, regardless of the crazy hours. It’s not just the great pay, but the health and vacation benefits as well as bonuses and the 401K we don’t want to give up either. Plus, he’s looking at another raise in a couple of months. If it was your typical 24K job without benefits, then we might split.

It still stuns the shit out of me how well we’re doing even without what I’m to get from my parents. I was getting sick of renting, yes, but I meant it when I said I would’ve gladly settled for just enough to get buy with. The necessities are what really, really matters. Everything after that is just a bonus. So it’s quite a surprise to be blessed with all this extra goodness.

It’s going to be so nice and so much fun picking the place out and setting it up and decorating it! My only concern is all the car door slamming jolting me awake when I’m on nights. Yeah, I’m still worried about that. Once we’re in, we’re in. It’s not like we could turn around and sell it in a week or two, and where would we go anyway? So we’re going to have to take our time and pick and choose wisely as it’s going to take some serious getting used to having so many people that close to us as it is. Tom can adapt to pretty much any living situation, and of course, he can keep a schedule. Worst-case scenario we’ll soundproof the place if it’s too apartment-like. It’s much easier and cheaper to do these days, and the cool thing about the amount of money we’ll have is that after the place is all paid for, we should still have money left over to get things for the place AND jump-start the savings back up again. We still want to save most of the money that doesn’t go to necessities. I’d like to have at least 50K saved when he retires, and if he keeps making the kind of money he’s been making, that should be doable enough. We might even have closer to 100K. 50K would be enough to get us to Spain or Florida. I don’t know about Spain, but there are senior parks in Florida too, where we could buy something comparable to what we buy here, so long as we don’t end up not liking it.

I still sometimes miss being in a real house on a concrete slab, but that would up the risk of dogs being left outdoors more often to have to deal with, even in an adult community because it would be easier for people to get away with there than in a park, and if most people in the west don’t have to allow their dogs indoors, they won’t.

I still hope I can adapt to the car doors since 95% of the population has company almost every day, and even if they didn’t, they still come and go multiple times a day. Especially those who aren’t working. With a couple of short-term exceptions, we’ve never had working neighbors. They’ve always been on disability, welfare, students or retired. Some of the people will still be working where we go, but I’m sure each household will have at least one person who’s not working.

So just like I had to adapt to this loud water tank that ignites with quite a thump (it still wakes me up at times, though I fall right back to sleep), I’m going to have to get used to the people coming and going, the delivery and service trucks, the landscaping, and people out milling about. They may not be hanging outdoors sipping iced tea and playing gin rummy when it’s in the 40s any more than when it’s over 100°, but people still gotta walk their mutts.

I’m hoping the regular sound machine will be enough and that I won’t have to blast white noise from an off-dialed radio station out of the stereo, since the walls should be thicker and it should have dual-paned windows.

Sometimes you can never know how a place will be until you’ve lived in it for a while. I thought I’d sleep just great in Maricopa in the middle of a 10-acre ranch. But I was wrong when we learned the hard way about sonic booms and were surprised with how many people (not counting Scott) came to our door.

Getting a nice place won’t be the issue. It’s getting a nice place in the right location that could be a bit of an issue, and of course there’s still the park people to possibly worry about. They should accept us, though, if we pay for a place outright. I hope so anyway.

Both rats know their names. When Tom called Sugar, he came running but Romeo didn’t.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 10, 2013 It’s sunnier today than it was yesterday and I feel a bit more energetic. Yesterday I was really dragging.

Lost 2.2 pounds so far with the Alli, but still have to see it help me lose a significant amount to believe it. Tom had a point in saying BMI charts are kind of pointless. Professional athletes are always “overweight,” since muscle weighs more than fat. I think it’s our inches that matter most, cuz no matter what scale you throw me on you’re always going to be in for a WTF? moment as hard and as long as I’ve been working out.

Another dream with Andy in it. I don’t know where we were but were temporarily sharing a room (and unfortunately a bed) in someone’s house while attending some school. I don’t know what the classes were all about, but one night I couldn’t sleep and was listening to music till it was time to get up. It must’ve been summer in the dream cuz it was light at 6:30 am and I was going through summery clothes in preparation for “class.”

Glad to crash as soon as school let out so I could have the bed to myself, Andy said something about grabbing the attention of other women in the meantime.

“You can’t change fate,” I said.

“Yes, you can,” he said back.

I rolled my eyes and began hunting for something to wear before a stupid argument could break out over changing fate. But every pair of pants I pulled out didn’t match the top I had in mind, so I grabbed a pair of pants only to be unable to find a suitable top.

Andy called for me to move my ass from another room and when I stepped out a few minutes later he goes, “You’re not gonna be changing fate in that outfit.”

“Oh, worry about your own fate,” I told him with a wave of my hand.

“My fate is sealed, bitch.”

“Drive us to school, bastard.”

So it was inevitable that we argue in that dream anyway, LOL.

Really wish I could motivate myself to get back to my stories. I have like half a dozen unfinished ones but I seem to be mostly preoccupied with screening old journals for some of my blogs and thoughts of moving.

Although I’ll probably regret it since some people simply refuse to be ignored no matter what you do, I allowed for anonymous questions again and will just use my best judgment as to what I answer. Already someone who seems to know me is asking about my writing and the rats, though I realize it could be anyone. I have a lot of online friends and am a pretty well-known blogger after all.

Later…

As soon as I allowed for anonymous questions again, my “fan” wasted no time in asking about the rats, my writing and other things. Clearly, it’s someone who knows me, but it’s also clear that they don’t want to say who they are. But so what if they did give me their name? I would have no way to know if they were really who they said they were anyway. It’s still fun to be surprised by whatever comes in, even if it’s Kim I may be talking to. Sure hope not, though!

As the curious type who likes to analyze and learn, I was thinking more about Kim’s behavior, and while the signs of MPD are certainly present, how come her alters never showed themselves before she stabbed me in the back? She never presented herself as anyone other than Kim herself before our so-called friendship ended.

Really wish we could hurry up and get moved so we can plow more money into the 401K and lower our taxes, but there’s no way we could get out before the summer with our change of plans. We’re tired of living like bums. Both of us. Why put the money into an undersized oldie that constantly needed fixing and upgrading when that money could go into something nicer and newer? Just as long as we’re smart about it and don’t take on something with high monthly payments just because it’s nice, it shouldn’t be any riskier than buying a cheap old junker of a place.

Although it’s going to take some getting used to being choked in by so many people as even the “spacious” parks are cramped after having space for hundreds of feet in all directions around us, I’m definitely NOT going to miss Jesse’s engine-gunning. Fucking cock was at it with that truck or whatever it is a few times today. At least it’s not as loud as the motorcycle. It’s been too cold for that. By 7pm we’d already hit freezing and are expected to drop to just 28° tonight.

Paula sent a card and asked that I call her. Did she lose my number or something? Knowing her, she probably did. I’ll call tomorrow. She obviously never went to jail but if she did it wasn’t for long. I figured as much, though. She should be glad the laws are so backward and that it’s the violent offenses they go easy on. You gotta be careful what you think, but you can beat your man all you want.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 9, 2013 Not much going on other than what most people probably don’t want to hear because they would find it either too personal or too boring. I finally got a period after nearly 8 weeks of being late, I’m not the least bit horny right now, and I’m still losing weight. The Alli not only truly does seem to block most of the fat I eat from being absorbed, but it helps curb hunger, too. Again, I don’t know how long it will last, but I look forward to finding that out.

Just when I was thinking how peaceful it’s been around here, Jesse came out to play with his toys for a while, sawing, engine gunning, the usual… He shut up pretty fast, though, unless he’s just taking a lunch break or something.

I did have some weird dreams involving Nane, come to think of it, who I’m starting to go from wondering about to worrying about. Unless she’s hiding it all – and I don’t see why she would – there’s been no activity from her on Facebook since before Christmas, and she hasn’t picked up my messages either. If she were just busy, wouldn’t she at least check in just long enough to let people know she’s alive? I would think so, so that’s why I wonder if something’s wrong.

Anyway, in the dreams, she would alternate between spending time in the US as well as Germany. A little over a year went by that I didn’t hear from her, but when I finally did she told me she had a baby girl while in the US and was now expecting a boy (guess she was younger in the dream). Then I complained about her not stopping to see me when she’d be in the US (though I don’t know where in the US she would go).

Then there was a vague dream about me going to stay with her in Germany, and Andy owning his own restaurant and getting pissed at me for “testing” his mother for senility. I guess the way to do that was to ask if she knew her daughters’ addresses by heart or if she had to look them up, LOL. His Mom was sitting at a large table eating when I was “testing” her and Andy came up and said, “Hey. I’m sick of your shit,” and shooed me away from his mother and into the kitchen or wherever.

Tom was in one of the dreams too, showing me how to operate a partially broken and ancient TV. I said something about it being sad that at our ages we had to have a TV like that, LOL, whereas in real life we have a nice one that I won. We just don’t watch it much.

Later…

Really wanna allow for anonymous questions again on Ask, but know that would mean dealing with Kim and sometimes Molly as well. I miss the fun of it, though, minus their shit, so the question is, should I just take a chance of “accidentally” answering questions that may be from them and just ignore the obvious ones, or should I just keep the settings as they are?

Knowing just what makes this loon tick would help. I can only speculate and theorize, but without knowing for sure, I can’t say what would be best. She either knows what she’s doing and this is all one big conscious and intentional joke on her part, or she really does have MPD and isn’t always aware of her alters’ actions. The less of a sense of right from wrong and fantasy from fact she has, the more likely she will take my answering questions I don’t realize are hers as us engaging in a mutual friendship. Like that person said that asked me not to post her question, please don’t encourage her. Then again, it may’ve been Kim herself. There are a lot of “people” that I’m now suspecting may’ve really been her, like the one who questioned me relentlessly about my sleep disorder a while back, and many other things.

Upon reading the comments Molly’s gotten (before she deletes them), I see that Kim may have a friend. Unless it’s just her pretending to be that friend in her own defense, of course. The reason I wonder if this person may actually be for real is because of how well they write. Unlike Kim, they don’t come off as stupid, immature or sex-crazed in any way. Their spelling and grammar seem top-notch, and they make proper use of punctuation. This suggests a more intelligent and mature person which is why I think it may not be Kim. Kim – at least the identity I used to know as Kim – had poor writing skills. But how can an alter be any smarter than our true selves? It’s still HER. So I don’t see how one’s alter could be any smarter than they are, as funny as that may sound. They can be different personality-wise and they can be dumber, but smarter? Wouldn’t that be like an alter of mine, if I were crazy, speaking fluent Russian and my main self not remembering or being aware of it? I just don’t see how that’s possible, so Kim just may have a friend after all.

Again, is she crazy or acting? Hmm… when I think back to the prank calls Andy and I made, most of the recipients of these calls would have certainly thought we were either flat out of our minds or on drugs, while in reality, we knew damn good and well what we were doing/saying. I still think she’s crazy. Not many people could put up an act that well, that long, and that consistently. Even before she went wacko on me I noticed she had problems remembering things. I first blamed it on not paying attention due to lack of caring, but I really think she has no concept of right and wrong, doesn’t give a shit if she gets in trouble or what the hell happens to her, and probably can’t remember one day from the next very well. But she has to have some awareness to remember to peek in on me every day. She never seemed to forget my name or any of the basic details, so she’s got to be able to think, reason and rationalize at least a tiny bit.

I’d feel sorry for her if she wasn’t such a nuisance. A 300-pound crazy loser on disability who’s always lived at home and who will probably never have any type of real job or place of her own, can’t have much to look forward to in life. She’ll probably live and die a virgin, and as Aly said, I doubt she’s ever even been kissed. So what else has she got better to do than sit around and stuff herself while she pesters people?

How do people like her manage to stay out of jails and funny farms? She’s crazy enough to become threatening and get really carried away, though I’ve never known her to make any threats as of yet. Not in the I’m-going-to-kill-you sense, anyway.

I was telling Tammy that Tom’s overworked but at nearly a grand a week, he can’t complain that much, but to please tell people we’re still poor if they ask. If too many people know you have money, that’s how you get beggars on your tail. We probably will be poor again someday anyway.

I’m just sick to death of waiting for my parents’ money if there’s any to be had at all! Tammy said she’d call Walter and agreed he should’ve sent the letters he’s been saying he was going to send. Yes, he should have, but I don’t want “letters,” I just want my fucking money so I can know where we stand. As Tom said, it’s not so much that we have bad credit as we have no credit, so we’ll want to buy the place outright when it finally does come time to buy one. I still worry about the park itself, though, cuz we still have to rent the space it’s on and they could still turn us down.

Anyway, Walter’s still waiting on creditors. I guess they have a certain amount of time to make a claim against the estate, whatever that means. I’m not a lawyer so I don’t know how it all works. I guess it has to do with the debt the fucking bitch ran up before she died.

Still like that house by the cemetery but not that it’s in an expensive park. It’s a beautiful, upscale park, and yes, we can afford it. But I don’t want to just “afford” something, I want to be able to afford it and still save like crazy. But we also don’t want to settle for some cramped, scummy park either.

If I thought my ear and sleep disorder were hard to live with, my poor niece must feel the wrath of God around her big time now! How could any God be so cruel as to take the vision of a 25-year-old??? She’s prayed and prayed to no avail. Yet she’s lost a great deal in one eye and could very well end up with nothing in both eyes. Still not sure if there really is no God or if He just doesn’t care, but I can’t imagine living with no sight! They say we adapt, but still. We all have our limits as to what we can adapt to and that’s just no way to live, period. At least not for me. I’d rather be dead before I was blind or paralyzed.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 8, 2013 My niece Becky is having emergency eye surgery today. What a shitty thing to have to go through! I’m enjoying every single moment that I’m still healthy and able to do things unassisted and free of medication because I know that soon enough I will be old and start accumulating problems. Becky’s hardly old, though, so it seems all the more unfair.

Lost a pound and a half after the first day of the Alli diet, but don’t want to get my hopes up yet. Yes, 1500 is a bit high for losing weight at this age and height even with exercise, but most diets are off to a good start anyway. If I lose more than 5 pounds, then I’ll start to think, hey maybe I’m really onto something here that really does work. You still have to diet and exercise as with any weight loss program, but with this, I may not have to practically kill myself to get results by having to nearly starve myself.

It takes fewer calories to maintain lower weights and more to maintain higher weights, so the lower I go, the more I will need to cut calories. I won’t be going from 120 pounds to 110 pounds on 1500 calories!

In reading various posts on Facebook I gotta wonder why people are so damn hard to please. Really, they’re just never happy with people no matter what and they always, always complain about other people’s posts. Wouldn’t it be easier not to read them? If one’s status updates are sad, people condemn them for being down and not “pulling themselves up and booting themselves in the ass.” When people’s updates are happy and full of good things, people still complain and are quick to insist it’s just an act and that deep down they’ve got to be miserable.

Who the hell would say they were happy if they weren’t, and why? I can see not wanting to worry people if something was wrong, but I’d never lie and say I was happy when I wasn’t. Instead, I would just keep quiet about what was wrong if I didn’t want people to know about it.

And who would “choose” misery over happiness if it were possible to simply pick and choose emotions like you can food from a buffet? Sadness, stress and loneliness are the emotional equivalents of nausea. Who in their right mind would want to be “mentally nauseous?”

MONDAY, JANUARY 7, 2013 Took my first Alli pill and experienced no side effects. It’s much too soon to say whether or not it will help me lose weight, but I did notice something. We usually gain weight twice after we eat. First right away due to the weight of the food itself, then again 10-20 minutes later after the calories have a chance to get us. I usually gain 1-2 pounds depending on how much I eat, but after weighing in a half-hour after I’d eaten a regular meal, I was only up half a pound.

I’m PMSing so bad now that I’m going to be shocked, pissed and worried if I don’t get a period within a week. I have most of the usual symptoms, water retention, backaches, bloating, sore boobs and fatigue. These symptoms are getting worse, much like they do when my period is just days away. I’m having to really push myself to get anything done around here.

Just wondering if 6 months to a year of complete silence on my part really will make Kim go away forever. I’m not so sure with this particular kind of stalker due to how crazy she is, but I’ll find out someday. I miss allowing for anonymous questions but if I’ve got to deprive myself for a while to purge my life of this sicko, so be it. I’m going to be pissed if it all ends up being for nothing, though.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 5, 2013 Another chilly morning in the low 40s, but at least we haven’t made it down into the 20s so far this year or had a dusting of snow. Haven’t seen a dusting in two years now. Of all the climates I’ve lived in, the worst was MA. Not quite as cold as OR, but still too cold/snowy in the winter and too humid in the summer. I like this climate the best so far here in NorCal. Still a little too chilly in the winters, but love the hot, dry summers that aren’t as insanely hot as AZ or so insanely dry that no amount of lotion seems to bring moisture to my skin. I think FL will be my favorite climate if I ever live there. Yes, it’s humid year-round, but warm year-round too, and the moisture would be great for my skin and hair.

It was nice to find Charlotte who added me after I sent her an add request, though I haven’t heard from her otherwise. Charlotte, Jim, Goldie and Al were definitely the best of the family friends, though Char’s the only one left alive. I’m guessing she’s in her mid-80s now, so I don’t expect her to be that active online.

The only thing that kind of sucks is that with a few exceptions, it’s usually me that sends the add invites. Why can’t more people hunt me down instead for a change and be the first to ask to add me?

I’ve been doing better on evening out the attention, so to speak. One-sided relationships of any kind have always annoyed me. So the less I hear from people, the less they’ll hear from me. The more I hear from them, the more they’ll hear from me, but within reason, of course. I’m not going to go back and forth with people all day every single day.

Nothing from Nane since before Christmas and I don’t know if she’s playing games with me or if something’s going on. I’d say something’s going on since there’s been no FB activity of any kind from her, but she won’t hear from me till I hear from her. She knows where I am.

Starting to feel more PMS-like so maybe I’ll get a period this month. I should know around the 13th.

It’s all I can do to keep myself from turning my MD blog back public and allowing for anonymous questions on Ask. It’s a struggle not to as I really miss the surprise of getting anonymous questions. It sucks big time that this psycho has to ruin it for those who just want to have fun, but as I said before, I can’t always know who I’m talking to, and I don’t want to be answering to Kim no matter how polite and innocent a question of hers may seem. She seems to go back and forth in her mind between believing we’re friends and believing I’m stalking her and her many selves. So when she’s in buddy-buddy mode, I don’t want her getting the wrong idea if I answer any “nice” questions of hers and think we’re interacting as true friends.

trollpolice.com, which gives a lot of tips and pointers on dealing with people like her, really nailed it to the point when they said it’s common for stalkers to say that we’re the ones bothering them when confronted. They definitely do love to turn tables! Or try to anyway.

All I know is that this is a genuine psycho and they’re the hardest to reason with or scare off. They either don’t realize or don’t care what they’re doing. Again, I’m glad this nutjob doesn’t live down the street and know where I live. I could probably take her cuz she’s so huge and therefore couldn’t move very fast, but this is the type of nut that would kill someone right under a cop’s nose cuz “God ordered them to,” and hey, they were only serving their Master.

Again, as much as I’m itching to go non-anonymous (though I might go public on MD where I can simply ignore feedback), I really am curious to see if she returns if I keep it this way for 6 months to a year. I think she will. Time doesn’t seem to have much meaning for people like her, and again, this is a crazy person we’re talking about, not just a meanie. It’s also someone who has nothing better to do but sit and tune into the worlds of those she harasses or would at least like to. I keep hoping she’ll go pick on others, but just like Molly does, she’ll only add them to her shit list and not replace me with them. They’ll harass however many people they are awake long enough to harass.

Later…

“Do you have any friends named Janet?” someone asked Kristi, my latest Ask pal. Why do I smell a big fat, crazy troll behind that one? So what is she going to do, question everyone that non-anonymously questions me in a way that lets me know it’s her? Thank God I’ve got my FB friends hidden!

Other than waking up with congestion that is pretty annoying, I’m looking forward to pigging out today before starting the Alli tomorrow. It will cost something like $130 a month, but I don’t care. If it works, that’s all that matters and it’s certainly cheaper than cigarettes would be.

Today, though, on top of changing the rats’ cage and catching up on things around here, we’ll be out shopping and picking up some Chinese food for me. I love that new restaurant I finally decided to try now that we have extra money. Their fried rice is awesome. Last time I got shrimp fried rice, crab puffs and ribs. I think this time I’ll just grab some pork fried rice and beef & broccoli.

As much as I love glitter nail polish, I gotta stop using it on my fingers cuz the remover I use is tearing up my cuticles. Glitter nail polish is sooo hard to remove, but since I never remove toenail polish I can use it on my toes instead of my fingers. I never have the patience to let my fingernail polish chip off completely before I am compelled to remove what’s left of it and re-polish them, and non-glitter polish comes off easily.

Later…

Tom got back with the groceries around 8:30 and at around 10:00 we went to Kmart. I didn’t have anything specific in mind. I was just browsing casually when I passed by some really cute clothes for babies. It was then that I realized I could get something for what I decided at the time would be my Baily and Twinkle dolls which are 22” and 24” long. I never had before because I didn’t know what size to get, but after getting my lifelike baby doll onesies for 0-3 month infants, I knew the same size would fit them because they’re only a few inches longer.

So, for a total of just $30, I bought a ballerina dress with a pink leopard print on the body and a pink tutu and leggings for what was going to be Twinkle and a pink but mostly purple jacket-like dress with a hoodie that zips up in front and that that also came with leggings. The jacket has a cartoonish cat with silver dots of glitter and a pink sequin sash-like thing around the waist. The leggings have plum, pink and white flowers against a lavender background. This was going to be for Bailey.

The doll’s legs tend to be a bit fat and their bodies a bit skinny for the outfits, but not enough that they couldn’t wear them. However, it was Joy who ended up looking the best after I mixed and matched outfits. Well, they all look great and this makeover was long overdue! I ditched most of their old, discolored clothes.

Joy is wearing a purple onesie I turned into a t-shirt that I got when I got a 5-pack for my lifelike baby doll, Grace. I just snipped the ends off and tucked the hem. The leggings she wears is the purple one that came with a top Twinkle is now wearing.

Bailey is wearing the cute little ballerina dress. No leggings, though. The pink leggings that came with it are on Twinkle.

I also got a gorgeous Jaclyn Smith necklace with “diamonds.” A few of the stones are multicolored depending on how the light hits them and are totally gorgeous. If you like shiny things and colorful things like I do, you’d totally love it.

I got pink glitter nail polish, even though the last thing I need is another bottle of nail polish. It’s a shade of pink I don’t have, though, and well, I guess I’m a nail polish addict.

Lastly, I got a 3-pack of Body Fantasies sprays – Love Struck, Strawberries & Champagne, and Va Va Voom!

The weather was cloudy, damp and cold, but at least the sun wasn’t glaring in our eyes. I also got to test out my new crossbody purse. I found it more comfortable to pull it slightly toward the front of me as opposed to the side. I didn’t like the way the strap pulled on the side of my neck before.

Tom found some fun electronic gadgets so he could have some fun for the few precious hours he gets off a week, at Radio Shack.

Our last stop was for Chinese food. I got pork fried rice, fried wontons, and a side of beef and broccoli. I love the rice even if it’s a bit carroty, but the beef and broccoli are just so-so cuz the broccoli is a bit tough and huge, too. I gave the carrot slivers to the rats.

Not sure if I’m going to start the Alli tomorrow or the next day with all the junk I’ve got, but I may start with 1 or 2 pills a day instead of 3.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 4, 2013 sighs Kim has taken her stalking to new levels, now harassing people on other sites and not just Ask. She tried to friend a friend as “Janet M” on FB, but they knew better, since Janet, Janice and other variations of those names are either names she likes to go by or names she’s given her alters.

She once left the most insane feedback I’ve ever received, thus proving how truly crazy she really is and convincing me more and more that she truly does have MPD. If she doesn’t, then she’s a damn good actress. It wasn’t just what she said and the fact that she’s getting more brazen by the minute, but the constant usage of the words “we” and “us.” The things she says and does, knowing most of her family was/is crazy, and the sheer size of her all spell MPD. It’s very common for those who were sexually abused as kids not only to end up with MPD but also to eat themselves huge so that they think they’re less appealing in the eyes of their abuser. This is what I read anyway.

I honestly don’t think she’s fully aware of her actions as her alters take over for her and I think she’s just too crazy to care that if she keeps this up she could very well end up in jail. She’s leaving an electronic trail everywhere she goes, even though she uses bogus names and email addies.

What pisses me off is feeling powerless to do anything about it until the laws toughen up. It infuriates me to know that she can harass me at will and no one will do shit, but the cops thought they could cry “Case!” against me last year simply for using a website’s features? HA! Then again we all know that wasn’t no cop and that there never was any case since, A, I never broke any laws, and B, I came up with about 15 different things they fucked up on to show it was clearly a joke and a lame attempt to scare me. I know who it was. They know who it was. And if they ever come to my door… well… I won’t even get started on that one.

Back on topic. Kim. Kim unhinged and getting more and more delusional and deranged by the minute. It really sucks that my online life has to include such childish crazy shit from sickos like this. The number of insults, lies and threats she edited into my entry must’ve taken her quite a bit of time. So sad that some people have nothing better to do than devote so much time and energy into stalking those who were good to them. Ah, but I can type faster and so I had fun editing her shit to piss her off even more.

What’s scary is that these are the kinds of people who kill people cuz “the little voices in their head told them to” or for some other delusional reason. My life could be in serious danger if she or the people who victimized me in Arizona ever found me. The Arizona people cuz of hate, this one cuz of insanity.

Again, Kim obviously has no problem with providing more and more evidence against herself and building a case that could ultimately land her in jail. I honestly believe at this point that she’s just too crazy to care. I think she hates herself so much that jail would be the same as being home to her and that any place you stick her is all the same to her. She simply has no conscience or any concept of right and wrong. I can just imagine all the others who have been and are being stalked by this crazy bitch. But again, I think that even if 20 cops swarmed her place and threatened to throw her ass in jail if she kept it up, she wouldn’t give a shit, most likely because she either wouldn’t remember harassing people or she simply wouldn’t believe she was doing anything wrong. She is really beginning to make Molly look like a saint and I can just imagine how many times she falsely accused Molly of picking on her when it was actually the other way around.

Well, Kim, you’ll just have to harass me from other sites now, and please do. You may not mind a stint in jail, but just as soon as you give me enough evidence to get you there is as soon as I get to get a break from you, even if it’s only for a short while. So why not do me the favor since jail is no problem for you?

Speaking of jail and home, what is this thing doing in the free world anyway? I don’t understand why she’s not in some kind of controlled environment as crazy as she is.

Someone just suggested it could be someone pretending to be Kim to make it look like she’s worse than she really is, but I don’t think so. I’ll be the first to admit that I can’t see who’s on the other end of the computer, but the spelling and choice of words seem classic Kim to me. Really surprised she hasn’t shown up on my tracker, but I’m sure she will soon enough.

Interesting possibility, though, cuz if it’s not Kim, then that leaves a million possibilities, including those I’d least suspect.

Later…

Completed one of the programmed intensity workouts yesterday on my treadmill, but really realized that my body is still barely responding to diet and exercise. I considered going back to smoking to give it a boost since smoking elevates your heartbeat, I have congestion at times anyway, and we can afford it. I could always quit again later on.

Tom said before I do that, why not try Alli? It’s this thing that’s supposed to block the absorption of fat/calories. It started as a prescription drug but is now available over the counter. Possible side effects include gas and the runs. I read the reviews on it on Walmart’s site and most are pretty positive, so maybe I’ll try that first. If not, I probably will return to smoking. Been thinking about it anyway, though it would be for weight control only. I have no desire to smoke for other reasons, though it could shorten my life and even out our lifespans since he’s 8 years older than me. If I don’t figure out something, the problem isn’t going to go away and will probably get even worse with time. I’m really getting sick of working so hard just to keep re-losing the same few pounds over and over again.

Getting slammed with spam again and as if it weren’t annoying enough to have so many companies spamming me, they’re sending me the same damn messages over and over again all day long. Do they realize they’re doing this or has their spam machine gone crazy?

Muneeba joined Ask and is really a very lovely young lady, now that I’ve seen her picture. She’s not allowing for anonymous questions, fortunately, or else Kim would come at her pretending to be whoever.

Sarah’s posts are funny, bitching about the cold and snow and then a rat that was in her salon. They were all scared of it so they got some guy to get rid of it for them.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 3, 2013 How can any sane, normal, rational human being read this and not agree that Muslims are fucked with a capital F? Not the women and children mind you. No, they’re the victims actually, and I feel bad as hell for them. It’s the fucking cocks that are a problem! But shhh!!! This is America. We’re supposed to speak nicey-nicey about everyone who isn’t gay, right? Well, as fucked as my own country can be at least I don’t have to fear being legally raped simply because someone may be having a rough time in life.

Even one of the commentators said they’re getting sick of defending them the more they read shit like this. Really folks, what kind of society feels the best solution to stress is to go out and commit crimes and violate women???

It’s also a clear reminder that God is just as bad for allowing shit like this to run rampant in the Middle East. Just like one is just as bad for standing back and allowing a child to be abused without doing anything to stop it or at least report it, it takes a really sick God who’s pretty sexist Himself to allow for such sadistic shit. Oh, but He loves us all, right? He really does.

Kim is continuing to play with me on Ask. I’m 99% sure it’s her. Someone who obviously read my journal said that they were the ones to ask about my rats, not Kim, and don’t I know who they are?

If they were anyone other than Kim and with good intentions, they’d have come out and identified themselves by now. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if my “pretty lady” questioner was also Kim.

sighs What have I ever done to this nutjob to deserve this? I was always good to her. Why won’t she just let me go as I asked and move on? We’re never going to be friends again, so what’s the point in holding on? Don’t people want to be surrounded by those who actually care about them? I never would’ve guessed that Kim M of all people would pester me like this. But like it or not, if I ever hope to build a case against her, I have to keep the line of unwanted communication open.

That’s another thing about this giant nut that’s a little chilling. Doesn’t that possibility worry her? She seems to have no empathy and no apparent concern for her own well-being either. Does she not know what the hell she’s doing or does she just not care that she could be building a case against herself? Does she really not care what happens to her? Would she really not mind going to court and maybe even to jail? Or maybe she just thinks she’s invincible or something.

Some have suggested I ignore her, but it’s not that easy when you can’t always tell which questions could be from her. Sometimes she makes it obvious, but other times she’ll ask me a totally innocent question like if I know any French. Answering that, in her mind, is her way of pretending – or maybe even believing – that we’re old buddies. But again, unless I deprive myself of the fun of anonymous questions, I can’t always know whom I’m answering. So ignoring her altogether isn’t possible this way, and unfortunately, I can’t psychically erase any memory of me or my sites from her sick little brain, or else I’d do it in a heartbeat.

Maybe it’s time to go to Formspring as shitty as it is. We can seldom change backgrounds on Ask anyway. Andy can keep his Ask account, but I’ll probably deactivate mine. That would piss off and frustrate the troll more than anything else I could do, since she doesn’t have the guts to come at me out of anonymity, and I like how we can use animated backgrounds on Formspring. I know Andy would like me to stay on Ask, but sometimes we gotta do what we want. At least I considered him for a while and stayed on this long. Anonymous questions will be more fun in a place where I’m not pretty sure most of them are from this tub of shit that just won’t let go unless I let go for her.

The next question is whether or not I should share this publicly. I know she would get off on it, but it’s still MY journal. So unless it deals with personal issues involving friends, I think I should write for myself as I did before I started sharing my journal online and not worry about how others may react.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 2, 2013 Didn’t do much yesterday, but hey, it was New Year’s Day. Other than a quick run to the store, it was nice to be able to just relax and do whatever without doing any cleaning or laundry. All I did was the dishes.

Got over $500 in taxes heading our way as soon as we file, so that’s all the more to help with the move I still feel will never happen. I mean, I know it will sooner or later, but right now it feels like it’s way, way in the future.

The cock up the hill was back to running and gunning its motorcycle now that the weather has dried up and warmed up a bit. After 10 minutes of that fucking thing rumbling throughout this place I already missed the rain. But the 5-cast is calling for dry days in the upper 50s.

I was shocked to find myself down two whole pounds in just a day, but still no period on the horizon. I think that if I don’t get it by my next would-be period in a couple of weeks, then I very well may never get it again. I still worry I’m going to lose control of my weight and gain up a storm no matter how much I diet and exercise, but I know that prayer is worthless because it all comes down to fate. We can’t pray for what isn’t meant to be and we need not pray for what is meant to be, because if it’s meant to be it will be.

Maliheh sure makes me want to shake her when I hear her bitch about being 108 pounds and needing to trim 4” off her waist. Well, I need to trim more like a foot off my waist! As I told her, “I’ve got nearly 40 pounds on you, so shut up.”

I feel bad for her because the neighbors are back to the same old shit. The black neighbors, that is, that are favored by most laws/courts these days. Their dog’s barking every morning and sometimes in the middle of the night. She said it stopped by the time she called the cops out at 2am one night. What a surprise, huh? So now she’s ready to do what she has to do to get them removed. I’m totally with her on that, but after what happened to us for sending in city letters for our own black assholes, I worry about her a bit. They may not happen to have a pig pal, but still, people take being complained on pretty hard even if they know damn well they deserved it. They’ll take it like you’re totally wrong for complaining on them and like you’re victimizing them. What better time for blacks to play the race card and play victim than at a time when they are automatically believed and sympathized with no matter what? And I can promise her they’ll cry racism and that they will be believed no matter what stories they make up. Mine told the media I took a teddy bear and hung it from their clothesline from a noose. What’s the catch? I never owned a teddy bear back then and they never had a clothesline in their backyard either. But they were black and I was white and so they were the ones people believed. Other than family and friends, of course, who knew me.

Not saying she shouldn’t try to fight for what’s right. Just saying that even if they don’t have connections to law enforcement, they could still retaliate somehow and make life even worse for her.

Another thing that sucks is that even if these assholes ceased to exist, new ones are probably going to replace them. Same with if she moves. She’ll probably get the same old shit there, too. The mainstream is full of the same old smorgasbord of chaos – barking, loud music, screaming kids, etc. She’s got to get out of the mainstream. She’s just got to. Problem is it just ain’t that easy for her. I’m sure she could afford to rent an apartment or a trailer in a park, but the problem is that she teaches from home. She can’t be giving guitar lessons to kids in an adult community.

Had a nightmare where I was kidnapped. The dream only lasted for a few seconds, but I was in a large, old house like the kind that’s common in New England. I knew several people were in it, though I couldn’t see them at first. I ran and hid behind a door, then I sprung through the back door and into a tiny courtyard sort of like what we had behind our second house in Longmeadow. I woke up screaming for help.

The rats are having a field day with the empty soda box I gave them, tearing it up like it’s an enemy trying to kill them, LOL.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 1, 2013 Dear God (if you’re up there):

This is the year my husband and I take back what You took from us twice, first in Arizona and then again in Oregon. That would be a home of our own, God. It won’t be the biggest home. It won’t be the nicest home. But it will be OUR home. And while You are allowing countless other innocent children to be abused like You did with me, or even much worse than with me, we will remain in this home of ours until and if WE decide to move. Not when You decide by way of an economic collapse or by any other means. Furthermore, I expect all my days there to be sunny. Not filled with loud, wild, rude, crazy and obnoxious neighbors/mutts.

You need not treat me like a queen. You need not treat me like I’m special. You need not bless me with anything above and beyond what I deserve. But You do need to let us live in at least relative peace in our future home for as long as WE want to because I won’t have it any other way next time around! Yeah, God, get ready for a rude awakening. The one that comes when I put my foot down this year, yank the wheel out of Your hands, and take over the driver’s seat of my own life… vroom, vroom, vroom!

So now that my try-and-stop-me-now spiel is out of the way, happy New Year everyone. I hope you too, get the things you want and not the things you don’t want. Although, not all unplanned things in life are bad. I didn’t plan on Tom!

Not much else other than that the scanning job is done and after studying the pics of both sets of grandparents again, no, that wasn’t in the house next door to the one I grew up in. I don’t know where it was, but I do know I have to eat and work out now.

Later…

Photo Bucket is really pissing me off. First I’m forced to their new and highly buggy version, which won’t let me arrange photos in the albums the way I want them to be, but now it seems I’m back to the old version. For how long, I don’t know. I thought of uploading to MyOpera but that would suck up my space there big time. Maybe I should just fill up that account and then use another blog.

As a psychic, I usually get a good sense of what’s in store for the year to come on New Year’s Eve. I was looking back on past predictions when posting the last day of each year that I wrote and found that I did a pretty good job for the most part. I really fucked up with the years 2005 and 2007, though. Anyway, I guess I must not be very psychic anymore because I didn’t get much this year. Not in my dreams and not when I awoke at a quarter to midnight. Change in April, the color blue, and someone else dying are pretty much all I sensed.

But who could die this year that we know? His Mom’s in the 90s and seemingly immortal, and Bill’s cancer, unfortunately, is operable.

Sometimes I think of shitheads like Bill and wonder if they have a clue just how lucky they are. Lucky that they didn’t get with a bitch like me who would fight back. Then again, these cowards usually go for women they know won’t fight back or that will take an awful lot of shit before they finally do. Sooner or later they usually underestimate a woman and go up against the wrong one, but still, I doubt Bill would have had the guts to fuck with me like he did had I lived near him at the time. No, Billy boy, for you just might find you’re not as tough as you think you are, right?

So who the hell’s gonna die this year if my vibes are correct? Tom and I are healthy, Tammy’s condition isn’t fatal, and therefore I don’t have a clue where to begin guessing since I know an awful lot of people. Norma? Milton?

Not much happening today. Just a trip to the store and some fun stuff. Gonna rename my offline picture files and sort through those, then I’ll upload some more to Photo Bucket for now. Gotta proofread all the January 2nd entries, too.

[warmblanketwhump]

hi, i loveeee your work! Could you maybe, do one where A gets a serious cold and stays up the entire night moaning and miserable and B comforts A

thank you so much 😍 here you go!! (this may have ventured into flu territory, whoops)

It’s just the winter cold that’s getting to them. That’s all.

That’s what A tries to cheer themselves up with, anyways, as they cough into their elbow for the fifth time in two minutes. That doesn’t explain their headache, though, or why they’re so stuffed up after breathing the cold, crisp air for nearly two hours.

“B, you’re shivering. You shouldn’t have stayed out shoveling snow for so long,” B chides as they clear the dinner dishes from the table, including the plate of food A’s barely touched. 

“I’m fine. I just need to get warm. Stop mothering me.” A coughs into their elbow again, then rubs their chest and wraps their blanket tighter around their hunched shoulders, rubbing away the goosebumps on their arms. Should they have spent so much time in the cold? Probably not. But they’re determined to keep B out of full caretaking mode, whatever it takes. 

“I’m not mothering you. I’m looking out for you, which is more than you ever do for yourself.” B returns to the sink and begins soaking the dishes, casting a worried glance over their shoulder at A. “If you saw how pale you were, you’d be worried too.”

“It’s the same thing and you know it.” A pushes away from the table and stands, only to grip the edge of it - they stood up too fast and now they’re dizzy and plagued with spots at the edge of their vision.

“A, I’m serious-“

“I’m going to bed.” They wrap their blanket tighter and begin to shuffle their achy body to their room, then turn back. “And you don’t have to check in on me every 10 minutes. Once I thaw out, I’ll survive, promise.”

The wave of tiredness washes over them as they reach the bathroom, and they summon the last of their energy to halfheartedly brush their teeth and pull on their pajamas. They’ve gone for the thick winter ones - they’ve had the shivers all afternoon, which wasn’t helped by their too-long ordeal shoveling the driveway. Now, they’re desperate to bury themselves in the comfort of their covers and warm up their cold, aching body. 

They sink onto the bed like a bag of rocks, exhausted and practically begging sleep to come. But once they lay down, they’re wracked with coughs, and their nose is so stuffed up they can barely breathe. On top of that, they’ve got a pounding headache, their throat burns with every cough, and they just know they’re getting a fever from the shivery, prickly feeling that dances across their skin.

They toss and turn, pull an extra blanket over themselves, prop themselves up on a pillow, lay flat on their back, curl their knees to their chest, but they just can’t get comfortable. And everything they’d usually do - read a book, watch TV, do a word puzzle - sounds more exhausting than just laying there. Cough, clear their throat, sniffle, rewrap blanket, groan, repeat.

Two hours later, B comes to check in at their normal bedtime, only to find A still awake and staring at the wall, curled under their mound of blankets in a pitiful, scrunched up ball, coughs rattling in their chest.

“Can’t sleep,” they whimper, shifting under the covers.

“Permission to come closer and fuss over you?” To that, A just moans and shrugs, which B takes as a very reluctant yes. They sit on the side of the bed and lay their cold hand against A’s neck, and A shudders at the touch. “I think you’re running a bit of a fever.”

A groans again - they knew it was coming, but hearing the words on B’s lip was the final nail in the coffin. “Now you can say ‘I told you so.’”

B lays a hand on their leg, gently rubbing their knee. “I think you’re aware without me rubbing it in.”

Minutes later, A’s reluctantly sitting up with a thermometer poking out from their lips while B bustles around their room, picking up and organizing A’s things. When they check the reading a few minutes later, they’re unsurprised.

“101.3. So you do have a fever, then.”

A just slides back down and pulls the covers back up to their chin. “Thought being in the cold wasn’t supposed to make you sick.”

B shrugs. “It doesn’t. You were probably already sick and just made it worse.”

A moans again. “Great.”

“Are you warm enough?” A shrugs pitifully, which causes B to frown and pull up an extra quilt from the foot of the bed, tucking it around them. “Don’t sleep yet - I want to get some medicine in you first.” 

They dart away - now that A’s been told they can’t sleep, it’s like their eyelids have turned to lead. Thankfully, B is back in a flash, carrying a small wicker basket. 

“There. All set for the night.” A plucks out a box of tissues to place on the night table, then pours a small dose of medicine from a little brown bottle, cradling B’s head to help them halfway sit up. “Open up, if you please.” 

A does so, wincing as the sickly sweet medicine hits their sore throat. 

“There you go. Good job.” They place the bottle back in the basket, then retrieve a small bundle, which they tuck under the sheets next to A. “That’s for the aches and chills.” 

The hot water bottle floods A’s feverish body with warmth, and they cling to it, feeling just a tad like a reptile who located a warm rock on a sunny day. The relief on their face makes B smile, and they pull out one more thing.

“Vicks, for the congestion. May I?” They point at the corner of A’s blankets, and A nods reluctantly, loathe to give up the pocket of warmth but eager to be able to breathe a little better. B makes quick work out of rubbing it on their chest, but the brief exposure makes their teeth chatter, and they hurriedly tug the blankets back up to their chin when B finishes.

When done, B takes up a post on the opposite side of A’s bed and sneaks under the top layer of A’s blankets, and gently runs a hand through A’s hair. “There. Now you can sleep. Caretaking concluded for now.”

A doesn’t have it in them to whisper more than a soft thank you, but they manage to get it out before tumbling into an uneasy sleep.

Despite B’s best efforts, it’s still a restless night for both of them. A’s cough only worsens, their chest burning with every gasp, and their skin crawls with feverish chills. A few times, they’re so congested that they can’t catch their breath, which of course makes them even more panicky.

And despite their misery, the one constant throughout the night is B. Wiping their forehead with a damp cloth, getting a vaporizer to steam up the room so they can breathe easier, gently coaxing them to take another dose of medicine. The whole night, B’s there.

When A finally wakes mid-morning, they spot B drinking a cup of coffee in the corner chair, watching A sleep. They look rough - messy hair, dark circles under their eyes, rumpled pajamas - but they look…content. Peaceful. Satisfied, almost.

“Did you stay all night?” A manages to croak.

B nods. “Couldn’t very well leave with you in this state, could I?”

Guilt floods A’s gut. This was what they hated. Imposing on people. Taking advantage. Needing things. “B, I told you I didn’t -“

“A, has it ever occurred to you that I like doing this? Taking care of people?” B leans forward, hands wrapped around the steaming mug.

A doesn’t respond.

“You’re so busy worrying about inconveniencing other people that you don’t realize people want to help you.” B rubs a circle with their thumb on the side of the mug, lost in thought, then shakes their head and looks up. “A, if I wanted to leave, I would have. Okay?” They set down the mug and stand, crossing the room to sit at the edge of A’s bed. “If you really want me to go, I’ll go. But don’t push me away thinking that’s what I want, or what you deserve. Got it?”

A just nods, too tired to fight it. The guilt still lurks in their gut, but they muddle the words around in their head to try and take them in.

They….want to help me?

Me?

What a thought, indeed. Quite a nice one.

A clears their crackly throat. “In that case, can you…get me some water?”

A smile lights up B’s tired face. “I’d love nothing more.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Sick Vanessa Things

cause i’m a sucker for sickfics and sickfic-related things

coming into work with her skin pale white, bringing out the darkness of the bags under her eyes, sockets sunken into the recesses of her face from sickness.

having her hair down for once because she’s just too achy and tired to put it up.

delusions doubling down on her mind, causing her to see things, and the delirium from her fever making it even harder to discern if it’s real or not.

having the worst migraine ever, like her brain is being pulverized by a heavy hammer. hunching over somewhere, rubbing her temples, trying to block out the world, but the Pizzaplex is conveniently noisy that night.

slumping against the wall, then sliding to the floor, telling herself that she’ll rest for just a few minutes, rationalizing that it won’t hurt. ends up drifting off entirely, her body so weak and desperate for rest.

pressing her burning forehead to any cool surface, relishing the cold feeling against her blistering hot skin.

coughing so hard she can’t breathe. it starts small, then builds up into a full hacking fit, and panic floods in when she thinks she may suffocate.

gagging a little from coughing too hard.

having a terrible sinus infection, causing her nose and eyes to turn red, both all wet and running 24/7. her nose being so stuffy she’s forced to breathe through her mouth, but her throat is just as irritated as her face.

bracing herself against a wall with both hands, trying to breathe through the discomfort and/or pain. closing her eyes as she focuses on the breaths she takes, desperate to get at least a little better. opening her eyes again to see one of the animatronics nearby, looking over worriedly. quickly straightening up and acting like nothing is wrong.

having a sinus headache that distracts her all throughout her shift. feeling like thumbs are pressing down on her sinuses. rubbing that area, trying to alleviate some of the pressure.

being asked if she’s alright and always brushing off the concern, not wanting to burden any of the animatronics.

not knowing how to let people take care of her. so unused to having affection and genuine care. getting a little emotional because of it.

feeling like she doesn’t deserve anyone’s care after what she’s done.

doubling over from the sheer agony of stomach cramps, wrapping her arms tight around her midsection, gritting her teeth to try and keep from crying out or whimpering. squeezing tight to combat the pain, but it not being enough as her guts tighten into knots inside of her. sinking to her knees when it just gets too much.

kneeling on her knees, hunching forward so her head rests against the floor, hair sprawled out everywhere.

feverishly admitting to a bunch of stuff she’s mostly kept under lock and key, too delirious to keep her mouth shut.

shaking so bad from fever or pain that she can barely use her hands. growing frustrated due to this because she feels useless.

Glitchtrap taunting her in her mind, worsening the headache she already has. weakly begging, “please, please be quiet… i can’t handle this… not today… i’ll do anything just— please…”

breaking down crying because she’s so sick and hurts so much but doesn’t know how to get help because her guilt over her actions makes feel like she doesn’t deserve it. at the same time, not knowing how to approach someone over her own well-being, growing much too embarrassed to do so. suffering quietly because of this.

[anaiswriterr]

The Dragon Kings Queen

Pairing: Dragon King!Bakugou x Queen!Reader

Rating: M

Warning: This is part seven, I’d like to point out be aware: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐠𝗼𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐭𝐜. Please don’t read if you are not comfortable with it, and if you’re under the age of 18+ I will give a warning when it becomes NSFW but at the moment it’s SFW. Todays chapter does include gore, death, killing, hunting, sickness, etc.

<masterlist>

Synopsis: ➪ When the word marriage crossed your mind, you believed you’d marry someone you loved. Not this brute of a King. So here you are standing at the end on an alter, pushing away the urge to run and fight. Possibly start a new life, instead of being dragged into a loveless marriage. But for the sake of your people.. They say he’s not what rumors make him out to be, but how can you believe that when his eyes burn into yours; just as fiery as before. How could you, ever love someone as barbaric as him…

- chapter seven: fevers and night terrors -

•

•

•

•

Your memory is clouded from the prior events you participated in that afternoon. But the foul taste of blood and uncooked heart follow up your throat and out into a toilet bowl mock you as handmaidens rub your back in comfort. Melody soothes your nausea with warm tea meanwhile the rest pat wet cloths to your burning skin.

How did you get back to the castle? You have no idea. Absolutely no recollection of the journey back.

But you are happy they bathed and dressed you in a comfortable nightgown, tending to your ever needs and healing the scraps and wounds on your skin. Picking and pulling the splinters from your palms, scrubbing the blood, grime, and dirt off your chest.

Your eyes narrow attempting to fight off sleep.

Four girls gently escort you back to bed, tucking you into the sheets, folding a small cool rag and placing it on your forehead. A gold bell sits beside you, placed on a nightstand where you could easily reach out for. A bin is on the floor beside you as well, you thank them knowing there was something you could easily turn to.

The night was rough.

And your fever rose. 

Your body trembles in the sheets, your achy muscles pester your sore lower portion of the small of your back, you lean over, hunched over the mattress. Your body violently lurches forwards, with you stomach clenching, tears prick out from the corners of your eyes.

It hurts so much.

Melody rubs small circles on the small of your back; humming to herself soothing you. "I should get the King, he's been wanting to see you-"

"No." You cough, sternly your eyes narrow at the young girl. "He shouldn't see me in this state, I'm weak, tired, and sick. His presence wouldn't help." You swallow dryly. Eyeing the dagger resting neatly on your nightstand, you feel a hand reach out to rub small circle around your wrist.

Nodding in understanding Melody wipes your forehead, "Will you be alright?"

You give her a quick smile, just wanting to be alone, "Yes, go rest. I'll be fine." Melody pushes herself off the mattress, checking a final time your temperature. "I'll be back in the morning with tea and light crackers, sleep well your majesty."

As the door closes shut you lay down slowly into the pillows, careful of your sore belly, and attempt to drift off into sleep. The window blows cool air into your room, the lace curtains dance throughout the night as the moonlight shines on your face. You eventually drift feeling a lot more better then you were previously. Your stomach howls, growling at the emptiness it pained. Your head still felt dizzy - lightheaded and fuzzy -, even with your stomach empty you could still feel the linger of nausea, the sour taste on your taste buds. It's nearly bearable.

Nearly.

Surely not as terrible as an hour ago.

***

You are running through the woods, heavy footsteps follow closely behind you. You are screaming, well, you think you are. Your mouth opens in a large 'O' but no sound escapes. Just the sound of the deep huffs and grunts of the creature behind you chasing you. You scream out for Bakugou, you don't know why.

You have no idea why you'd scream out for his help, but it wasn't like he was any help. You are running circles, the same three berry bushes pop up ever forty-five seconds on your right.

Every corner you turn you see Bakugou, cheering and laughing.

It's all just a game. Some sick kill the queen culture.

You keep screaming.

Until a hand covers your mouth, silencing you. Your eyes shoot wide open, staring into a pair ruby red eyes, you subconsciously reach out for your dagger and press it to his throat.

"Don't do something you'll regret,"

"How do you know I won't regret it?"

He remains quiet, for the first time in forever it seems. Your grip on the blades handle loosens, his gaze moves to your lips. Only for a second. Then back up to your E/C eyes, "You were screaming."

You arch a brow, "Nightmare."

You realize the dagger is still pressing on his neck, pulling away you drop it to your side. Your eyes wondering to the ceiling above you in attempts to run away from his wandering gaze. The silence is awkward between the two of you, his forearms cage you in.

"Why are you here?"

"I said you were screaming - I wanted to check up on you."

"I-I'm fine,"

His arms are strong. Firm and deadly. They cage you in like a wingless bird, what do you say now. Your stomach clenches again, but not because you were nauseous - the feel had already subdued with sleep. It's the fact that you husband, who also happened to be very handsome was hovering over you. "You should leave." You state firmly, unable to look at him.

He's quite.

The only sound you can hear is the howling wind from outside as it hits the curtains of your balconies window.

"How are you feeling?"

It's an odd question coming from him, "I'm fine. I- feel better."

"I don't believe you."

You're taken aback left babbling between words, "I feel better, no thanks to you and this kingdom's parliament. You entered my cambers without my consent and I'd like you to leave - immediately."

His hands press harder onto the mattress before shifting his weight onto the headboard above you, "You're a feisty little one, even when you're burning with fever though I suppose it is going down. You fell into my arms, remember?"

You laugh with delight, "It was either you or the gravel beneath me. And I will not fall onto the ground below you at your feet. If you're here to pick a fight then you are mistaken. I do not have the strength nor patience to deal with you." The words came spitefully out of your mouth, trailing away from your lips. He smirks above you, eyeing you from below.

"Lets get things straight here, I came to check on my wife-"

"Spare me your savior complexities for a later dat-"

You feel his hand move down to your cheek, his knuckles just barely grazing over the soft skin and relaxing at your throat; "Your skin is so soft." His palm gently tightens, "I didn't want this. This marriage was a truce, a trade. To stop the war on the northern fronts we needed each other - our kingdoms." He let's go of your throat, your heart is beating so fast you can barley catch up.

"Tomorrow you will see your people, they want to spare a glance at their new rightful Queen. The real party is tomorrow, you'll meet your soldiers the day after on the outskirts." He says fixing his hair, you push yourself up from the mattress, "We're going to the outskirts?"

"Yes, I have people, things you need to meet."

"What things?" You ask, watching as he turns his back to you ready to leave your room. He looks back at you through your mirror, smiling hiding the glint of mischief behind his smirk, "You're the Queen of dragons now,"

You nod slowly at his inclination. Wondering where the conversation would lead to.

"You have to meet your children."

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Dean Caring For You When You’re Sick

Summary: The reader wakes up feeling ill one morning. Dean is there to help take care of her while she tries to get better...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Sick!Fic

Word Count: 642

Warnings: none

A/N: Written for @supernatural-jackles​​ Tell Me A Story bingo!

________

You woke up with a headache, stuffy nose, achy body and covered in sweat. You groaned in the empty room, Dean nowhere to be found. You sat up, bringing the blanket with you and breathed deeply through your mouth. You coughed lightly and plopped back down, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Sweetheart,” said Dean. You peeled open an eye, Dean squatted down by the side of the bed. He put a hand on your forehead and smiled, lifting up your blanket. You shuddered and felt something in your ear, a beep going off. “Alright. Little fever but nothing bad.”

“I don’t feel good,” you mumbled, letting out a cough. Dean lay your covers back over you and shushed you.

“Alright. I’m going to make you some soup and get you some cold medicine. Stay here and rest sweetie.”

You shut your eyes and Dean kissed your forehead, fixing your hair. 

“Okay sweetheart. Be right back.”

Twenty minutes later you were coughing and your nose was running, sat up in bed and shivering. The door creaked open and Dean walked in with a thermos and a cap of red liquid.

You shook your head and buried it under the blankets but Dean sat on the bed and pulled them away.

“Come on. Medicine and then some chicken broth.” He handed you the cap and you threw it back like a shot, missing most of your tongue thankfully. It tasted like cherry and strong mothballs and you knew you’d have to be taking more at some point.

Dean took the cap back and held a straw in the thermos up to your lips, the liquid warm but not scalding hot. You swallowed it down and closed your eyes, taking a break to breathe. 

“I know,” he said, soft tissue at your nose. “Blow for me.”

You took a deep breath and tried to clear your nose, clogging it up even more. Dean got another tissue and you tried again, getting most of it before Dean wiped under your nose and cleaned you off.

“There we go. That should make drinking easier,” he said. He gave you the straw back and pulled your blankets up, tucking it in under your chin so you could hold the thermos from underneath with the blanket. 

He ran his hand over your head and put another blanket over your legs, dimming the nightstand light.

“Thank you,” you said, sniffling again. Dean fixed your pillows so your head was supported and you gave him a tiny smile. 

“Anytime sweetheart. Drink all your soup for me and then try to get some sleep for me. I’ll wake you up later for more medicine.”

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Can I have some vapor rub for my chest?”

“I’ll run out and get some,” he said. He put his hand over your forehead and smiled. “Anything else you want?”

“Sleep,” you said. “Will you sit with me later?”

“I will dig out that dog movie you like and we’ll watch that later on when you’re a little more awake. I’ll pick out a few things at the store to make you feel better.”

You hummed and he smiled, leaving the tissues on the other side of the bed.

“I love you,” you said.

“Love you too, Y/N. Take another cap of medicine if you don’t feel better soon,” he said. “Need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay,” you said. You sipped and he tucked the stuffed bear he’d bought you into your side.

“Keep an eye on her for me buddy while I’m gone. Be back soon sweetheart. Give Sammy a shout if you need something.”

“Okay,” you said, breathing deeply. “Hurry back.”

“I will sweetheart. Promise.”

_______

[allthewhumpygoodness]

I don't know the appropriate way to do this but here we go, hope I'm doing it right lol :)

How about ⌫ and ⬤?

Thanks and sorry if I seemed rude 😅

This is absolutely the appropriate way to do it! No worries anon you're not at all rude :)

⌫: lullaby ⬤: Being called soft things

It's a hand on their forehead that wakes them, not the chills. That comes soon after though, a violent tremour through A's body that sends their teeth rattling uncontrollably in their mouth. Groaning slightly, they peel their eyes open to the hazy glow of living room lamps, and the familiar face not far away from their own.

The face is all blurred around the edges. It's their roommate, B. "Hey," they say, sounding uncharacteristically concerned, "you've been asleep for a while, I thought I'd check on you...I think you're running a fever."

That would explain a lot. A small cough escapes them and they shut their eyes again, too tired to keep them open. "When...when did you get home?"

"About an hour ago. You were already sleeping here when I got in...have you been feeling sick?"

"Yeah. A bit." When they got home from work they'd been so tired and achy and cold that they didn't even make it to their bed, instead opting for crashing on the sofa in a pile of blankets. Honestly, they hadn't thought B would notice at all.

"Hang on," says B's voice. "Why don't I bring you some hot tea or something? Your voice is awfully scratchy, it might help."

"Oh. No, that's...you don't need to do that." It's a struggle to wrap their mind around things, even more of one to deny the help B is offering them. Wouldn't it be easier just to let them do it?

B seems to understand this change of heart before they can voice it. "I'll bring you that tea," they say. "You stay here and relax, all right?"

A nods. They hear B's footsteps moving away from them, still wondering where this sudden concern for their wellbeing is coming from. They never got the sense them and B were that close...not that the idea is particularly unpleasant.

By the time B comes back they're almost asleep again. They're roused with a gentle shake, but before B hands them the steaming mug they manage to slip a thermometer into their mouth. "Here. Let's check your temperature before you get yourself all warmed up."

Too out of it to protest, A lies there until the electronic beeping sounds shrilly in their head. They open their eyes a sliver to see B frowning at it, then giving them a sympathetic look. "Oh, honey," they say, "this really isn't good. You could have called me, I would've come home."

"Why...why would I call you?" Of all the people they could call, they wouldn't have expected B to offer themselves up...not that the list is very long besides them.

B sighs. "So I can help, why else? Do you really think I'd let you just lie here and be miserable?

"I...dunno. Maybe."

A soft hand brushes the hair from their forehead. Either they're dreaming or the fever is really messing with their head because there's no way B would be so tender with them. "Do you still want that tea?" they hear a voice ask.

"I...maybe not. I'm sorry." Now that they think about it, the idea of sitting up to ingest something is highly unwanted. "You made it for nothing."

They hear the mug being placed on the table. "It's no problem. It'll be here later, I can heat it up for you when you want it."

"Thanks. You're being...real nice to me."

"Well. I thought someone should, you deserve it."

A is too tired to even attempt to make sense of that.

The hand is in their hair again and they can't help thinking how soothing it feels. They feel a blanket being pulled up over them, up to their chin. Their eyes close, and they drift in the warm darkness.

Somewhere close by and far off all at once, they hear a voice singing softly. They know the words, it's a lullaby...did someone use to sing that to them? Their grandmother?

"You've got a nice voice," they mumble, just aware enough to hope they don't sound like an idiot.

"Hush," says B's voice. "Try and sleep, honey. Get better."

Maybe, just maybe, they can manage that.

[kombatfire]

What the Lin Kuei are like when sick Headcanons

content warning: sickness

note: Includes Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Frost and Tomas Vrbada . This is really self indulgent actually ( gifs aren’t mine)

Bi-Han

- Bi-Han doesn’t get sick often, but when he does, it’s a total disaster

- He’ll shrug off a runny nose or some sleepiness, but when he gets really sick, he goes into full panic mode. He won’t admit it, but feeling so weak scares him, he doesn’t want to look weak or feel that way.

- Instead of being upfront about it, he’ll tell his students that he “needs to do some private practice and meditation in his quarters. Don’t go find him....unless you have soup”

- Feeling weak is ok but being weak in front of the Lin Kuei?? Hard pass (they still know he’s sick though)

- He’s gonna get cabin fever in his room, and he needs entertainment or he’s gonna panic again, plus he doesn’t like being alone

- Honestly he has zero patience so he needs lots of things to do

- If his s/o is with him, he’ll ask them to sit with him, maybe he watch a show, play Jenga, or just give him attention

- He is a whiny patient though, so be warned

- Once he gets better he’ll be extra nice to everyone, just feeling really glad to be outside again, and if his s/o nursed him back to health? He’s gonna send them so so many little love notes and probably just make out the first chance he can.

- It’s really a whole ordeal so everyone prays he never gets sick again.

Kuai Liang

- Kuai is different from him big bro in a lot of ways so this is no exception. He’ll push through any sick feelings, determined to do his work...until the ice coughs start.

- You know how he coughs ice after a match? Well when he gets sick it’s even worse

- He’ll cough ice everywhere, he starts carrying a small trash can because soon he’s coughing up ice cubes. Poor guy.

- He’s upfront with his students once he gets real run down, he’ll tell them to keep up the good work, then he’ll go lay in bed

- Lucky for him, he doesn’t mind just laying still, and he kind of meditates this way or just lets his thoughts wander

- If his s/o is there, he’ll offer them to meditate with him, or ask them for help with Grandmaster duties, but otherwise he doesn’t want to impose

- If you rub his back and stroke his hair when he’s having a bad ice-cube-spitting fit, and speak softly to him, well he’ll nearly tear up at how kind you are, and file that away for later

- Once he’s better he’ll do all sorts of things for you to help you with your work or anything really, if you ask why he’ll say “Remember that time I was sick and coughing ice cubes and you took care of me? I’m paying you back.”

Frost

- Frost is a difficult one, she wants to be the best at recovering from the little cold (pun intended) that’s spreading through the temple and get better before anyone else does, but she’s also a really bad patient

- It’s not that she’s trying to be difficult, but she gets really cranky really fast, she feels achy and can’t get to sleep so she’s gonna be running on 3 hours of sleep and pure stubborn rage

- She gets runny noses easy when sick, so she’s gonna have crumpled up tissues everywhere, and she’s really fond of freezing said tissues and throwing them at the wall

- She’s also like a cat because if there’s anything on the nightstand she’s gonna whack it off because she’s bored or just because

- If her s/o is there though, she’ll be a slightly better patient, but she’s going to ask for you to watch cartoons with her. She identifies with Squidward so prepare for a 7 hour Spongebob marathon.

- When she starts getting dizzy and funny acting from lack of sleep, please get her a smoothie and make her lie down or else she’s going to start attacking people because she thinks it must be time for training

- Once she’s better she’s going to give you a small robotic squirrel . Don’t ask me why, she doesn’t really know either. She just happened to be making tiny robots and happened to remember the squirrel in her favorite cartoon show, and you happened to be there. It’s not because she adores you. Not at all. Except it is

Tomas Vrbada

- Tomas is a generally well behaved guy, and he usually doesn’t have much to complain or worry about, so once the sneezes and shakes start he’s going to be a little worried

- There are two big issues he’ll have from being sick: One, he sneezes out smoke sometimes like a dragon, and two, he gets super duper sleepy when he’s sick, like keeping him from doing stuff because he’ll fall asleep

- Along with getting really sleepy and taking naps every other hour, he gets really hungry, so he’s gonna try to sneak to the kitchen and make a snack, but he’ll probably end up napping there

- If his s/o is there, he’s gonna be a bit bashful but honest with what he needs; he wants a warm bath run, some mashed potatoes, and he’d like if you read him a story at night so he can listen to you

- He also thrives off cuddles, but doesn’t want to get you sick so he tries to go without

- Once he’s feeling better, he’s gonna hug all his friends and enjoy all his renewed energy

- After that he’ll try to make you some dinner and buy you whatever you would like as a gift, all while telling you how special you are to him.

- Tomas is already super loving but after this? He’s going to do literally anything for you

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember Prompt # 20: Doctor Visit/Checkup

Title: The Best Medicine

Fandom: N/A

Based on this post by me. (Sick doctor)

A physician leaves work miserably sick. His RN girlfriend takes care of him.

(Author’s Note: This breaks the rule I set of less than 2k words but I wrote it before I decided to do this challenge and thought it worked well here. I just needed a sick doctor having PE performed on them ok 😅)

Due to the fact that it was 6:30 AM and she was still more asleep than awake, it took her a while to realize the man she was dating was standing behind her as she waited in line for coffee. However, in her defense, she had never seen him in this coffee line at this time of day before (and she herself was here at this time every day).

It wasn't until she heard a familiar, sniffly yawning noise that she turned and caught his eye. 

"Shane? What are you doing here? You're usually sleeping right now." She didn't go to greet him right away, mainly because she didn't want to lose her place in line, and only two people stood between her and caffeination.

He too looked startled, though happy to see her. "Molly, hey," he said. There was a squeaky rasp to his voice and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. "Had an early meeting that got cancelled at the last minute. Since I was already awake, figured I'd come into the office early and clear out my inboxes."

"Gotcha. Well cool, that means I get to treat you to coffee for once. You find a place to sit and I'll get the drinks."

He shot her a grateful look and stepped out of line.

Molly ordered, received, and paid for the coffees quickly, tipping generously, before going to join Shane. He kissed her on the cheek as he took his cup, and they shared a warm smile as they made their way to a little sitting area, sharing a bench against the wall.

"Kathy's coffee is the best in the hospital. You'll love this."

"So you've told me many times. I'm glad I finally get to try it. What did you get me?"

"A surprise. You'll like it, trust me."

"Cheers, then." With another smile, they tapped their cups together before taking long pulls of their beverages.

"This is delicious," he said after a moment. "Best I've ever had from here. Thanks, babe."

"My pleasure." They sat for a bit in companionable silence, sipping their drinks. However, Molly couldn't help but cast sidelong glances at her partner with increasing frequency. Now that she was next to him, she saw he looked quite unwell. He was pale and shivery, with a flush over his cheeks and ears, and looking overall rundown and uncomfortable, a far cry from his usual easy smile and warm, steady demeanor.

"Is everything ok, doc? You really don't look good."

"You're saying I look ugly today?" he countered teasingly, dodging the question. 

She nudged him playfully. "You're just as handsome as ever. I'm saying you look sick. Are you feeling ok?"

He shrugged. "Think I'm just tired. Not used to being up so early. My head and throat are kinda sore I guess."

"Just tired, huh?" She reached out and placed her palm to his forehead, then his flushed cheeks, and finally his neck, where she could feel the swollen lymph nodes she had already seen. She clicked her tongue scoldingly.

"That's a fever, Doctor Mitchell, and a high one at that. Why in the world did you come to work today?"

"No kidding, really?" Shane leaned back against the wall, rubbing his neck and looking sheepish. "I can't even remember the last time I had a fever. Had to have been before medical school. Guess I forgot what it feels like."

"Hmm. Well regardless, you need to go home. You can't risk infecting your patients and staff."

"Yeah, of course. I'll go now."

When he stood, she did as well, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Feel better. Get lots of rest and fluids."

"I know the drill," he rasped, smiling a little. "I am a physician."

"Sometimes I have my doubts, mister 'doesn't know what a fever feels like.' Sports medicine doesn't deal with the flu much." She kissed his shoulder fondly.

"Yeah, yeah." He pulled away, running his thumb over her jawline. "Thanks again for the coffee. I'll see you later. Text me when you have time. I'm sure I'll be bored out of my mind."

"Will do."

She watched him go wistfully, wishing she was going with him.

Naturally he wasn't far from her thoughts for the rest of the day. The hospital OB-GYN clinic was as busy as ever, and the hustle and bustle kept Molly, an RN, quite distracted, but every moment of downtime found her wondering how Shane was doing.

She texted him a few times as he requested. The first time he replied right away, saying he had made it home safely and was relaxing on the couch. The second time he replied a few hours later, saying how tired he was and how he really was starting to feel unwell, but he was doing fine. The third time he never replied.

Her plans for the weekend had been solidified in her mind as soon as she felt how feverish he was. She practically ran out the door as soon as she clocked out. Her first stop was her house to change clothes, shower, and gather some supplies. Her second stop was Shane's favorite soup and sandwich place for two quarts of soup and two sandwiches to go. From there, she headed to Shane's condo across town.

She hadn't informed him she was coming because she had wanted it to be a bit of a surprise. Initially her plan was to leave the soup and sandwich on the stoop and ring the bell, then duck out of sight until the last minute. However, her plan changed when she caught a glimpse of him through the front door.

He was fast asleep, sprawled out on his stomach on the couch. Bundled under two blankets and snoring with his mouth open, surrounded by a nest of used tissues and dishes, he was the picture of illness.

She didn't have the heart to wake him by knocking, so instead she used her copy of his house key to let herself in quietly, being careful not to let the cold air in with her. He didn't stir even after she shut and re-locked the door. After removing her coat, she deposited the items she had brought in the kitchen, then returned to his side. Perching on the edge of the couch, she ran her hand over his face and through his hair to wake him.

He stirred weakly, mumbling and snuffling as he opened his eyes. His face lit up upon seeing her, and he quickly sat up, leaning all of his sleepy, overly-warm weight against her for a tight hug.

"Molly, you're here! I'mb so habby to see you," he croaked earnestly.

She hugged him back just as tightly. "Of course I'm here. When you stopped replying to my texts, I knew I had to come check on you. You look so sick, poor guy, and you're so stuffed up. Are you surviving?"

He shrugged, pulling away. "I guess. I'mb doi'g ok. So achy and tired. Just been sleebi'g all day." He licked his cracked lips and tried to swallow, which resulted in a grimace. "Budt you should go, babe. I don'dt wandt you to catch this. It's ndasty."

As if to prove his point, he turned away from her to cough productively into his elbow, thick and chesty. He followed it up with a honking nose blow that was far less productive. She watched this display sympathetically.

"I'm not leaving you all alone and sick like this. And anyway, if I do get sick, I think I know a doctor who could take care of me." She bumped her shoulder against his. He smiled wanly. "Now, have you taken any medicine recently?"

He sheepishly averted his eyes. "Umb… ndo. I… don'dt really have anythi'g to take."

"Ugh, Shane. Don't tell me you're one of those 'it only treats the symptoms' purists."

"Ndo, it's ndot thad. Like I told you, I just haven't been sigck in years. I've never thought to buy cold mbedicine."

"You're such a guy," she sighed. "Even if you are a doctor. You at least got your flu shot right?"

"Yeah. Budt they're already sayi'g it's probably ndot goi'g to be very effective this year."

"Of course they are." She sighed again. "However, I had a hunch this would happen, so I came prepared." She quickly retrieved a bag from the kitchen which rattled with medications, sitting down beside him again. She selected the ones she wanted and shook them into his hand, watching closely as he swallowed them.

"You're acti'g like you don'dt trust mbe to take care of mbyself," he teased, taking several gulps of water to chase the pills. 

"That's not necessarily true. I just want to do everything possible to help you feel better."

He had to cough harshly again before he could answer, hard enough to redden his face. "I love thad you wandt to take care of mbe. Budt you should really go. I'mb so contagious right ndow, and I don'dt wandt to try to stay away from you."

"Then don't. I came here to be close to you. I don't care if I get sick. It's the weekend anyway. I'm here for you and only you. Besides, you were probably contagious yesterday too, and we still made out. So it doesn't matter anyway."

"You're too good to mbe," he mumbled, finally succumbing and leaning his full weight against her, closing his eyes as he wrapped his arms loosely around her. "Budt I still don'dt approve. You're staying AMA, just so we're clear."

"Call me a rebel, then," she murmured, stroking his sweaty hair.

He sneezed suddenly, only once, but wet and laborious, catching it in his elbow. She quickly pulled a tissue from the nearby box. He took it gratefully, blowing his stopped nose as best he could before resting against her again. He sighed deeply as she resumed her petting.

"You're lugcky the desire to be taken care of when sigck is a deebply ingrained biological traidt," he continued to mumble, sounding sleepier by the second.

"I am, huh? Well you're talking an awful lot for someone who has no voice."

She felt him smile against her, but he did fall silent for a while, aside from his sniffling and soft coughing. She thought he was going back to sleep when he spoke up again.

"You know whad would mbake mbe feel even better thad mbedicine? Sumb soubp."

"Hmm, well it just so happens you have a girlfriend who thinks of everything." She gently shifted him off of her, going back to the kitchen and returning with a quart of soup and a sandwich.

"Sal's chigcken rice?" he rasped, his eyes lighting up hungrily as he sat up straighter. 

"Naturally. We've been together almost two years. I know what you like when you're not feeling good."

"You're a lifesaver," he groaned, taking the proffered food and digging in right away.

"I'm glad you have an appetite anyway. I won't ever forget last year's stomach flu incident."

 "Ugh, don'dt rembind mbe," he said with a shudder. "Bud other than thad one time, I'll always have an abbetite for this soubp. This is all I've wanted all day." He wolfed down the food with unexpected vigor.

"Well then you're lucky I think of everything, like I said. And to think you wanted to kick me out."

"I ndever *wanted* you kigck you oud. I'm just goi'g to hade mbyself whed you ged sigck," he mumbled, swallowing a mouthful.

"Maybe I won't get sick, did you think of that? And like I've been saying--" She leaned in to kiss him fully on the mouth, long and hard, until he pulled away gasping. "--I don't care. As long as you promise to take care of me if I do, I won't complain about a few days off. So stop worrying."

"Ugh, take it easy babe," he moaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "This fever has mby blood flow all mbessed ub. You can'dt be usi'g your lips on mbe like thad."

"Don't worry, I'm not planning to seduce you today. Unless you instigate it of course." She gave him a wicked look and he flushed. 

"You're something else, Mol," he muttered, unable to hide a smile.

"Just eat your 'soob'." 

He did what he was told while she tidied up his sick bed area. When he was almost done, she fetched another bag from the kitchen and began rummaging through it. He eyed the items she pulled out suspiciously.

"How much crabp did you bri'g? And whad are you doi'g ndow?"

"Something I've always wanted to do. And something I think will make you smile."

"I feel like I've been smili'g since you godt here."

It was Molly's turn to flush and smile. "Something that might make you laugh, then."

She sat close beside him on the couch with her stethoscope around her neck, placing a little tablet of paper and a pen in front of her on the table. 

"Constitution:" she both said this out loud and wrote it on the paper. "Well-nourished. Unwell appearing today. Complains of malaise and myalgia. Lymphatics:" 

She had been neatly writing everything down as she spoke. After the last word, she reached out to gently palate the visibly swollen lymph nodes in his neck. He moaned softly as she massaged them, the moan turning into a cough.

"Cervical lymphadenopathy noted. Lymph nodes tender to palpation." She wrote this down as well.

"Whad are you doi'g, Mol?"

"You get to be a doctor all the time. Today you're definitely the patient, so I'm taking my turn being the doctor and doing a physical exam on you. We need to make a diagnosis after all."

"Ah, of course. Mby apologies, please continue," he said with a little laugh, wiping his nose with a tissue.

"Thank you. Open your mouth please." Inserting a thermometer under his tongue, she also took his pulse with her watch as the thermometer calibrated. 

"Resting heart rate is elevated at 86 bpm. Temperature is abnormal at 101.8 degrees Fahrenheit."

"I could've told you thad. I just toogk my tembp before you godt here."

"I find that hard to believe since you were sleeping when I got here. Now shh. Actually say 'ah'." She situated a tongue depressor in his mouth, peering in. "Throat erythematous and inflamed," she said and wrote. "Now lean forward a bit if you would."

He did as he was told, looking slightly put-upon and she slid the diaphragm of her stethoscope under his worn university tee shirt, placing it on his back as she listened to him breathe for a moment. "Minor ronchi noted. No crackles or rales. Minimal concern for pneumonia at this time."

"Well thad's a relief," he said, sniffling wetly.

"Shh, I still need to listen to your heart," she said, sliding the diaphragm of the stethoscope around to his chest. 

"Terrible beside manner. I'm leavi'g a ndegative review."

She gave him her sternest "doctor" look. He merely smiled impishly. She sighed, biting back a smile of her own, and listened again.

"Normal rhythm. L-1, L-2 heard."

Setting aside the instruments, she slid her hands under his shirt, feeling gently.

"Skin is overly warm or feverish. Abdomen is soft, non-tender and non-distended."

"You didn't have to go under mby shirt, you know. Abdominal exam cad be done over clothi'g," he said, smirking.

"I was being… thorough," she said with a wink.

He chuckled hoarsely. "Someone's godt the hots for their patiendt. Thad's trouble," he murmured, stifling a yawn as he pulled his blanket closer around himself with a shiver. 

"Neurologic: grossly normal. Tremors noted due to chills. Psychiatric: patient is oriented to person, place, time. Behavior normal, but appears lethargic, fatigued and sleepy."

After writing down these final notes, she cuddled up beside him on the couch, wrapping him in her arms and pulling him close as he started shivering in earnest. He nestled against her wearily.

"How did I do?" she murmured. "Did I make you laugh a little at least?"

"Very thorough and efficiendt," he mumbled sleepily, coughing. "And yes you did. Whad's your diagnosis and treadtment plan, doctor?"

"At best a severe case of rhinovirus. I'm more inclined to think influenza due to the fever, but we'll continue to monitor. No active intervention needed at this time. Bed rest at home, OTC medication as needed and adequate hydration recommended." At this she handed him his water bottle. He drank several big gulps before handing it back to her and snuggling in again.

"If that's what the doctor orders," he sniffled, closing his eyes. 

She held him for a while, since that seemed to be all he wanted, just rubbing his back and stroking his hair. However, they were forced to move when Shane pulled away to break into one of his barking, painful coughing fits. He tried to settle again after the fact, making a face. 

"I don't feel good, Mol," he mumbled pathetically. "This sugcks."

"I know, doc. But I'm doing everything I can to help you feel better. I didn't realize your fever was so high though," she murmured. "And that was after you took medicine. But you seemed just fine yesterday. You don't do anything by halves, do you?"

"Thad's one of the reasons you have the hots for mbe, you know id is," he croaked.

"The only thing with the hots around here is that fever. You're sweltering."

"Sorry," he mumbled, yet made no effort to move off of her. Instead he sneezed wetly into his elbow.

"Update, you're sweltering *and* gross," she said conversationally. Yet she made no effort to move away from him either, kissing his forehead instead. He yawned as she did. "And sleepy."

"Thingk I'm just sigck," he muttered.

"Yeah, let's go with that. Do you want to go back to sleep right now?"

"Ndo. Ndot while you're here. I'm too sigck to sleeb anyway."

"There's no such thing as being too sick to sleep. But if you don't want to sleep right now, I have one more present for you." 

"You've already given mbe too mbuch."

"There's no such thing as that either." She carefully shifted out from under him again and attempted to head to the kitchen once more. Before she could take more than a step though, he caught her hand and made her turn around. Seeing his imploring look, she stepped back into the V of his legs. He wrapped his arms fully around her, burying his hot face in her abdomen. 

"Thangk you mbuch for the soubp and mbedicine, baby. You really are a lifesaver. I just wanted to tell you thad."

She nuzzled her face into his messy hair. "Anything to help you feel better. I can tell you're still miserable though."

"Nodt miserable with you here." 

"Just sick."

"Mhm," he mumbled, sleepily as ever. She let him hold her for another moment or two before speaking again.

"Seriously though, I have something else I want to give you. It'll just take a second to grab."

"Fine," he sighed. As he pulled away, she saw a hazy, pre-sneeze look cross his face. Sure enough, as she trotted to the kitchen, behind her she heard him emit a pair of messy, rough sneezes.

"That soup really got your nose going, huh?" she asked as she reentered the living room.

"Guess so," he sniffled, blowing his nose thickly. "Thad's the poindt though, right?"

"Indeed it is." She moved to the entertainment center and quickly plugged her laptop into the TV.

"Now whad are you doi'g?"

"Maybe you should stop asking questions and just wait and see."

"You know I hade surprises."

"That's not true at all in my experience, so I'm calling your bluff on that one. But you won't have to wait long for this one either way."

After a few setting changes to allow the laptop display to be projected on the TV, Molly popped a disk into the drive and started it up.

"Are we watchi'g somethi'g?"

"You and your questions." She tossed a thick DVD case into his lap. He picked it up, his eyes widening happily.

"The original Jurassic Park trilogy? Holy crabp, this is awesome!"

"I'm glad you approve," she laughed, stepping into his arms again. "It was going to be your Christmas present, but I figured a sick day at home is an even better occasion."

"This is perfect, love. You're ambazing," he mumbled, squeezing her tightly.

"Anything for my best guy." She nuzzled his hair again fondly. "Anything to help you sleep."

"I don'dt wandt to sleeb while you're here though. I don'dt wandt to mbiss out on seei'g you."

"Well then you're in luck, because I'm planning on staying here all weekend. So I'll be here when you fall asleep and when you wake up. No time wasted at all."

A grin split his face. "You'd do thad for mbe?"

"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise. Doctors need to be looked after too, especially by their nurse girlfriends. So you stretch out and get comfortable and leave the rest to me."

"You're cooler than anadomy and dinosaurs combined, you know thad?"

Molly giggled happily. "I don't know if I'll ever come back from such high praise. You better quit while you're ahead, Dr. Mitchell."

"Only if you promise to make mbe coffee in the morni'g. Your good coffee."

"Sounds like a plan," she said with a grin and another kiss.

[pine-lark]

Ooh trap him somewhere either very hot or very cold?? :D

Oh.

Oh.

This is a perfect excuse to write an old daydream from my childhood. Well, there's two-- Arion on a grill and Arion in a box. I chose the box for this one but I may be tempted to write the grill at some point. I haven't written The Box before now because it doesn't exactly... fit with the plot of the actual story, but I mean...

Alternate Rescue AU, coming right up, Anon. (Also sorry I'm like, infinitely late haha. School threw me into a hell pit and I've been recovering. I'm back now ((though I'm not sure for how long, things might change in a week or two... we'll see.)) For now, I'm working on a lot of Arion stuff that will hopefully pop up within a few days! Cheers!)

CW: Tiny whumpee, some blood, cold/hypothermia symptoms (duh), cages/referenced captivity, briefly implied forced nudity from said captivity, brief reference to a past fever and resulting vomiting, referenced/implied physical abuse, water/rain/storms/being submerged in/splashed with water, thoughts of dying (of the "I might die" and "Am I dead?" and wishing to be put out of misery type), crying, (thinking about) needles, short (kind of) graphic description of a bird being run over, brief religion references

-

His legs still ache from running.

Arion sits in the cardboard box he found on the side of the road, huddled in the corner, shivering in the dark. Although he tries to clamp his jaw shut and stop it, his teeth chatter and his shoulders quiver. It feels like the frozen autumn air has grasped him entirely in icy claws that shake him violently in an inescapable grip. It reminds him of being trapped in Heston’s hand, shaken, body tossed in every direction until his head pounded and his eyes watered.

It’s colder outside than it used to be in the garage. But it’s better out here. No one can hurt him here.

As long as they don’t find him.

He rubs his hands over the goosebumps on his arms, hoping to warm them up and calm down the wild pain buried deep in his skin. As he does so, blood smears along the path he touches. It’s still gently creeping out of the series of cuts etched into his forearms. With it, the image of Heston’s glinting eyes surfaces in Arion’s memory. He buries his head in his shaking knees with a wet sniff. But he’s done it, he reminds himself. He’s escaped. Finally. Chewed through rope, slipped through an unlocked door. Heston's gone. For now.

Please, please don’t come looking for me.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance. He jumps. It sets off an echo of shivers all the way down his spine as his hair stands on end.

A raindrop falls on the cardboard roof. Then another, and another. Thunder claps harshly overhead.

Arion shuts his eyes tight, bites back the frustrated tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He curls up tighter, hugging himself, doing all he can to keep any scrap of heat he has close to his body. A storm might just do it. Might just kill him. A storm means wind. Freezing wind. And freezing rain. The last thing he needs right now is rain. It can’t rain. He presses his body closer to the cardboard wall, knowing it might not be standing there much longer if it rains.

And it does. It pours.

He sees the rain splash into the road before him. The storm swiftly grows. It’s ferocious and feral and cruel. The temperature around Arion drops. His tiny body shakes uncontrollably, as if it weren’t his own. It reminds him of the terrifying fever he had, long ago, in the confines of his red cage just weeks after being taken from his home. He’d been throwing up and twitching and having the most horrible, vivid dreams (on the occasions that both Heston and the illness let him sleep). The fits of shivering drove him mad, the endless teeth-chattering and flashes of uncomfortable warmth and sticky sweat made him feel even worse. It's like that, he thinks. Except, now, as he shivers, he’s unbearably cold.

An involuntary whine fights its way out of him. When he swallows, his throat feels stiff and achy. Snot runs profusely down his lips and no amount of wiping it away with his bleeding arms is helping it slow. Water has thoroughly and entirely drenched the cardboard, at this point. Has crept through the floor and the walls, and, gradually and persistently, has started to drip through the sagging ceiling. For a moment, Arion remembers he has toes, and that they’ve been numb for awhile now. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, his feet haven’t felt like anything either, and when he tries to move his fingers, they only twitch. They feel heavy and prickly. He feels prickly all over. Like Heston had shoved a thousand frozen needles into a thousand different places all over his body. It hurts to breathe. There’s no way to get warmer. Nothing to hide under, not even something as decent as clothing. No way to escape, nowhere to run to, even if he had the energy left to try. He lets out a miserable sob.

And then the ceiling falls through, in a blur of collapsing cardboard and splashing waves of water that crash over his head and the rest of his body.

Arion tumbles out of the box, drenched. He coughs up water through jittery movements. For a second, he chokes on a mouthful, and he briefly he thinks he'll never breathe again, before his chest jerks and with another cough, the water falls out of his mouth. He tries to get his arms and legs under him, to stand or even crawl, but his limbs fail him and he crumbles face-first back to the harsh surface below him. The rocks mixed in the road’s tar are sharp. They cut deeply through his nose and cheek and the shoulder that followed his face in the fall. Arion winces against the fresh, sharp pain and the beads of blood that begin to form where he’s been hurt. His breaths come in ragged heaves.

He sniffs. Tears drip from his eyes. He lays helpless in the middle of the little road, in his mind begging to no one that a car doesn’t come along and crush him. Under any other circumstance, he’d love to be put out of his misery. But he’s seen a bird been run over before. Under a truck’s tire. And the memory makes his stomach churn. Flattened face, open stomach, popped like a bubble in a stream.

Briefly, Arion thinks of himself in place of the bird. He thinks of the smear of red underneath his empty, open eyes. He thinks of the way the headlights might look as they would suddenly appear right in front of him. The horrid, mind-numbing honk of a horn. The image he creates in his mind of those headlights, his last moments, is vivid. It’s so vivid that he thinks it might be real, or maybe hypothermia is setting in and beginning to ruin his mind.

It’s just his imagination, he thinks.

And then he smells exhaust from a car.

And the screech of brakes.

And for a second, whilst his body is numb and bright white light is all he can see, he thinks he might be dead.

“I swear, if I keep stopping my car for every mouse that sits in front of it, I’m never going to get anywhere.”

That voice drifts from the car stopped in front of him.

Not dead, then.

Almost, he thinks.

“Can’t help it though. What else am I supposed to do, run them over? Just vet instincts, I guess. Huh, Jasper.” There’s a meow in response. Arion’s breath hitches. The voice says, “Me-ow. I know, I know. I’ll be right back.” A car door shuts. Then there’s heavy wet footsteps. Boots clopping over puddles and asphalt. Panic floods Arion’s chest as a shadow cuts through the blinding white light from the vehicle. The outline of a human lowers, kneels in front of him. His breath stops. His mind goes blank.

“What…”

A moment passes. Something touches him. He flinches hard, but trying to run isn’t an option. His body is completely, entirely, wholly exhausted and far too numb to move more than flailing back a couple inches.

“Oh, geez, that’s-- not a mouse. Okay.” Her head turns in a way that Arion can see her face. A young woman with red hair, watching him with a warm but frantic gaze. “Okay. Okay okay. Oh, God, you’re injured pretty bad, little buddy. Your arms are all… cut up. That’s not good. Um.”

Arion stares blankly ahead. Suddenly, freezing to death isn’t something he feels like putting too much effort into avoiding.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do,” the girl continues. “I’m gonna bring you into my car where I can see you better, alright? Then I can help you. It’s gonna be okay. Here. I’m picking you up now, ‘kay?”

The feeling of a warm hand washes over his body. It’s both terrifying and incredibly welcome. The sting of cold seems to seep out of his skin, albeit very slowly. Quickly, though, burning prickles replace whatever comfort the touch brought him.

“Oh, you’re freezing, little guy. You must have been out here for a long time. That can be really dangerous… I’m glad I found you. I’ll get you all warmed up in the car.”

Arion whimpers against the hands that carry him to somewhere warmer, where he hears the faint, deep sound of a large beating heart. For a second, he wonders if this is God. And then the car door opens and creaks, and the girl curses under her breath, and Arion remembers he’s an atheist.

Still, as the stinging in his warming skin subsides, the warmth of her hands starts to feel… nice. If his mind were still intact (instead of shattered into vague, useless fragments as it is now), Arion would have done anything and everything to get away from any human or other predatory beast in sight. But with his head swimming, he leans into her touch, and compliantly accepts the soft feeling of some kind of cloth being wrapped all around him.

Words are spoken to him, but he can’t listen. To him they sound broken up and blurry as the insistence of sleep becomes more desperate in the back of his mind. As he gets warmer, his muscles relax, and his eyes get droopy. His vision darkens, and the girl’s voice hushes.

Just before he drifts off into a far overdue, deep and restful sleep, he thinks to himself, vaguely, that he hopes this human is different. He hopes that when he wakes back up, it won’t be in another cage.

-

Tag list because this ended up being a full drabble:

(Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tag list. No hurt feelings! I know it's been a long time and if you've lost interest that is A-Okay, friend)

(Also, if you'd like to be added or if your username's changed, let me know!)

@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping, @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @ahorriblebimess, @whump-me-all-night-long

[whumpmatsus]

28 Kara is cute, one would say too cute to suffer. Not me. Maybe fic where he is feeling really sick, but being the quiet one he is forgotten for a while? Or something. Pls and thanks.

haha, nobody is EVER too cute to suffer here! including precious baby 18!Kara~ <3

I had fun with this, I hope you like it! c:

-

It’s pouring rain when the rest of the sextuplets come to walk Karamatsu home from the train station, and he doesn’t want to go out in it.

Today’s drama club meeting wasn’t a very good one. The teacher leading it got focused on the two lead actors for the play which the club is showing tomorrow night, because they were both fighting and at each other’s throats. Most of the others ignored Karamatsu in favor of being on their phones or reading magazines or running lines while the teacher was busy with the leads.

Finally, in a twist that puts the cherry on the horrible meeting sundae, despite the fact that he’s playing a small part, Karamatsu messed up his own lines every single time. The others were so irritated with him, he wished the floor would just swallow him up.

Usually he’s so good with acting. It’s something he’s passionate about and enjoys and takes pride in. Today… it’s not that he’s nervous about the production. It’s that he just feels awful.

He’s been tired since he woke up, he’s warm and clammy at the same time, his throat is scratchy, he keeps coughing and sneezing, and any part of his body that doesn’t have a specific complaint is simply achy. Mommy noticed that he wasn’t feeling well when she sent them all to school, but he begged her not to keep him home, and since he didn’t have a fever this morning, she let him go.

There’s… definitely a fever running through him now, though. He thought for sure his brothers would notice and maybe ask him if there was anything they could do; instead, he’s been behaving so normally as far as they’re concerned, with his quiet nature and tendency to cry over small things, that not a single one of them has picked up on it.

On top of everything else, he forgot his umbrella. It was supposed to be sunny today, so he had to walk from school to the train without one, and now when he gets out of the station, he has to go out into the rain with barely any protection.

Although he’s crying by the time he reaches his brothers, it blends in pretty well with the rain.

Thankfully, all his brothers are carrying umbrellas, so he huddles under Osomatsu’s and presses himself against his older brother’s side. Osomatsu immediately accommodates him, pulling Karamatsu in to get dry. “Hey, bro! Geez, you’re shaking like a leaf. Sorry you didn’t have your umbrella!” He chuckles and tousles Karamatsu’s hair. “That’s what you get for picking a nerd hobby that’s right after school so you don’t have time to go home and get anything.”

“Don’t listen to him, Kara ― your hobby is just fine,” Choromatsu hums. He’s busy trying to entertain Totty, who’s doing his damnedest to attach himself to Choromatsu’s hip. “Now, guys, it’s raining out here, so can we please go home and get some tea? If we stay out here much longer, we’re gonna catch colds, and I do not want to be sick for graduation.”

Jyushimatsu scoffs. “That’s still two weeks away. We’d be fine, dumbass.”

Choromatsu’s face turns bright red. “W-well, if you’re fine getting sick regardless, you can go jump in the puddles for all I care!”

A smile briefly flashes across the second youngest’s face. “Really??” And just like that, he’s back to looking constantly angry. “Naaah… that shit’s for babies!”

They all begin to walk, and Ichimatsu shakes his head. “Ah, Karamatsu-nii-san… some of my friends wanted to come see that play tomorrow. What time does it start, again?”

“U-uh.” Karamatsu sniffles a few times, nuzzling against Osomatsu’s shoulder. “7 P.M. for the first one. Then there’s another showing at… at 8:30. I… don’t know if I’m… going to go, though.”

“What??” Choromatsu frowns as the six of them stop for the crosswalk. “You’ve never had stage fright before. You’ll be fine once you get up on the stage.”

“I don’t know, Choro…”

“Oh, come on, Kara-nii-san. Don’t cry like that… you made a commitment! You don’t wanna let your club down, right?”

Karamatsu reaches up to try and wipe the tears away. Not only is it kind of ineffective because his rain-soaked bangs keep dripping down his face, his hand keeps brushing against parts of his acne as he tries, which is painful. “Y-yeah, but…”

Osomatsu gives his little brother a squeeze that he thinks is supposed to be reassuring. It’s a bit rough, though. “No ‘but’s unless you’re grabbing a girl’s butt, Kara! You got this! You’ve done this shit before and totally nailed it. You usually don’t have too many lines, anyway, so it’s not that bad, is it?”

God, he should have a little more backbone. He should be able to say things decisively and not just fall silent when his brothers push him like this. Actually, if he just managed to say outright that he’s sick, they wouldn’t even be saying anything like this stuff. Right now they just think it’s pre-curtain jitters, which happens, which they can usually shake him out of because they know he loves acting.

Funnily enough, even though he doesn’t have much of a spine himself, this crappy cold of his evidently thinks this is the perfect time to speak up. The congestion he’s been fighting blossoms into something insistent that he can’t ignore, and he quickly ducks his face down between his hands.

“― Hh’DSHH! Hah’DTchh! Hd’TCHHuu! Ahh’DTSCHhhoo!”

A volley of coughs rides on the tail end of the last sneeze, so much that he can barely get a breath in. Each one makes his all-over soreness sharpen for a second, unbearable pinpricks of pain across his whole body. The coughs make something in his chest crackle and it hurtsand suddenly he’d pulled into a protective hug.

Part of him wishes he could just pull away. The part of him that wants to lean into the contact wins out, allowing him to nestle into his older brother’s chest as he continues to cough.

“Shit, Karamatsu!” Osomatsu starts rubbing his little brother’s back in an attempt to help break up the fit. “The fuck, man? That sounds nasty. You coming down with something?”

Karamatsu can feel the others hovering closer, murmuring in concern among themselves. The coughs finally taper off and he scrubs at his eyes, no matter how much it hurts, even as more tears start to bubble up. “Y-yeah… I woke up sick…”

“What??” Choromatsu sounds almost like he’s been betrayed or something. “You should have stayed home! Ah… wait… wait, you walked all the way to the station from school in the rain when you already have a cold? That’s a great way to end up with a sinus infection or pneumonia! Shit, we gotta get you home…”

“Sorry…” Karamatsu manages to croak out, followed by more sniffles. Thanks to the cold air and the sneezing, his nose has started running again. “U-uh… does anyone have tissues…? I used all mine already…”

Ichimatsu starts to dig around in his pockets. “Yeah, I think I have some.”

As he hands over a small pack to his older brother, Osomatsu gives a protective squeeze. “Hey, Choro, don’t blame Karamatsu for all this. He should have said something, sure, but it’s not all on him here. We should have noticed something was up. Right? We’re his brothers.”

Karamatsu lets out a small whine of protest, pressing a tissue over his nose. It would have been nice for them to notice, but… it’s not like it’s their job. They don’t owe it to him to pay attention to him. “I-it’s not your fault…”

Before anyone else can say a word, Totty lets go of Choromatsu and darts over to circle his arms around Karamatsu’s waist. He’s sort of wedging himself between Karamatsu and Osomatsu, pretty clearly wanting to be with both of them. “Ah! We love you, Karamatsu-nii-chan!! We’ll take good care of you!”

“… Yeah,” Choromatsu chuckles. He reaches over to pat Karamatsu’s back. “I’m sorry we weren’t paying enough attention to notice you weren’t feeling well. But we’re gonna get you home and tucked into bed. And I’m sure Mom will call the drama club teacher to tell her you can’t perform tomorrow night.”

Jyushimatsu hums, and he appears to be trying very hard not to smile wide like he wants to do. “We’re probably all gonna catch it, right?”

Ichimatsu chuckles softly. “Yeah, that’s what usually happens.”

“So… we can go stomp in puddles, right? Since we’re gonna get sick anyway?”

“No, no, no,” Choromatsu immediately speaks up, “no stomping in puddles! We have to get Kara home!”

Of course, it’s too late. Jyushimatsu has run off ahead of them all, launching himself into every puddle he can find, his face switching between an irritated scowl and a borderline maniacal grin.

Totty’s still clinging to Karamatsu, snuggling against his shoulder. “We’ll all get to be sick together! That means we get to stay home from school for a couple days. We can sleep and watch movies and have a big cuddle puddle.”

Choromatsu sighs. “As long as we don’t miss the commencement ceremony, that’s okay. I guess the last few weeks of our senior year don’t matter too much with regard to schoolwork, anyway. Especially since we’re already adults.”

Another few coughs are muffled against Osomatsu’s chest, prompting everyone to give a brief stroke to Karamatsu’s back or hair. “Well, before we catch it,” Osomatsu says, “we’ve gotta get this geek home and throw his ass in bed. He’s really warm… feels like his skin’s gonna burn his clothes up. C’mon, Kara. We’ll get you wrapped up in a blanket, then maybe I can help Mom make some kayu to make you feel better.”

“Mm…” Well. That does sound pretty good. “… W-with umeboshi on top?”

“Yeah, sure! Whatever you want! And Choro can make some tea, Totty can pick out a movie, Ichi can get a cold cloth for your forehead, and Jyushi…” Osomatsu blinks and peers out where their fifth eldest is… way ahead of them. “What can Jyushi do?”

Choromatsu blows out a slow, frustrated breath. “… Stay out of the way??”

Totty giggles. “He can be the bodyguard! We’ll station him outside the room, and if any of Ichimatsu-nii-chan’s friends come by to try and take Ichimatsu-nii-chan away, Jyushi-nii-chan will scare them off!”

“Hey, yeah! That’s a good idea, Totty!”

“What? Why do you want to scare my friends away?”

“Because Karamatsu-nii-chan’s sick! They can’t drag you off somewhere when your big brother needs you! That’d be mean.”

“A-ah, hahahah… he’d be fine without me, but… I can just say no! We don’t need Jyushi to scare them away.”

“We miiiiiiight! At least, it would be funny!”

Karamatsu offers a tiny laugh, which quickly turns into another couple of coughs. He puts a weak arm around Totty and wonders how he’s going to keep his eyes open for the rest of the walk home. He thinks they’re not too far away, though.

“Thanks, guys… this… this might not be such a bad day after all…”

[totallyexhausted]

So, I am re-watching Danny Phantom and the idea of Lancer caring for an ill Danny crossed my mind after I read all the ones I could find. I also toyed with Danny’s powers; him being able to change, obviously, but also seance and see dead spirits (and ghosts; leaving spirits and ghosts as separate entities) walking around. Basically, I upped the rating on Danny Phantom and combined Klaus Hargreeves powers with Danny’s own abilities.

Also, I’ll say, and maybe it’s the song I’m listening to, or the fact that I was reworking Greenberg and Coach from TW, but I got the picture of Danny showing up at Lancer’s door, high off his ass mumbling about Sam, Ghosts, and other teenager things.

…………………………………..

Lance Lancer had never seen a kid so sick, nor did he remember his own son ever being this ill. Danny groaned loudly, curling further into himself, his arms tightly protecting his stomach as his nails dug bloody indents on his forearms. He was shivering, his ghost sense going off every few minutes, creating a barely visible burst of cold air biting back against his sweaty flesh. He clenched his eyes shut as he tried to forget about the spirits flooding the room. As he tried to forget their voices, their screams, their hands brushing over him as they pleaded for him to look. As they begged for him to help.

Lancer bit his bottom lip as he pressed his hand harder against the 17-year-old’s shaking front shoulder, his other trying to work through some of the knots plaguing the boy’s shoulder blades. He shouldn’t have this many tight muscles, this much stress forced in his back at his age… and the fact that Danny seemed to curl tighter into himself, straining his muscles further every time he took a slow, shallow breath, worried the English teacher more.

The teenager groaned again, clenching his eyes shut tighter as he swallowed quickly, letting out a shaky breath. He stilled, hoping his lack of movement would help ease the nausea stampeding through his body and after taking several slow breaths, he relaxed. He hated being sick… not that anyone loved puking their guts out for hours, let alone in someone else’s home, but his ghost sense always made him on-edge, unable to sleep peacefully or unwind. Every spark of Ghost-breath as Tucker called it, sent violent shivers through him making it harder for his body to heat or cool properly.

The last time Danny remembered being this sick was a few days after the Accident. He’d been on a famous “Fenton Family Vacation,” which was just code for some lame ghost-convention his parents attended every year, forcing their two kids to cram in the RV for a 12-hour car trip to some middle-class hotel. Usually, Jazz and Danny occupied their time exploring the city or making fun of the people who attended the convention. But since the Accident a few days before, for Danny, the family vacation turned into 3-days of complete feverish hell as his body tried to figure out how to survive with only half an immune system, half the person he used to be.

There wasn’t much to remember from that experience except cold showers, endless puking, aimless wondering in some sauna-type hotel as Danny tried running from himself, and the vague memory of leaning against his father several times as his mother coaxed him to take whatever foul-tasting liquid she wanted him to drink. Whether or not his parents actually attended the convention, or if Jazz had explored the same boring city, Danny couldn’t remember. But he remembered his parents arguing, his sister cradling him to her chest on the bathroom floor, and at some point, crouching under the bathroom counter as he forced himself small, trying to hide from the green-eyed, white-haired kid in the mirror or the bloody, contorted people following him. Since then, sickness never came easy despite his immune system being half-dead or ghosted or whatever it was Tucker had told him.

The 17-year-old pressed his face against the comforter, lessening the pain shooting through his temples as the thought of puking again slowly began to evade, and his head welcomed the soft cool fabric cushioning the migraine eating away at his jawline. He was lying at the edge of the bed, curled into what had to be a pathetic sweaty ball, his knees pulled halfway to his chest as he braced his arms across his stomach. This was hell. It had to be. Because only some sick fuck would make him miserable, feverishly grasping what little reality he could hold onto, and so nauseous he couldn’t move, away from his parents with only Mr. Lancer as his only comfort. It was some kind of sick joke.

Danny’s stomach churned, and he swallowed hard, his hands clammy against his overheated skin, trying to will whatever else he could possibly still have in his stomach, back down. He stilled again, breathing shallowly through his nose, feeling his stomach relax slightly. He sighed internally, praying to God he was done puking as heat lit through his veins, and Danny lurched, retching loudly as he shut his eyes, willing for everything to stop. He had no strength left to hold himself up; his mind fuzzy and everything hard to piece together through sweaty nauseating moments. He whimpered as he lurched again, retching as bitter acidic bile spewed from his mouth, running down his chin, and the 17-year-old coughed harshly, tightening his grip across his stomach, and clenching his eyes shut as he struggled to breathe through the rest of it.

He felt something wipe across his chin and mouth, his stomach lurching further at the thought of the humiliation of being so exhausted and sick he couldn’t even be bothered to wipe any of his vomit away from him. Danny whimpered loudly, letting foul saliva pool from his mouth as his stomach heaved, hanging his head off the edge of the bed over what he had been hoping for the past two hours was a wastebasket… but considering Lancer had rapidly become more concerned with other ailments such as the teenager’s temperature or the tight muscles straining in his shoulders and back, the 17-year-old was willing to bet the dark wooden floor wasn’t pretty. He’d also been too scared to look, not wanting the guilt of Lancer having to clean up his vomit added onto the guilt and humiliation he already felt.

“Alright. Easy, Daniel. It’s alright… just let it all up. It’s alright,” Lancer said as softly as he could. He was pretty sure the kid was mostly delirious by now, his fever spiking as sweat layered on top of him, soaked through damp clothes and sheets that were plastered to the teenager’s pale skin. He couldn’t even hold himself up anymore, his face pressed against the edge of the bed while Lancer kept a firm grasp on his shoulder so the kid wouldn’t topple off.

Lancer pressed the disregarded and mostly warm rag from the nightstand against the teenager’s face; forehead, cheeks, neck, trying his best to mop up as much sweat as he could, trying to cool Danny off as much as he could without physically carrying him into the bathroom and forcing him under a cold shower. It wasn’t ideal, and Lancer knew from previous experience with his own son, it wouldn’t be pretty; but considering Lancer was currently in charge of the poor kid, he was willing to do whatever was necessary. He’d just never seen a kid so sick.

Lightening flashed outside as a branch scrapped against the glass windowpane, thunder clashing loudly as rain continued to beat against the old house. The small leak in the roof audible in the kitchen as tiny droplets fell against some crappy tin figurines his wife failed to take in the divorce. Lancer had always hated them… but he didn’t have the heart to toss them… or admit to himself that those stupid scrap metal trinkets were his last thread he had tied to her. His last hope that maybe she’d come back. But it’d been 12 years… and she wasn’t coming back. Neither was Charlie.

Danny coughed harshly, flinching as something cool touched the back of his neck, brushing sweaty sticky hair matted to his neck from his burning flesh. He felt like he was on fire. No, worse… his core was always cold, freezing almost; so, his temperature was lower than any other humans. So, the fire eating away at his muscles and memories, was excruciating.

He coughed again, wheezing slightly as his heart skipped. He had to be breathing faster than normal… hell, he was breathing faster than normal. Air sucked through achy lungs and forced out through a dry mouth as his heart tried keeping up the pace. He swallowed, pulling his knees further to his chest, shivering again as his ghost sense went off, and he opened his eyes slightly, wincing as the dark room spun in a multitude of blacks, browns, and dark purples. Red mixed against almost translucent flesh as faces inched closer, and Danny’s stomach lurched, hard, as his eyes met the contorted and split face of a middle-aged man in coveralls.

The teenager choked, swallowing loudly as his stomach cramped again, barely feeling Lancer’s hands trying desperately to work out the clenched muscles in his back. Blood dripped from the man’s face; his appearance split into two as his smile dropped in opposite directions. Normally, Danny could ignore it; ignore them… but it was worse when he was vulnerable. He couldn’t block them out. And to be completely honest, the past couple of months hadn’t been easy on him.

He and Sam had broken up before they ever began dating. Tucker had maintained under the radar both boyfriends and girlfriends while helping his childhood crush, Valerie, pick off the ghosts Danny had missed. They were still close, the three of them; but Sam had been more distant, avoiding plans with Danny when it was just the two of them… and deep down the teenager knew it was his fault. Everything was.

The 17-year-old bit his lip, blood coating his tongue as he buried his nails further against his flesh. Sam had almost died. She had been willing to sacrifice everything for Danny… and that was something Danny would never have been able to live with. He had fucked up. He had tried to help… and she had almost died. The faint tan scars still visible against her neckline, shining as a reminder in the sunlight and under the florescent lighting in the chemistry lab. Since then, she’d been doing her best to avoid Danny, and Danny let her. He couldn’t face her. He didn’t know how.

That had been months ago, but it still flooded the teenager’s mind every time he glanced in her direction. Every time their hands touched in chemistry… every time she forced a watered-down excuse past purple lipstick. The sigh. That sigh. She had been scared of him that night. He saw it. The fear plagued across her face. The horror. And Danny didn’t blame her because he scared himself nowadays too.

He felt colder than he had been in his youth, emotions concrete against things that troubled his peers. His demeanor seemed further away as he toppled over the puny shadow of his early years. He wasn’t a pushover; Dash didn’t come near him anymore… but he was still outcasted, marked freakshow as newer threats and tougher bullies appeared. Sam had borne witness to things Tucker knew nothing about; she had seen a darker side of Danny that the teenager tried so damn hard to hide. But it was getting harder… the spirits were bleeding through more and more, scratching his mind and haunting him with nightmares that kept the 17-year-old up most nights. Nothing was a comfort anymore. Not even his friends. Not even his sister.

The teenager’s stomach lurched again, and he felt cooper flood his mouth as he bit his lip harder, forcing his eyes shut, cutting off the images around him as the spirits continued to scream. He breathed through his nose slowly, feeling Lancer’s hand grip his fingers as he tried to pry the teenager’s grip baring against his sweaty flesh.

“Wuthering Heights, Daniel!” Lancer breathed, still trying to force Danny’s fingers away from his arm as the small bloody marks from his nails became visible. Despite visibly shaking, and his breathing coming in teeth-chattering waves, Lancer was surprised Danny’s grip remained resilient. Likewise, when Danny had grabbed his wrist in the hallway earlier, when Lancer had startled the teenager, his icy-blue eyes daggered towards him, watching the older man’s actions, his fingers tight and threatening around his wrist… Lancer had been taken aback by the teenager’s strength. Just like now.

The English teacher sighed, giving up and pressing his hand against the 17-year-old’s shoulder once more as Danny lurched, coughing harshly. Concern and sympathy ate away at Lancer’s expression; his own actions feeling clumsy and foreign as he tried to soothe the teenager as much as he could. As much as he remembered. But he hadn’t comforted his own son in almost 12 years… and Danny had become much more distant and independent over the past three. So, the comfort Lancer used to try and reassure the kid, felt awkward, just as the sickened pain written across the teenager’s pale face, looked wrong.

The lights flickered above, and Lancer glanced up, hoping he wasn’t going to lose power as that would add to his already worrying list of problems. Lightening cracked again, a tree in the front yard visible momentarily as a branch fell against the window, rain threatening to break glass, and the distant sound of a tornado signal blaring through Amity Park.

Danny whimpered loudly, clenching his eyes as voices cut through his skull, pounding against the pain enveloped in his forehead and cheekbones, trailing down his jawline and neck. The bed spun despite the teenager being curled into a tight motionless ball, sweat falling from his hairline as the smell of body odor reached his nostrils, and the 17-year-old gagged.

Lancer pressed a reassuring hand against the teenager’s shoulder, murmuring he’d be right back before rising, grabbing the lukewarm rag from the nightstand, and trashcan from beside the bed as he made his way towards the kitchen. After replacing the trash bag and running the rag through cold water, Lancer sighed loudly, pressing his hands against the counter as he watched water droplets forming through the small hole in his ceiling and ping against the metal statues harbored on the bar.

He huffed again, running a tired hand over his bald head as he stared at his reflection in the dark window. The electricity shut off as the lights flickered before the microwave beeped loudly as the powerlines fought against the storm. He didn’t need this. And if there was any type of superior being looking out for him, they’d keep the lights on. At least, Lancer would have one thing going for him then.

He sighed again, glancing towards the direction of his guestroom then back towards his reflection. It was nearing 5am, and despite the sun aimed to rise in an hour, Lancer doubted it would bleed through the storm that had showed no signs of letting up. He wished it would, wished the skies would clear… wished flights would take off because that meant Danny’s parents and sister could fly home. They’d be able to take better care their son… they’d know what to do. Lancer didn’t. He hadn’t been a dad in years… he hadn’t looked after someone in years…

Danny had been miserable all day, this had become evident to Lancer in 4th period as he berated the teenager for once again sleeping in his class. His cocky, sarcastic attitude pushing the English teacher to his limit as he awarded the 17-year-old with another days’ detention. But it hadn’t been until later that Lancer began to notice things he should have seen to begin with. The dark circles, pale complexion, the bloody nose, and red tint painted across sharp cheekbones; his voice, cracked and sudden, as Danny retorted sarcasm aimed to hurt… his stare gazing past whatever Lancer had been teaching, staring at nothing but looking at everything.

Lancer shook his head as he glanced down at the red coffee cup and abandoned bowl of cereal lying in the sink. This had not been in his Wednesday evening plans… then again, there was no way in hell Lancer was going to let the teenager go home to an empty house. Lord knows what could have happened, and the fact that Danny’s temperature had spiked in the night, confirmed any doubts the older man had of letting the kid stay with him until his parent’s plane landed, which had been grounded until tomorrow evening, at best.

The older man glanced back towards his reflection, catching sight of the radar flashing across the television in his living room, silently. The storm was huge, coming from the Gulf, pressure building from the North and East as it moved slowly over Amity Park. And it was only expected to get worse which was ironically befitting. Lancer had played with the idea of taking Danny to the Emergency Room several times within the past few hours; the only thing stopping him was the question of what was more dangerous: Danny’s illness or the storm?

Jack Fenton had argued while on the phone with Lancer that he had half a mind to rent a car and drive back, despite it being a 20-hour drive back to upstate New York. But much to the English teacher’s amusement, Mr. Fenton’s plan had been shot down from his wife in the background, asking Lancer the condition of her son. Danny’s sister groaning loudly in the background, yelling something about embarrassment. But that had been yesterday evening…

And now. Danny couldn’t keep anything down, not even the miniscule amounts of water Lancer had encouraged him to take to prevent dehydration. His fever had spiked from 102 yesterday to 104.8 through the night, and most of the hardened demeanor Lancer had come to expect from his pupil over the years, was vanquished within a matter of hours. The tough, fuck-you-attitude Danny had adapted, was replaced with the youthfulness of his age. Only 17. He was still a kid; scared, alone, and whether he wanted to admit it, trying his best not to cause his teacher any further inconveniences than he already had. And despite Lancer finding the teenager’s attempts admirable, he found himself at a loss of trying to convince not only the teenager, but himself, that he only wanted to help, to make the kid feel better. But Lancer was so far out of his parental element, and he’d never seen a kid so sick before.

It hadn’t taken long once Lancer had settled down for the night, warming his hands against a mug of tea, quietly watching the news, for things to take a turn. Danny had been rather quiet during the drive to Lancer’s house, slumped in the passenger side, forehead pressed against frosted glass and still mumbling in disagreement with whoever thought he needed a babysitter every couple of minutes. The 17-year-old had attempted to convince Lancer he was fine, that he felt better since puking in detention, and his parents were overreacting. And despite sloppily scribbling through his homework, half of which the older man was certain Danny hadn’t even bothered to read, the teenager remained sullen, flushed, barely touching the sandwich Lancer had offered.

After some time spent brooding in a chair at the kitchen table, Danny had apparently concluded his English teacher wasn’t going to take him home anytime soon. He seemed more compliant then, taking up to inspecting Lancer’s memorabilia instead, trying his best to leave everything exactly as he’d found it. The older man had admired how careful the 17-year-old had been when picking up photos or knickknacks, casting weird what-the-hell-is-this glances towards his teacher as he explored.

Something sounded to his right, and Lancer blinked, running another hand over his head as he cleared his mind. Most of the things taking up refuge in the old house were objects ghosted with the memories of previous family, previous love, a previous life. He had never had the heart to take them down… it was creepily comforting.

Lancer sighed, reaching for the water-soaked rag puddling on the counter as something moved in the corner of his eye causing the older man to jump. He turned, facing the 17-year-old leaning heavily against the wooden arch of the hallway, shaking as he pressed a hand firmly against the wall for support, the rest of his lanky form hunched.

“Great Gatsby, Fenton! What are you doing up?” Lancer advanced, his tone slightly harsher than intended causing the older man to grimace. The teenager looked fairly close to passing out, a hand on his stomach firmly, the other grasped at flat wallpaper. Sweat trailing down his flushed face, forming in droplets at the kid’s chin before melting into his sweat-soaked shirt. Red set high across the bridge of his nose, painting his cheeks as he opened his mouth to speak before closing it, confusion setting across his features.

Lancer made a move towards the teenager as Danny stepped back, his eyes wide as they observed the older man cautiously. The English teacher raised an eyebrow, taking another step forward, a sick feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach as the teenager recoiled once more. Lancer cursed softly, pushing his hand towards the 17-year-old slowly, his voice low and calm as Danny reeled back. Lancer hesitated, “I’m not going to hurt you, Daniel.”

Danny pressed against the wall as Lancer took another step forward, leaning a shoulder against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to focus on the swimming interior around him. He couldn’t breathe, the air around him sucked from tired lungs, voices piercing through his head as he raised a shaky hand to his ear, wincing loudly as the spirits around him grew louder. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling his body struggle against the wall supporting him as he jerked away, wincing again as questions pelted him, begging, pleading for his help, for him to look. Look. Look! Just look at what had happened to them!

“Daniel?” Lancer questioned quickly, stepping forward again as the teenager gasped loudly, forcing a hand against his left ear as blood began dripping slowly from his nose, his shoulder slamming against the ugly wallpaper, “Daniel? Danny! Hey!”

The 17-year-old felt something brush against his wrist, and he forced his eyes open against the harsh lights flickering above him. Everything was hot, confusing, mashed together in a nauseating off-kilter vibrancy that hurt; his legs refusing to support him, lungs unwilling to take air as panic took over as he tried to clear his head, as he tried to remember where the hell he was.

He grimaced, sliding against the wall as his legs fought to keep him upright. He felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, weird, gone. He swallowed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, fear crossing his face as he pulled back, red sticky liquid coating his fingertips. Tears threatened to spill as he tried to catch his breath. This was his fault. Everything. And now he had blood on his hands. Sam’s blood.

Piercing cut through as Danny pressed a shoulder to his ear, crying out as the man in coveralls laughed, reaching towards him. Danny dropped to his knees, his fingers trembling as they slid down the wallpaper, forcing a picture of a little boy in a baseball uniform to the ground; the glass breaking around it as it smashed against the wood flooring. Tears clouded his vision as he glanced towards the photo, the blonde-haired kid morphing, mirroring Danny’s own reflection through splintered glass.

“No,” The 17-year-old choked, pulling the photo from the floor, glass splinters slicing his trembling fingers as the kid’s gap-tooth smile distorted. He couldn’t breathe; suffocating fear eating away at him as he realized he was gone. The kid in the photo was gone. Taken, dead, his soul split, lifeless as the portal had taken everything from him. He had died, leaving behind grief and broken disappointment. His friend’s hurt, bleeding out on the side of the road as Danny struggled to hold onto any humanity he had. As he struggled to save those he should have left long ago.

Blood dotted the photo, the boy’s face hidden by crimson, and Danny wiped his hand under his nose again, smearing blood across his face. The innocent boy in the photo was gone; he had killed himself in the Accident, left behind by evil contentment and a nightmarish reality that he’d never been good enough. He was broken, built in a sweetness that no longer existed, a black gaping hole where his soul was, under aching ribs, sweaty skin and a tormented, fucked up version of himself. A black pit of beautiful disappointment. An unlovable thing. He had become something unlovable, the portal killing the good and resurrecting the bad, and even that wasn’t worth much. He wasn’t worth much.

Danny gagged harshly, crumpling the photo in his hands as the leftover glass pressed into his palm. The floor swaying under his body as he grasped the wall for any support he could find. He wanted to go back; to be his parent’s innocent little boy again, to forget about the shitstorm around him, forget about the portal, forget about those he’d hurt, the blood he’d shed. But that was unfixable. He was. And unforgivable. He’d hurt Sam; hurt others, the blood of death splattered on what was left of himself, his human self. And in the end, he was the cause of everything; the collector of souls, the Grim Reaper labelled by Freakshow years ago. The bringer of death.

Lancer took another cautious step forward, crunching down before reaching once more towards the teenager as Danny crumpled sideways, slamming against the wall beside him. The older man faltered. Sweat glistened against the 17-year-old’s face as he gulped for air, his breathing harsh and sporadic as he pressed a trembling hand against his chest, eyes towards Lancer, clearly alarmed by his own breathing. He coughed roughly, doubling over as he caught his breath, and Lancer reached towards the kid, his fingers brushing against the sweat-soaked cotton fabric clinging to Danny’s shoulders.

The 17-year-old flinched, shoving his English teacher away from him harshly, wincing again as he pressed his shoulder to his left ear. He fell backwards, his knees failing him as he slammed against the wall, his head smacking against the small hall table. Darkness swallowed him momentarily, his hands shaking as the photo was crumpled tighter in his hands, letting out a strangled cry as the spirits towered over him, their eyes white, pupils missing as they shouted his name.

The electricity failed as the teenager recoiled violently, and Lancer swore the kid’s cold-blue eyes flashed green before the lights flickered back on, the light in the living room broke, glass shattering to the ground as Danny flinched, gripping one of the iron legs of the hall table, tightly. He eyed Lancer, his knuckles white against black, his forehead pressed against the cold metal, his breathing labored as he pulled his knees towards him in an effort to make his lanky form small.

The 17-year-old coughed, the sound hurting his chest, forcing his headache to crawl, spreading across his shoulders. He grasped at the metal leg of the table, yearning for more cold than the iron rod was willing to give as he sucked in breath after breath. He couldn’t think anymore, the heat had taken everything from him, had taken his core, leaving him with a spinning floor, voices flooding in dizzying waves, and the horrifying notion he was surrounded by death. He had died… the portal had stolen half of him, and now, the nightmares screaming at him, had killed whatever he had left. And the photo crushed in his hand was all he had of forgotten innocence.

Phantom had taken everything. And no one knew. No one understood. The beating, aching heart pounding in his chest was a lie. He was soulless; Phantom was soulless. Welcoming the darkness that swallowed the person Danny once was. And everything else, everything he did, was insignificant. His life was insignificant, a short dull buzz, a flicker. Just shit that happened and none of it meant anything. It was the flick on his lighter as he tried cupping his trembling hands against the wind, trying to spark one of the cigarettes he’d stolen from his father; the light fading, barely there; lighting what has killing him. Because no one wanted Danny Fenton. He was just a mask of stupid disappointment, broken and haunted by his past, damaged by unlovable fear. A shell of a person; a shell of a kid with nothing else to offer the world except the blood he was willing to spill. And then, life moved on.

Something pressed against his wrist, and the teenager yanked it back quickly, clawing at the back of his neck with both hands as he pressed his forehead against his knees, trembling as he tried blocking out all of them. Tried blocking out the tormented and lost souls swallowing him. He clawed again at the back of his neck, pressing his head between his sweaty arms as he rocked on his heels.

Something wet splashed against his joggers, barely noticeable against the heat plaguing him as the 17-year-old coughed. He clenched his arms over his ears as he realized he was crying, hard. He felt sick, wrong, the ghost sense no longer going off because he had nothing else left to give. Tears sliding down overheated flesh, meshing against black cotton as loud pleas left his mouth, the taste of blood sitting on his tongue. Something grabbed his arm, and Danny choked, “Please go away. Please go away. Go away. Go away. Go away...”

His parents would be disappointed. His sister would be a wreck. If they knew. Knew he had killed himself years ago; that the innocence that he once had, was gone; eaten away by the things his parents aimed to hurt. Danny Fenton had surrounded himself in a hypocritical tranquility; believing nothing past the Ghost Zone yet praying to God every night that there was a way out, a way away from himself, from Phantom. Because despite the good he’d done, bad followed him further, bathing his body in the blood of those around him. Sam’s screams, her tears, the fear she felt as Danny shred the last remaining hope of becoming more than the ghost killing him.

Some people deserved to die, and yet, he was the exception. An unkillable thing because the Accident had done that for him; and no amount of pills, cuts, stupid mistakes, or blood could take that from him. A cosmic joke of isolated soulless bullshit. The 17-year-old dug his nails harder into the back of his neck, coughing on the blood in the back of his throat as it smeared further down his chin. Tears mixed with the monster he’d become, crushing his heart as the reality of himself, the fact that no amount of water could wash away the pain he’d caused others, was coated in blood on halfa hands. An unholy thing.

Someone laughed, and Danny flinched, digging harder as something sticky coated his fingertips. The spirits were louder, yelling for him, scratching his skin as they tried forcing him to look; to look at their pain, to look at what had happened to them, at what he had done to them. The 17-year-old gagged as the scent of blood, dirt, and rotting flesh overpowered him. This was his fault. Their lives. Their souls. Death had collected those around him, pulling their individualities from themselves as the teenager tried to hang onto his. Danny was drowning in death, spirits shredding him, ghosts pulling him apart molecule-by-molecule as he constructed more damage than his parents ever could.

Air fell between his lips as his lungs refused to take any more. He couldn’t do this anymore. He needed his friends, his family- but they didn’t need him. They needed Phantom. Leaving Fenton as nothing more than a liability, a liar with cops and parents, a part-time substance abuser as he tried killing what everyone needed. Danny refused to move, pressing his body as hard as he could against the wall as spirits crowded him, ripping skin from his body, screaming for him to look at the damage around him, the lives he had taken.

The grip tightened on his arm, clawing at bruised skin as his world morphed and the ground hovered below him. He was pulled up, his body slamming against the spirits pulling towards him, no longer able to cooperate himself. He gagged loudly as he forced his eyes open, meeting the upside-down bloodied split face of the man in coveralls, an elderly woman praying in the corner, the back of her head blown off revealing dark grey matter.

Danny heaved as some of the grey matter fell from the woman’s white hair to her rosary, liquid meshing against him as the man in coveralls slapped another man, his head decapitating slightly, spewing blood across his vision. The teenager groaned as he glanced towards a German couple screaming at each other in the hall, the wall moving as hot fingers braced against the memories etched in the wood paneling and ugly wallpaper. He whimpered as he locked eyes with a small boy reading in the corner; the boy glanced up from his book and waved towards Danny as the 17-year-old wheezed.

Words passed his ears, muttered and useless as the pleas continued to pierce his mind. Red tears of pain he’d caused, spirits forcing him to look; their bodies distorted and warped as they screamed for the souls he had taken. The ones that had left him, a bloody and tormented ending of human life. His death was coming fast, Danny knew. He could feel it. A sudden drop-off from connection, any humanity left, falling moment-by-moment, a punctuating ending happening so involuntary fast as those would soon realize the monster he had become; realize the death he had collected. Danny retched weakly as the man in coveralls forced his head together, pain screaming from his mouth as lips that no longer wanted to meet, met, and hatred ate away at his features before the heat that fell from the 17-year-old washed over them, their bodies disappearing in the flames.

Danny gagged as the smell of menthol and stale sweat filled his nostrils, his head falling back further as a heartbeat echoed around him. Sweat trailing upward as blood fell back down in a disheveled passion, choking any air left, and the teenager’s body gave out. His eyes connected with the flames engulfing the man in coveralls, his disgust bleeding from his eyes as his face separated again before he disappeared in the fire. Danny whispered, “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save anyone…”

His vision failed as he continued floating through those he couldn’t protect… and death swallowed what was left.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Danny had fallen asleep, and relief settled across Lancer’s features as he took another slow sip of his tea, leaning further back in the couch. The teenager had been pretty quiet, but his looks and constant moving had become a distraction to the older man as he tried re-reading Pride and Prejudice. It’d been a long time since there’d been a kid in his home, and Lancer had forgotten how annoying they could be despite wrangling them during class as he desperately tried to pour some type of education into his students.

Lancer set his book down, glancing towards the television as the weatherman showed another map of the storm outside, the pictures flashing silently across the screen as Lancer hit mute. He sighed as rain began to pelt against the roof, the shutters on his windows slamming against the old brick harshly, and thunder echoing around a few other houses in the neighborhood as wind threatened to tear down the old house. It was going to be a long night if the storm kept up and the damage was probably going to cost him a fortune considering his salary wasn’t worth a lot these days.

The teenager coughed, and Lancer turned to see the kid curled at the other end of the couch. His head resting on the armrest at an awkward angle, his knees drawn to his chest as he refused to take any more space than needed, as he tried to force as much distance between himself and his teacher as possible. He shivered slightly, and Lancer wondered whether he should have told his charge to take the guestroom or given him a blanket… or checked for fever. After all, the 17-year-old had been trying to convince the teacher he was fine over the last few hours, but something about him, something about his demeanor told Lancer otherwise.

Lancer sighed again, setting his mug on the coffee table, eyeing the pile of books crammed into the rickety wooden shelf as it slanted forward. He needed to fix it, to buy another one before it fell, or before the weight of the books forced it down. He swallowed loudly as his eyes met the ripped, yellowed copy of Catcher in the Rye, dust coating it as it lay on the top shelf, untouched and abandoned for years. Despite all the books Lancer had reread, all the books he spent his nights enveloped in, that one, that book, he refused to touch… refused to move, to think about, to reread. Memories sat in its pages, crushed between folded pieces of paper from being read over and over, and that was something Lancer didn’t want to revisit, to think about, to remember.

Danny shifted uncomfortably, and the English teacher leaned back again, pulling his book from his lap once more, opening to the page he’d left off on. Considering it was closing in on midnight, Lancer debated heading to bed, but he hadn’t reread Jane Austen in a while. And besides, with the storm raging outside, and a kid he would feel guilty about waking, the older man considered waiting to see if he would need to dig the flashlights from the back of his silverware drawer before making any further decisions.

The ceiling fan sputtered slightly as the lights flickered, and Lancer grit his teeth as the teenager shivered again, his teeth chattered momentarily. Lancer sighed. The situation was uncomfortable needless to say; but Lancer had been a teacher and dad long enough to know that kids were good at hiding things… especially Daniel as he always had some excuse for his tardiness, his absences… his injuries. And a simple cold could turn quickly because most of the students at Casper High were walking petri dishes. Besides, Lancer and Danny’s parents agreed it was best, if the teenager were to become ill, to be surrounded by someone who could look after him or take responsibility for him if he were taken to the hospital seeing as he was still a minor and given the circumstances.

So yeah, the situation was uncomfortable; and Lancer knew that pissed Danny off. But the Fenton’s had gone with Jasmine to visit several Universities, refusing to let their only daughter attend if they couldn’t ensure the campuses were safe from ghosts. An amusing and almost stupid idea but considering Amity Park had seen its fair share of ghosts, not ridiculous. Besides Lancer could understand the Fenton’s concern, their protectiveness over their children as he once had felt it too. He knew what it was like to want to hide your kids from the evil in the world… to protect them, to hurt anything that hurt them, to give them everything. But that was gone now.

The lights flickered again as the screen door slammed against the side of the house. Wind howling outside as the news channel flashed a weather advisory warning across the screen, and Lancer exhaled, setting his book down, and leaning further against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. It’d been a long day… like most. Lancer spent a good portion of his time trying to keep a classroom of 17-year-olds from laughing over the cringing dramaticism of The Mysteries of Udolpho. Considering most of the books he taught were classic romanticism or gothic, the English teacher understood he was faced with a level of immaturity from his students. After all, it was hard for 17-year-olds to fully grasp the concept of metaphorical and real monsters of society.

The other portion of his day was spent grading poorly written essays over whatever topic he had sought to assign his students for the week. Honestly, Lancer had come to the conclusion that the only capable student in his class, after Jasmine Fenton had graduated two years prior, was Tucker Foley. If only his intelligence would rub off on Daniel, Lancer would have very little to worry about. Clearly, the teenager was capable of decent grades as Lancer had always been surprised when Fenton passed an exam or book report. But he seemed more concerned in his peers, in his life outside academics, to give his grades the attention they needed. He wasn’t stupid, Lancer knew that… and considering he came from a family thriving on higher IQ’s than half the city, the English teacher was sure that if Danny put even a little effort in his studies, he’d have no problem climbing to number one in his graduating class just as Jazz had.

But Jasmine Fenton had been competitive; aiming for greatness through academics and challenging those who threatened her perfect GPA. Daniel, however, competed with his teachers, refusing their help as he challenged them, challenged Lancer on a daily basis. Danny’s comments and cockiness had become a problem in his classroom; his antics or clownishness, difficult, as he proved how very little he cared about his grades. And despite his attitude problem, the older man was almost certain the teenager suffered from ADHD, which would explain his inability to focus most of the time and his forgetfulness.

Today had been no different. And Lancer had given the 17-year-old several chances to correct his behavior, letting his less-than-quiet remarks slide under the radar as he continued teaching. But with the constant bickering between him and Tucker, the annoyed whispers from Sam, falling from his seat twice, and the inability to explain what page the class was even reading from, Lancer had had enough. He’d tried to push back, pointing his ruler in Daniel’s direction and explaining there was an idiot at the end of it; but this resulted in the teenager’s sarcastic question of which end? After the laughter had died down, Lancer retorted that the 17-year-old could find out in detention.

Normally, detention was Lancer’s chance to unwind; to bask in the quiet as he encouraged his students to take the time to go over their studies. But today had been different. Not only had the lights gone out more than twice during his 3-hour prison sentence, but Danny had seemed different than earlier that day. Distracted, his eyes out of focus, shivering, and his quiet, slumped demeanor. Usually, the 17-year-old was pouting, refusing to do any real work, or trying to rally those who shared detention with him. But today he just sat there, quietly tracing some type of drawing on his textbook with his finger, his head resting against his desk.

Lancer had let it go for a while… after all, it was beginning to become obvious something was wrong. But into the 2nd hour, the complete lack of motivation, had become annoying, eating away at the older man’s patience. The other students in the classroom had taken Danny’s character as an invitation to abandon their own work for better things such as texting, making paper planes, or horseplay. Through the 17-year-old’s melodramatic and pitiful attitude, Lancer was losing control of his classroom. That had been when things had taken a turn, going from long to endless.

The older man had risen, scowling the other students into compliance as he made his way towards the cause of his current problem. Lancer scoffed when the teenager didn’t even bother reacting to his presence, but continued tracing over the outline of Thomas Jefferson on his torn-up history textbook. And it hadn’t been until Lancer had slammed his copy of Northanger Abbey on the 17-year-old’s desk that Danny reacted.

He jumped, flinging his book from the desk as he jerked towards Lancer, a look of horror crossing his face as he straightened slightly. The older man crossed his arms, a stern look casted down as he raised an eyebrow while the teenager scrambled to grab his textbook from the floor, flipping to a random chapter. Lancer stood there for several minutes, ensuring Daniel was at least pretending to read the words in front of him, and to enforce his authority as the superior in the classroom to his other students. This didn’t last long.

Once he had situated himself back at his desk, opening his book to the last page he’d read, Danny had raised his hand. Lancer raised his head towards his pupil but ignored him and continued reading. After a few minutes, the teenager put his hand down but forced it in the air a few moments later. Again, the English teacher refused to acknowledge his student’s attempt to leave detention. Normally, Danny would give up and ride out the rest of his punishment, partially compliant. Lancer had learned this during the kid’s Sophomore year; refusing to acknowledge or give the teenager permission for whatever excuse he had, was the only way to ensure he completed detention without further incident.

Lancer watched from his peripheral as the 17-year-old dropped his hand, sighing loudly as he continued scanning the words in his barely passible history book; Lancer smiled slightly. Some quiet had passed, relaxing the mood in the room as the older man felt himself beginning to unwind from the day once again. A few seconds later, however, there had been a noise, and the older man had glanced up to see Daniel rushing from the room, his book once again smacked against the tiled floor. The remaining students had jumped, conversing amongst themselves as their eyes watched the open-door slam against the wall.

Lancer grit his teeth, a scowl crossing his face as he calmly rose, placing his book on his desk before glaring towards the remaining students. They straightened, returning to their tasks as the older man exited the classroom, closing the door gently as he traced over the small indent in the wall from the door handle slamming against it. He shook his head as he glared back inside the classroom to his students watching him before looking busy as the wooden door clicked shut.

Out of all his antics, Danny had never defied Lancer enough to leave. And something in his gut told the English teacher this was either a new low from the teenager or an incident that needed attending to. Lancer had hoped all that was needed was a harsh conversation and another week of detention, but as he rounded the corner past the lockers, the root of the 17-year-old’s behavior became evident.

The older man closed his eyes briefly, sighing loudly as he ran a hand over his bald head and made his way towards the kid. Danny was hunched over one of the trashcans in the hallway, retching loudly as his arms trembled slightly, threatening to bring him down from his own weight. He had expected the unpleasant smell of half-digested food, but what Lancer hadn’t expected was the warmth radiating off the teenager as he reached out to grasp his shoulder. Both him, and the 17-year-old gasped, and Lancer stumbled back slightly as Danny pushed him away, slumping against the wall as he slid to the floor.

Danny had landed with a small smack, and he groaned as he eyed his teacher before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. He mumbled something that sounded like a half-assed apology as Lancer inspected his character. Pale, sweaty features set in a flushed undertone as pink ate at his cheekbones. The English teacher ran another hand over his head as he glanced towards his classroom, then back towards his pupil, before turning and advancing towards the class.

After explaining that he felt like cutting detention short due to the storm clouds forming outside, Lancer had gathered his belongings, slinging Danny’s tattered backpack over his shoulder as he crossed through the halls towards the teenager still slumped against the wall, pitifully. He knelt down, reaching a hand out to rouse the 17-year-old, his fingers brushing against his hairline as he made an attempt to check his temperature before the kid jumped. He grasped Lancer’s wrist, pulling it from him harshly, his fingers tight enough around his arm that the older man could feel Danny’s fingernails digging into his flesh.

The teenager’s eyes were locked on his English teacher; the warm blue turning cold and hard as a menacing look crossed his face. Lancer had opened his mouth to speak but closed it a second later as Danny tightened his grip. He’d been surprised by the amount of strength the kid possessed seeing as he always seemed lanky, awkward, and weak. And the threat crossing the 17-year-old’s face sent chills down Lancer’s spine as Danny blinked, releasing his grip before apologizing quickly.

The older man stilled, his eyes glancing over his student as the kid refused to make eye-contact with him. Lancer sighed, offering the teenager a ride home, only to find out that his parents had been out of town for the past few days and weren’t due back until later that evening. And after a very awkward but short conversation with the Fenton’s and finding out their flight had been cancelled due to the oncoming weather, Lancer was driving a pissed off teenager to his own house until his parents returned. Thus, claiming an uncomfortable situation which neither Daniel nor Lancer liked much. But the older man wasn’t a monster… and if a night of letting Danny occupy his guestroom until he was convinced the 17-year-old was fine was what it took, then the English teacher would bare through it.

Lancer sighed again, letting his mind drift as he felt his body relaxing, sleep creeping towards him. Outside, the wind ate away at the chimes and shutters surrounding the house, lightening sparking against powerlines as the lights wavered in and out. Thunder roared overhead, creating a low rumble through the old house as the imminent threat of a tornado loomed in the horizon. But silence engulfed the English teacher as the thought of just resting for a few minutes evaded his tired mind…

It hadn’t been the flinch that woke Lancer, but the loud crash of things falling. Panic clouded his mind as the thought of a tree crashing through the front windows washed over him as he jumped up, cursing loudly. He glanced towards the windows quickly to find them intact and instead turned his attention in front of him as another sound hit him. Heaving.

“Lord of the Flies!” Lancer remarked as he turned his attention towards the sound. The coffee table had been overturned, laying on its side, its belongings littering the floor. And the rickety bookshelf the older man had been wary of earlier, had fallen slightly; its shelves no longer apart of it as the books wedged between non-existent space had crashed to the floor, surrounding Danny as he struggled to breath.

Lancer made his way around the overturned table, crouching down next to the kid as he gagged again, vomit coating his sweatshirt, puddling on the floor below as sweat trickled down his temple. The older man put a steady hand on the teenager’s shoulder, running his hand between his shoulder blades as the muscles in the 17-year-old’s back spasmed between heaves. Lancer let out a slow breath, his voice low and calm, “Alright. It’s alright, Daniel. You’re alright, just get it up. It’s alright…”

The teenager tensed, breathing through his nose lowly as he spit foul-tasting salvia from his mouth, and concentrated on settling his stomach. He felt disgusting, sweaty and embarrassed. He could feel vomit squished between his fingers, and the fact that he had just emptied the contents of his stomach on his English teacher’s floor, mortifying. But considering he had forgotten he wasn’t home, and in attempt to seek out the bathroom, tripped over the coffee table, not only taking it and its belongings down, but falling against the bookshelf, bringing a pile of books crashing to the floor with him, was more humiliating than the acidic puddle in front of him.

Danny closed his eyes briefly, breathing slowly as he leaned back on his knees, scrapping a hand against his mouth and chin. He turned his head towards his teacher but refused to make eye contact because he was afraid of the expression on the older man’s face. The 17-year-old groaned inwardly, setting a hand on his stomach as he let the short silence pass over them; the television cutting off then flicking back on a second later.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Lancer asked softly as he glanced around at the state of his living room. Surely, the shelves or books had fallen on top of the kid when he fell, and given the state of the coffee table, Lancer was betting the kid had tripped over it or something. The splintered shelves could have cut him, or his foot could have gotten caught on the ledge, and injury wasn’t something the older man really wanted to add to his list of problems right now.

Danny was quiet for a while, making brief eye contact with Lancer before looking back towards the floor. He swallowed loudly against the hiccups forcing themselves up his throat and hunched his posture further. He looked downright miserable which didn’t help Lancer’s current situation. The 17-year-old swallowed again before muttering quietly, “Sorry, I’ll help you clean up… I’m sorry about all the mess.”

Lancer sighed, relief washing over him as the kid finally spoke. He ran a hand over his head as he bowed his head, trying to get the teenager to look him in the face, “That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Fenton. Are you hurt?”

Danny froze for a few seconds before meeting the teacher’s gaze slowly. He shook his head, his body twitching slightly as hiccups still resonated through his chest. Lancer nodded, glancing over the kid quickly, looking for any visible injuries but finding none, and ran his hands over his knees before standing, exhaling loudly.

The wind howled outside, and the branches on the tree outside knocked against the window forcefully as Lancer glanced towards the clock hanging on the wall. It was around 2am, which answered two questions: Was he to be expected at school tomorrow and was he going to get any sleep tonight. The 17-year-old coughed gently, and the older man turned his attention back towards the teenager.

“Well,” Lancer started carefully, “Let’s get things cleaned up.”

Danny cast his gaze back towards the floor as he moved to pick up one of the books next to him. Lancer crouched down again, pulling the book from the kid’s grasp, “What are you doing, Daniel?’

The teenager glanced up slowly, “You said to clean-”

Lancer shook his head, cutting the kid off, “The state of my living room doesn’t concern me right now, Mr. Fenton. You, however, do. Despite what you and your friends may think of me, I’m not heartless.”

Danny’s expression shifted as the older man grasped the kid’s arm, pulling him to his feet. He put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder as he swayed slightly, an eyebrow raised as a silent question flashed across the teacher’s face. The 17-year-old swallowed and gave Lancer a weak nod before crossing his arms over his stomach gently, stepping around the chaos as he followed Lancer into the hallway.

He shivered harshly as his ghost sense went off, and his eyes danced over the photos nailed against the ugly wallpaper in the hallway. Pictures of family- of times no one at Casper High knew of; a different side of the English teacher never shown. Danny lingered on the photo of a young boy with blonde hair, a huge gap-toothed smile swallowing his face as he held his ice cream cone towards the photographer. Confusion crossed the teenager’s face as he glanced over some of the other photos, the blonde kid present in almost all of them… and a pretty woman in a few others, posing next to the kid. As far as everyone knew, Lancer didn’t have kids, and he wasn’t married.

His ghost sense went off again, and Danny shivered as he paused momentarily, the photos around him blurring together, spinning into a colorful mess as dizzying fatigue washed over him, his limbs shaking as they fought to bring him down. He made a slight noise as he glanced towards the end of the hall, towards a small boy hiding behind a half-closed door; his green eyes huge and alarmed as he watched the teenager. Danny swallowed, Lancer’s questions floating over him as the boy peered further out the door, motioning for the 17-year-old to follow.

The teenager made an attempt to move, the hallway spinning as the pictures on the wall melted together in an array of sickening colors, and Danny blinked slowly as several spirits began to crowd around him, blood forced from gruesome wounds. A sharp noise escaped his mouth as he glanced back towards the boy, only to find the doorway empty, the door fully open now. Chills washed over him as his knees gave out, and his ghost sense sparked again.

Someone grasped at him, a hand gripping his arm while another snaked over his torse, pulling him back on his feet. Black filtered through Danny’s vision momentarily as his body went limp before he groaned, looking towards his left as Lancer adjusted his grip on his torso, asking something Danny couldn’t grasp. The teenager’s feet dragged against the wooden floor as he struggled to gain his footing, but his legs felt clumsy and foreign. He felt like shit, weird, split into two, leaning heavily against his teacher as the older man led him slowly down the hall, towards the room that’d been previously occupied by a scared little boy.

The 17-year-old hadn’t realized he’d been deposited on a bed until everything stopped moving. The room swaying slightly but no longer spinning in a multitude of nauseating colors. Heat pressed against his body as he glanced over the side of the bed towards the boy he’d seen earlier, hiding behind the rocking chair in the corner. His eyes fixed on the teenager as cold air pushed past Danny’s lips, and he shivered again, turning towards the ceiling fan as his shoes were slipped off his feet, followed by his socks.

He groaned as Lancer pulled his hoodie over his head gently, forcing his arms from the sleeves, leaving him shivering against the warmth dotting against his skin. He was freezing. His ghost sense going off every few minutes, causing his body to ice, goosebumps breaking out over his arms as warmth rushed through him a second later. He blinked slowly, feeling something press against his forehead, and he squinted towards Lancer leaning over him.

“We need to get that fever down, Daniel,” He whispered, running his hands through the kid’s messy black hair. Danny groaned, tuning out his teacher’s movements as he turned back towards the boy hiding behind the chair, hoping that this was as worse as his night got…

……………………………………………………

Heat. Heat blistered against tired flesh and limbs that refused to move… and warmth. Warmth pressed against bruised flesh gently, killing the heat sweating against him, weighing him down in thick blankets. Warmth poured over him, comforting him, drowning the confusion and panic etched in his veins, and Danny suddenly found himself calling to his childhood memories.

“M-mom?” He whispered, his voice barely audible as it scratched past his throat, rough and raw. He swallowed harshly, trying to force his eyes open but finding the task difficult. His body felt heavy, weak, tired… he felt like he had gone several rounds with Skulker… or someone worse.

“Shh, don’t talk, Daniel,” Someone said softly, and Danny blinked slowly, squinting against the dim lights swaying next to him. He shivered as shadows danced around him, and he groaned loudly as he tried pushing himself up. Strong warm hands pressed against his chest, keeping him in place as any strength the teenager had, left him momentarily.

Warmth threatened to pull him under again, and Danny swallowed, his head lolling to his right as he forced his eyes to stay open against flickering, dancing lights. Something pressed against his temple, his cheek, his neck, dampening the fire momentarily wherever the warmth touched, lingering against his skin just long enough to cool the sweat clammed against his body.

Danny coughed harshly as he opened his eyes sluggishly, unaware he had closed them, and he glanced around disoriented, his neck aching from the little effort he put into turning it. His vision wavered slightly, and the 17-year-old groaned as he made another feeble attempt to move only to be stilled by calm hands.

“Just relax, Daniel. Otherwise, I might be obliged to add to your weeks’ worth of detention,” Someone chuckled softly, and Danny forced his eyes open again, “Mr. L’ncer?”

The 17-year-old winced as his voice met his ears, weak and small; the syllables barely leaving his mouth as his tongue felt heavy against his teeth. He swallowed, his mouth feeling cottony and thick as his eyes lazily met his English teacher’s face hovering above him; a stern expression settled on tired features.

The teenager groaned loudly, closing his eyes briefly as the room began to spin, leaning his head back as he listened to the silence surrounding him. A quiet popping echoing around him, and Danny squinted, noticing several candles sitting on the counter and next to him, their flames flickering wildly. Confusion crossed his face as Lancer leaned further over him, “The power went out a while ago, so I had to improvise as I couldn’t find any batteries for the flashlight.”

The older man held up the flashlight, shaking it gently as confusion continued to sit on the 17-year-old’s face. He blinked slowly as he tried to piece together everything. But it was hot. And he felt weird, sick, his mind a muddled mess of exhaustion; his headache still pounding behind his eyes. He tried moving again, sitting up slightly before being pushed back down gently as Lancer sighed, “I swear, Mr. Fenton, do you ever listen?”

Danny swallowed, doing his best to understand his surroundings. He sighed loudly, letting his head fall behind him as he slowly connected the dots. He was in a bathroom. More importantly, he was lying in a warm bath, shivering against the heat beaded on his skin. And more embarrassingly, Lancer was soaking washcloths in the water, pressing them against his face, wiping down the sweat that was forming on Danny’s body. It took him longer than he liked to realize his shirt was gone, gentle fingers pressing lightly against his torso, covering every inch of heat that surrounded the bruised and scarred flesh. Whether or not he was wearing further clothing wasn’t something Danny tried to think about, and if he had the energy, he would have protested this level of comfort. This level of embarrassment. This level of weakness. But he felt too tired, too sick, and too hot to care.

Something moved in his peripheral, and Danny peered at the end of the tub to find the boy from earlier sitting on the edge, his gaze still watching the teenager. He bent down slightly, his blonde hair covering his face as he touched the water before jerking his hand back and shivering. Warmth hit him as Lancer washed over his chest, and the 17-year-old squinted, his eyes still watching the boy, refusing to let his exhaustion overpower him.

The boy disappeared momentarily before returning to his spot at the edge of the bathtub, a rubber duck in his hand. He set it in the water gently, pushing it in Danny’s direction before smiling widely, his two front teeth gapped, three missing from the bottom. The 17-year-old stirred, pressing against Lancer’s hands as his eyebrows furrowed together, and he yelled, “Hey!”

The boy jumped from the ledge, fear setting on his face as Danny struggled against his teacher’s grasp. His ghost sense went off, goosebumps breaking out over his naked skin as the boy disappeared, and the teenager let out a strangled cry as he shoved Lancer’s hands away, leaning over the edge, water splashing to the floor as he scanned the hallway for the boy. The 17-year-old gripped the slippery ledge of the tub as he scrambled to pull himself up, water slapping against the ground loudly.

Lancer gripped the kid’s shoulders, forcing him back down as alarm crossed his face. He held the teenager down as the candles flickered, water soaking into his khakis as the 17-year-old continued to thrash. The older man let out a quick breath as he tried grabbing the kid’s attention, “Daniel! Danny!”

The teenager stilled, his gaze moving from the hallway towards his teacher as his nickname left Lancer’s mouth. The older man sighed softly as he felt the kid’s body relax, his grip loosening on the bathtub as the teacher eased him back down. The alarm that crossed Danny’s face earlier, vanishing as confusion set in, his head smacking once again against the back of the bathtub as exhaustion ate away at his features.

He exhaled loudly as Lancer pressed a washcloth against his forehead, leaving it there for several minutes before repeating the action. Danny swallowed softly, closing his eyes against the dimly-lit room as his teacher cleared his throat, “I’m sorry about the circumstances, Daniel. But your temperature spiked again causing you to pass out, and I had no other way of bringing it down quicker. I know it’s uncomfortable. My son freaked too.”

Danny turned towards his teacher’s voice but kept his eyes closed as his mind spun violently. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to understand the information, as he tried to recall the pictures on the wall in the hallway. He coughed, sweat dripping from his hair plastered against his face, “The kid…”

“In the photos. Yeah,” Lancer sighed, wiping across the teenager’s chest again before pressing another rag against his forehead, “He passed some time ago… a car accident.”

The 17-year-old’s eyes opened slightly as he met his teacher’s sad smile before his focus lazily danced towards the hallway. The boy stood there, leaning against the doorway as he fumbled with the zipper on the bottom of his blue jacket, worry flashing across his face as he met Danny’s gaze. The teenager swallowed again, closing his eyes as he turned his head away from the door, sweat rolling down his cheeks as it dripped from his chin.

“Hey…” He muttered softly as he tried calling the boy closer, as he tried to connect the dots. He felt like shit. Even after being extremely sick after the Accident, he didn’t remember it feeling like this. Then again, that had been 3 years ago… and Danny hadn’t really been sick since. But maybe that had to do more with Phantom. Maybe he’d left… leaving the 17-year-old as a barely alive thing. Maybe this was his immune system dying, the other half giving out as it had struggled to survive with half function over the years. Maybe this was the portal killing the other part of him, claiming what it had started.

Danny’s teeth chattered loudly as he shivered against the warmth, “I shou-should call my parents…”

“I assure you they’re fine, Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said calmly, rewetting a washcloth and pressing it against the teenager’s neck, “They’re just concerned, trying to find a quicker way back to New York… unfortunately, the storm is making that difficult.”

The 17-year-old swallowed slowly, confusion washing over him before swallowing again. He coughed, his throat raw and his mouth dry like sandpaper, feeling his mind slipping, the reality he could understand becoming harder and harder to grasp. Everything was muddled, fuzzy, hard to comprehend.

“I- I should call them,” He muttered softly, “Apologize for killing myself… they’re going to be-be so- disappointed in me…”

Lancer froze, alarm flooding through him as he choked. He watched the confusion on Danny’s face melt, his features relaxing slightly as moments passed. The older man turned the teenager’s face towards him, shaking his shoulder gently as he let out a sharp breath, “What? Mr. Fenton- what! What does that mean? Daniel? Daniel- Danny!”

The kid whimpered but other than that, showed no sign that he had even heard Lancer’s questions. The English teacher took a few slow breaths, closing his eyes as he forced the panic back down. Perhaps he had misheard… or the 17-year-old’s temperature was getting to him. Hallucinations and muddled speech were common, so perhaps, that’s all it was. Thoughts of a delusional and feverish mind.

Then again, Danny’s attitude had shifted over the years as he still maintained his cocky and sarcastic demeanor… but darker things lurked over him. Lancer knew the kid smoked from time-to-time, and he had heard from a few rumors that Fenton had become no stranger to weed or alcohol. Then again, the aspect of rebellion was fairly common in teenagers, and Lancer couldn’t see the Fenton’s letting their son get away with anything too serious. But perhaps they didn’t know… perhaps they didn’t know about their son’s newer habits. Or the fights. The grades. The attitude problem. The bruises or scars. Perhaps Danny was hiding his true self from them just as he was from his peers.

But it wasn’t Lancer’s place. Not exactly. Sure, he cared for the kid, as he did for many of his pupils. But Jack and Maddie had become neighborly to him after the loss of his son, and the divorce. They expected Lancer to keep Jasmine and Daniel on the straight-and-narrow when they entered high school… which Jazz was no problem… but Danny. Danny was a different story.

Every direction Lancer took, the 17-year-old steered in the opposite direction. And it seemed even worse the last couple of months. Lancer knew something had happened between Fenton and Manson… and Danny seemed really broken up about it. After all, he had overheard Foley’s comment that the two had begun dating… among other things. And rumors were they’d been caught in the Janitor’s closet several weeks prior… But for the past few months, both Danny and Sam could barely sit next to each other, let alone look at each other. And most of the flirting Lancer had come to expect from the two, was replaced with cold stares, harsh short comments, and feeble excuses as to why they couldn’t work together.

Something sounded behind him, and the English teacher jerked, turning his head quickly towards the hall, squinting against the flame’s shadow dancing over the dark doorway. He scanned the empty area before closing his eyes briefly, breathing slowly through his nose, allowing his thoughts to calm as thunder roared overhead. Most nights Lancer could swear his house was haunted. Haunted by the memories of his past, the memories of his wife, his son… the life he missed every day. But that was ridiculous. An idealization deluded from the minds of Jack and Maddie Fenton… and nothing more.

The lights flicked several times as one of the lightbulbs above the bathroom counter popped, before burning out. The TV in the living room spluttering to life, news blasted through old speakers loudly before silence and darkness once again evaded the small house. Lancer sighed, running a hand over his head, listening to the rain pelt against the roof. Despite it being close to 10am, the storm hadn’t ceased… in fact, it seemed worse with every passing hour which was ironically befitting given Lancer’s current situation, and Danny’s condition.

The English teacher sighed loudly, wringing another washcloth out before pressing gently against the teenager’s forehead, cheeks, and neck as lightening cracked against the house. The 17-year-old whimpered softly, his eyebrows drawing together momentarily before Lancer shushed him, forcing another rag against his forehead lightly. Despite trying his best to bring the kid’s fever down, the older man was more than certain he was doing little to cause a significant change in the teenager’s temperature. Or at least it felt like that.

When the 17-year-old had passed out in the hallway, collapsing against Lancer the second he was pulled from the floor, going limp in his arms as the older man tried his best to hold Danny as gently as he could, Lancer had been at a loss. But when the lights spazzed, the shutter door slamming against the entryway and the power gave out, Lancer was close to both panicked tears and self-consumed anger.

He’d been angry over the situation. Over the power going out, the storm wreaking havoc outside and forcing flights to ground. Angry with his own useless attempts to soothe the teenager he thought he could care for. Angry he hadn’t taken Danny to the Emergency Room earlier and angry, that in spite of everything, the teenager seemed to be getting worse rather than better. Panic had eaten away worry and concern, leaving fear racing through thoughts riddled with questions; his own parental instincts, despite having died long ago, blaring as every sound, every cough, every whimper, and every unconscious groan that whispered from the 17-year-old’s mouth, sent Lancer’s senses on high alert.

Something that had scared Lancer more than he could account for was the fact that the 17-year-old was crying, hard, and his temperature. The moment he was near, the heat melting off Danny was deeply concerning, sweat plastered down pale flesh, dripping in puddles down his face and soaked through hand-me-down clothes Lancer had given him earlier. The teenager had been on the verge of hyperventilating when Lancer pressed his hand against his forehead, worry and panic lacing his tired mind as Danny cried harder, pleading with fevered hallucinations to leave and forgive him.

The thought of which was worse, the storm or Danny’s illness, no longer a debate but a firm decided answer that should have been sought long ago. But Lancer wasn’t sure if he would be able to find his keys in the dark, the rain pounding sideways against the windows as it threatened to break glass… and even though it was early morning now, the sun having rose two hours prior, it was still black as hell outside. Lancer’s own attempts to calm the teenager were futile. He was out of his element… so beyond his own familiarity, and he had forgotten how to soothe his own child. Lancer needed help, he needed another adult, and Danny needed a parent, but the older man hadn’t been a parent in a long time…

…………………………………………………………………………………….

He wasn’t a hero. Because a hero wouldn’t do this. A hero couldn’t. And Danny Fenton was no hero. He’d shed blood through Phantom hands, ghosted in hellish torment as he sat, throne to bodies and souls collected at his feet. Human hands forever red with mortal lives, halfa instincts more dead than alive as Fenton became a facade for Phantom. A mask. A plaything. A puppet of normality and bitter resentment as Phantom was forced to live in a barely alive flesh suit. And now, only now, was the teenager hit with the realization that he was no hero. He’d never been.

He’d been a boy. Stupid and ignorant in childish idealization, playing make-believe, costumed in his parent’s clothes, pretending to be something more. Something better. But he wasn’t. He was joke. A harsh cosmic occurrence of puny humanity and preemptive temperament of selfish actions. Cocooned in the tranquility of his youth as he tried to convince himself that he was more than the blood dripping from halfa hands, that he was the savior of death instead of the bringer. But he’d been stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Insignificant. A joke.

Danny Fenton was a joke of unlovable fear and horrible outcomes. Death followed him. Shadowed by terrible posture and cold features. Sam had fallen for the wrong boy. Had loved the wrong boy. Fenton wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save her… fuck, he couldn’t save anyone. He was just a stupid kid with stupid luck. A false identity born to humanity, mirrored from the reality of Phantom, a messenger, a front for what had killed him years ago. Fake bravery. Fake chivalry. Everything fake.

Ectoplasm oozed down his temple, sliding past his left cheekbone, gathering at his chin as sweat and dirt fell past, splattering against ashen snow and green puddles of forgotten souls. Blood pooling from open wounds, forced between busted knuckles and broken fingers as red stained white. Danny choked, his fingers pressing tighter across Sam’s neck as blood gushed from wounds he couldn’t close… from a death he couldn’t stop. From a love he couldn’t lose.

The purple haloed around Sam no longer vibrant or visible through dark crimson, eaten away by the innocence of her youth, and the immorality dripping from Danny. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a good guy… and Phantom? Phantom couldn’t save her. Phantom couldn’t save anyone. Ever. But Phantom wouldn’t have done this… he couldn’t. Fenton had.

Fingers slipping from flesh, Sam’s necklace pulled from her neck as Danny fought for a better grip, forcing the broken bones in his right hand to bend, to curve, to keep blood from puddling around him… to fix this. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t a way to fix it. A way to fix death. To restore what was lost. What he had taken. What he had always taken. Over and over and over again.

And now, because he wasn’t willing to live without Phantom, Fenton had destroyed the one thing he loved more than anything. The one girl he loved more than anyone. The one girl willing to fight for him instead of Phantom. But that had been a mistake. Sam loving him had been a mistake. He and Sam had been a mistake. An intimate beautiful mistake.

Danny wasn’t the same person she’d fallen in love with. He wasn’t the same person he used to be. He was different. Darker. Quieter. Colder. He was awkward in his own shadow, uncomfortable in a foreign skin as he allowed Phantom more and more control. Danny Fenton was a waste. Danny Phantom wasn’t. He was the thing people needed. But Phantom wasn’t the one Sam had loved. He wasn’t the one she trusted. He wasn’t the one she tried so desperately to save… He wasn’t the one who had killed her.

The fight was over the second it’d begun. Box Ghost had slipped through the Ghost Zone, followed by Skulker and Johnny; the three musketeers of complete failure as they threatened to destroy the state of New York. But Danny had barely broken a sweat. Ghosts were easier now; less challenging than in his youth, repetitive and old, and most of the time, the teenager had bigger things to worry about. Like Spirits. The Veil. The Spirit World. And Vlad. There was always Vlad fucking Masters. A pain in the Fenton family ass… not that Jack would ever admit it.

Snow had started littering the ground in heavy flurries by the time Vlad appeared. Danny had sat on the park bench for hours, waiting for the stupid pointy-haired bastard to make an appearance; after all, Danny had gotten his message the night before when he was pulled into the Veil. He always got the message while in the Veil. He wasn’t welcome. He was never welcomed. And the Spirits collected within made sure he knew it, made sure he stayed long enough to understand the damage he had caused, the lives he had fucked, and the lives he had taken. Many in the Spirit World knew him, but he knew very little about them.

Despite knowing almost everything about the Ghost Zone, the teenager knew almost nothing about the Spirit World. About summoning. The Veil. The Spirits. He only knew how to tune them out, but the older he got, the more his power grew, the harder it was to keep them in check. Too many times had he been caught in public, or with his parents, or his sister, talking, ranting, yelling or even fighting Spirits that refused to leave. He couldn’t block them out. Their voices, cries in the dark, hands pulled through murky water towards his body as he dreamed, screams echoed through restless thoughts. They were getting harder to ignore��� harder to kill.

Drugs didn’t really work anymore, barely a dull buzz of quiet whispers, and other outlets were laughable options. Weed made it hard to focus between Fenton and Phantom, his abilities harder to control… and the Spirits had barely left. Ecstasy was great, the screams a distant thought, the Spirits warping into smokes of green, yellow and red; but Phantom disappeared too, refusing to appear for several days after. And Acid… Acid just made the teenager more jittery, more paranoid, more on-edge than he already was.

Vlad had taught him a few tricks to keep the Spirits quiet enough to function before he died. He’d promised to teach Danny more, but his death made that almost impossible. Unlike the Ghost Zone, the Spirit World lacked a supernatural possession; rather turning anyone such as Vlad, normal and human- barely able to summon Danny through the Veil to talk. And Danny? Danny’s powers were pretty much useless inside the Veil, humanity coursed through fragile bones, muscle, and skin as blood beat through a half-alive thing. The teenager could barely summon, barely survive a night in the Veil, of being pulled through, forced out-of-body through airless lungs and the stillness of a barely beating heart.

In the Spirit World, the teenager was human. So very human. And so very vulnerable. A War progressed through the Veil, the Spirits capable of darker, more sinister realities than Ghosts such as Skulker or Freakshow could ever procure. A world of Death. True Death. The promises of the Ghost Zone vanquished through shreds of paper-thin souls of victims to the War. Death in the Spirit World meant no Ghost Zone after. No other World beyond. No connection or tie back to humanity. To the Human World. Nothing. Just black. Just…

The 17-year-old’s ghost sense had been going off for hours; his teeth chattering as he pulled the thin green jacket closer, cursing Vlad for taking his sweet time. To any untrained individual, the teenager appeared to be alone… but Danny was never alone. Not anymore. His shove through the Veil on his 16th had killed any isolation or solitude he had. They were always there. Always watching. Always with him.

The teenager grit his teeth as he smacked his head against the bench behind him, staring towards the grey sky as white dust fell in clumps, blanketing Amity Park… and most likely, the rest of New York. The weather had been unpredictable lately; a chaotic shitshow of indescribable patterns, something his father chalked up to some weird readings in the Ghost Zone. Despite never really seeing a ghost, his parents still obsessed over them, inching closer and closer to diving into the portal with each passing week. But Danny, Danny wished he’d never have to see another fucking ghost in his life.

More and more of the transparent bastards had been slipping through the portal lately. Part of that was Danny’s fault. The other, unknown. Valerie had helped pick up the slack, along with the Fenton Duo, but the teenager had more important things to worry about like Spirits. The harder they were to ignore, the more of them appeared… and they could touch him. Hurt him. Kill him… the scars plastered against his right ribs should be evident enough to speak to their danger. He’d barely survived his first trip through the Veil, and Vlad kept pulling him fucking through… mainly because summoning wasn’t something the 17-year-old had mastered yet. And with Vlad dead, Danny doubted if he’d ever actually be able to master summoning… leaving no hope for resurrection.

Something kicked against the teenager’s red converse, and Danny shot up quickly, expecting Vlad to be standing over him. A smile crawled across his face as his eyes met Sam, her black hoodie blowing viciously against the winter air, small specks of white clinging to the fabric. She kicked his foot again, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Danny smirked, forcing his hands in his pocket, his right hand clamped around the red lighter he had stolen from his dad’s secret stash. Whether or not Jack Fenton had noticed a few of his smokes were missing, the teenager would never know. After all, if his father ended up confronting him about it, then that meant Jack would also have to come clean to Maddie about smoking… something he supposedly gave up a few years after Danny was born.

Sam slumped down next to him, her shoulder hitting his as Danny turned towards her, smiling. Sam rolled her eyes, her purple lipstick twisting into a grin as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She sighed, “So, I take it Vlad hasn’t shown?”

The 17-year-old shook his head, before clearing his throat, “No.”

“That’s pretty unusual for him, isn’t it?” She asked, pulling her head up as wind forced her hood down, short black hair flying chaotically. She glanced in Danny’s direction as he flicked some snow off his jeans. He hadn’t really thought about Vald’s behavior- about his pretty punctual habits, but now that it was mentioned, it was rather worrisome the older man hadn’t shown yet. Especially given he seemed rather paranoid the night before. But surely, the older man would have said if he was in danger.

Danny shrugged his shoulders, meeting Sam’s gaze, biting his bottom lip. Pieces of ice clung to her hair, freckled across her face, and the 17-year-old hesitated, before brushing his thumb across her cheek carefully, wiping away some of the fallen snow. He paused, his fingers pressing gently against her jawline, following the curve softly before Sam pressed her hand over his. Danny froze, warmth flooding his face as he refused to advert his gaze.

Sam had been weird lately. She’d been acting weird… almost feminine… which was weird for both Tucker and Danny as they had always seen her as one of the guys. But between a few awkward non-date dates, a few fake-out make-outs, and being caught half-naked in the Janitor’s Closet a few weeks prior when Danny had phased through the wrong room after a fight; Danny was finding it harder to act normal around her. And then there was the Annual Winter Dance last month which neither Sam nor Danny refused to acknowledge, involving some sloppy drinking, heated kissing, and one awkward morning after at the Fenton household as Danny tried sneaking Sam from his room only to be caught by his sister.

Since then, Sam had become more… Well, it was hard to explain because Danny was pretty sure he’d become more of it too. Every moment he was around her, it seemed like he had reverted back to his weird, awkward, clumsy demeanor. He couldn’t talk around her anymore, let alone act normal anymore. His ghost sense unpredictable, his powers uncontrollable as his body forgot how to be him around her. He couldn’t eat or sleep and paying what little attention he normally did in class, unbearable. He couldn’t get Sam out of his head. Her purple lipstick. Her laugh. Her hands clasped around his. Her mouth… Her. And it was driving him insane.

Mentioning it to anyone was out of the question. Tucker had them married in 9th grade. His parents were too hyperactive and weird to be able to deal with their only son dating- let alone his sister’s recollection of her very awkward first date that involved more of Jack Fenton than Danny wanted to picture. And Jazz? Jazz had freaked when she had caught Danny and Sam together the morning after the Annual Winter Dance, forcing both teenagers to attend a lecture involving responsible actions, so asking Jazz for advice was out of the question. Honestly, Danny had found some console in Vlad, but that bastard’s advice was wishy-washy and outdated.

Sam’s fingers brushed over the rough scars on his hand before she trailed up his arm. Her hand hesitating on his shoulder before cupping the back of his neck, her fingers tussling his hair softly. The wind whooshed past, snow raining over them as Sam met the 17-year-old’s gaze, a small smirk painted across purple lips. Danny shivered slightly, brushing his thumb over her cheek again, “I-”

“Shut up,” Sam cut him off, pulling herself from the bench as she pressed her lips against his, pushing the 17-year-old back slowly as he dropped his hand from her cheek, trailing down her shoulder slowly, arm, back. He inhaled loudly, a hand pressed against the small of Sam’s back, the other pressing her closer to him as she kissed him again, one of her hand’s slipping underneath his shirt. Cold fingers pressed against the warmth on his back. Black nails scrapping gently over scarred flesh, fingers through black hair, and Danny’s hands dragging her closer. Sam was driving him insane… but maybe this time, they could acknowledge it… maybe this time, he could tell her how he really felt.

Maybe this time he could tell her he couldn’t get her out of his mind. That he couldn’t concentrate around her, he couldn’t get that night at the dance out of his mind… that she made everything better, made everything okay. He needed her like he needed air. She was a reminder that he was still alive, that he was still human, that he was still more than Phantom. Because she seemed to want him more than Phantom… She liked him. Not Phantom. And that- that was all Danny ever wanted from someone. From her…

Her nails scrapped harder against his back as Sam straddled him; her hair flying in the wind, covering her face, smacking against Danny’s face comfortingly. His hands gentle as they trailed down the rest of her back, her thighs, holding her steady against him. Her lips forceful against his, nails marked against skin, her heart pounding against his. She breathed deeply, “Danny…”

“Well, isn’t this nice,” Someone sneered. Danny pushed Sam off him gently, jumping to his feet as he pressed Sam behind him, his stance protective as he met the stranger’s gaze. The 17-year-old watched as a woman stepped forward, a smirk on her face as she pushed some of her long blonde hair behind her ear. She eyed the 17-year-old, sizing him up as she walked around the small bench. She scoffed, “They said the halfa was young, but I never would have thought this young… Tell me, handsome, do you even know how to tie your own shoes?”

Danny tensed, “Do you want to find out?”

The woman laughed loudly, circling them once more before standing a few feet from him, “Oh, and that wit. I bet you’re a troublemaker, uh?”

She crossed her arms, straightening her posture until she was eyelevel with him. Her skin almost translucent against the white ground, blood dotting against her neck where a necklace should have been. Her bright pink and blue jumpsuit standing out against the snow, fitting the ideal clothing for an 80’s teenager… her blonde hair in half-buns, purple triangle earrings dangling from her ears. She laughed again, shaking her head, her red lipstick twisting slightly as she peered towards Sam.

Sam had risen from the bench, pulling her hoody back over head as her hair still fought against the wind. She forced the sleeves past her hands, her fingers intertwining gently with Danny’s as the 17-year-old stepped forward, “Where’s Vlad?”

The woman cocked her head, her smile offsetting as she held up her hand, inspecting her chipped blue fingernails, “I wouldn’t worry about Grandpa anymore. He’s been taken care of.”

The teenager swallowed, dropping his hand from Sam’s as he took another step forward, his hands burning slightly as Phantom threatened to appear. Danny swallowed, “What did you do to him?”

The woman laughed again, shoving her hands on her hips as she faced the 17-year-old again, “You’ve become quite the gossip in the Veil. Did you know that? Everyone talks about the halfa; the teenage boy with a hitlist bigger than… well… for decency, think of someone historically bad. The merciless angel. The bringer of death. The red. You could say you’ve become very popular amongst Spirits… and to hear, the little ghost boy could be harmed,” She paused, clasping her hands together as a smile painted her face, “Well, that was like Christmas morning.”

Sam reached for Danny’s shoulder, her fingers gracing over the fabric of his hoodie as he stepped forward again, “What did you do with Vlad?”

The woman smirked, “Me? No, honey, I’ve done nothing. See, I don’t really care for the creepy-uncle-lotion-in-the-basket types. You, however, are much more interesting. Much more powerful than Vlad would be… I can feel it. Radiating off you like the wind around you. It’s beautiful… And we can hurt you. We can touch you. Something those pathetic airbags in the Ghost Zone could only dream of. And believe me, pretty boy, there are many in the Veil eager to show you their real power. Eager to walk this Earth again… all we need is the blood of the halfa.”

“Fuck you!” Sam yelled, stepping in front of the 17-year-old, her finger’s gripping Danny’s wrist. Sam took a step forward, her stance tense, her hood down as wind washed over her. Snow beading in black hair, melting down her face as hatred flashed across her features. Her grip tightened around the teenager’s wrist, protectively; and Danny swallowed softly as he realized she wasn’t about to let go.

The woman stepped forward slowly, smirking again as she chuckled, “Call off your guard-dog, Daniel. I have no intention of killing you today… besides, in order for us to be reborn, you have to come to us willingly. Which I give you… a year before you enter the Veil for the last time.”

Danny scoffed, “Unlikely.”

He shivered as he met the woman’s gaze, her smile hiding something that scared the teenager more than the threat. An understanding… knowing. She knew what went through his mind. What he thought about, how he thought about himself… The way she looked at him, the way she smirked towards him, sneering… she knew. About the drugs. The blood. About the recklessness. She knew what stimmed through a tired mind in the nightmarish reality of Fenton from Phantom. She had to know… but the only way she would, would be- Vlad.

Danny glanced down for a second, swallowing loudly. Him and Vlad had had their differences, but they seemed to work it out over the years… so would Vlad really tell people about him? Would he really betray his secrets to other people, well, Spirits? The teenager had confided in him over the years. Not about everything… but about himself, about how he had come to hate Phantom. How he had become forced to live with Phantom’s pain and torment. How he felt, as the years past, and he let Phantom have more power, he could feel reality crumpling around him. Crumpling in, and slipping through his fingers, through the cracks created by Phantom, opened and birthed through the Ghost Zone and Spirit World. How it felt like he was being drained… that his humanity was dying. Would Vlad really betray him like that? After all this time?

The woman scoffed again, “Perhaps. But I’m willing to help you out… give you another nudge in the right direction.”

Confusion crossed the 17-year-old’s face as he stepped forward again, only a few feet from the woman as she crossed her arms, raising her head. She shook her head slowly, “I can see you’re confused, so I’ll make it simple for your stupid hormonal teenage brain.”

There was a flash, and Danny dropped harshly, his hands and arms burning as he felt the shift starting to take over. Phantom gaining control as the Fenton canister, forgotten on the park bench, exploded loudly, and the teenager pressed his burning hands against the snow. Cold braced against his fingers as he looked up, wiping away some green ectoplasm that litter across his body, blood dripping down his chin slowly from a cut on his upper lip. His eyes flashed green as he let Phantom gain control, his body burning slightly as he shifted, the aching pain that plagued him, gone as Phantom took over.

Within a second, he had the woman pinned against the tree, a smirk twisting against his lips as she struggled pathetically. He huffed, his tone cocky as he tightened his grip, “You missed.”

The woman hesitated before laughing loudly, snapping her fingers as Phantom reverted back, forcing Fenton through translucent skin as he was shoved back into his teenage body. Sweaty fatigue washed over him as she kicked his leg, slamming him against the ground harshly, pinning him against the snow. The 17-year-old squirmed, trying to coax Phantom out, trying to shift but finding the task difficult, his fingers tingling and sparking green but refusing to change.

The woman snorted, grasping his hand in hers, smiling down at him as her blonde hair brushed over his chest. She pressed her fingers between his, humming softly before jerking her hand back, bending Danny’s fingers as she clawed at his palm, bones cracking, causing the teenager to scream loudly as he fought against her. After a few seconds, she let go as wind rushed past them, and she pressed her chest against his, stroking his hair back gently. She bent down further, her lips brushing against his ear, “I wasn’t aiming for you, honey.”

The 17-year-old twisted; his head jerked towards Sam as he tried forcing the woman from him. Blood splattered against the snow as Sam fell, her face pressing against the ice, her hand, bloodied and shaky, as she reached in Danny’s direction. The teenager cried loudly as Sam’s hand dropped in the snow, her body going limp as red bled through white. The woman pressed her fingers against the 17-year-old’s cheek as he screamed again; his hands and arms burning as heat clawed through his chest. Sam opened her mouth, purple lips parted but no words came, only tears trailing down pale flesh before green eyes shut.

The woman laughed softly, digging her nails painfully into Danny’s cheek and chin, prying his eyes away from Sam and towards her. Rage ate away at his features, his skin scorching against Phantom as green began to steam off him, his eyes flashing bright green before darkening as his eyes met hers. The woman tightened her grip as green smoke continued to envelope them; a smirk plastered to skin pulled back too tightly as she pressed her clammy forehead against his, gently. She took a deep breath as Danny struggled against her, his skin itching as black ectoplasm began to drip from his nose and ears, running down his face before smacking against the ground. Cold soaking through his clothes as his skin began to burn away, green fading to black, and black sparks radiating from his fingertips as the woman pressed her lips against his.

The teenager jerked away, his gaze meeting Sam’s stilled face. Her features silent, and Danny choked again as he yelled her name, fighting against the woman’s grasp again. Her nails dug once more into his flesh, pulling his face back towards her as black tears fell down his cheeks in thick trails. She thumbed some away slowly before licking the liquid from her thumb and smirking, pressing her chest once again against his.

“Such power. Such a waste,” She bent down further, her lips pressing against his temple, “Two down… See you in a year, lover.”

Pain seared across his chest, and the 17-year-old screamed as her hand pressed over his heart, burning against flesh as the greenish black swallowing him, ceased. His eyes flashed back to blue as he choked, grasping towards her hand before realizing she was gone. His hand pressing over the bloody handprint stained against his shirt as the pain slowly began to evade, and he twisted around, stumbling to his feet as he forced himself towards Sam….

[supersickies]

Summary: "Steve absolutely wasn’t nervous. Compared to every intense and grueling Avengers mission he’s completed, taking care of a sick kid was a walk in the park right? Except when this sick kid was also one of the most precious things within Tony Stark’s life and if anything were to happen to this boy there’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that Tony would dump him in an instant.

So no, Steve was not nervous at all."

OR

Tony has meetings, Steve has anxiety, and poor Peter just has a fever.

A/N: It’s Sicktember 2021! Very excited for this month and to see all of the amazing works! Not to mention it gives me an excuse and the motivation to write as many sickfics as I can! And let's see if I do because writer's block is too real right now :) Anyway thank you @sicktember for coming up with this month of prompts and I hope you all like this little fic! Read it here or click the link to read on AO3! 

Steve absolutely wasn’t nervous. Compared to every intense and grueling Avengers mission he’s completed, taking care of a sick kid was a walk in the park right? Except when this sick kid was also one of the most precious things within Tony Stark’s life and if anything were to happen to this boy there’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that Tony would dump him in an instant.

So no, Steve was not nervous at all.

Tony, however, could see right through the false confidence.

“Relax, Stevie! Good lord, I can feel you panicking from over here.” Tony jokes as he enters the living room and gathers his briefcase and Stark gadgets for his day of meetings.

Steve jolts a bit as he looks up at Tony. “Huh? I-I’m not panicking.”

“You were just glaring daggers into Petey over there, hon.” Tony points out, to which Steve just shrugs with a blush. “There’s really no need to worry Cap, the kid is probably just gonna sleep and cough a bit until I’m back, alright? And if he wakes up and gets antsy or something just heat up some of the soup I made and throw on Adventure Time. Pete’s an easy kid, I swear.”

Steve stands from his chair with a deep breath and nods in understanding. Tony strides over to the super-soldier and takes his face in his hands. “There’s no one I trust more with Peter than you. Except maybe Pepper, but she can literally do everything.”

Steve laughs at that and bends down to give Tony a quick peck on the lips. They break apart so Tony can give Peter’s hair a quick ruffle. His hand pauses on the boy’s forehead as he gauges his fever. His lips quirk downward, he does not love the temperature the kids running at the moment.

With a sigh, he stands up and walks hand in hand with Steve to the elevator. “I think his fever went up, so just keep an eye on that. Friday is down for maintenance so you’ll probably want to wake him up in a bit to take his temperature manually.” The elevator doors open and the super couple shares one last peck before Tony steps in. “I’m just thirty floors down! You’re gonna do great! I love you both!” Tony calls as the doors close and suddenly Steve is alone. Well, save for the snoring spider-teen on the couch.

Steve wanders back to the living room, nervously glancing at Peter as he does. The poor kid is basically in the exact opposite of his regular state. On a normal day, Peter was a bright ball of action, seemingly unable to stop talking or moving at all. But that wasn’t the Peter he saw now.

Instead, this Peter was silent. Sick. There’s an eerie ambiance in the air and Steve hates it.

So, to quell the weird vibe, he turns the tv to TCM, (un-ironically his favorite channel as the rest of the team loved to tease him about) and sets it at a low volume so he doesn’t wake the kid.

He’s just about to the end of an old western film when he hears Peter groan and shuffle around on the couch. The sick teen sits up wearily, his hair a mess and his eyes unfocused. Not to mention his cheeks are deeply flushed with fever, which has clearly gotten worse in the last forty-five minutes.

“S’eve?” Peter slurs as he spots the super solider.

Steve’s focus quickly turns to the kid, who looks undoubtedly sicker. “Hey, Pete. How you feeling, pal?” Stupid question, Rogers. He thinks to himself.

Peter sniffs and shivers with sudden chills. “Mm, n-not v’ry good.” His voice cracks as tears fill to his eyes. His sleep-addled brain catching up to and feeling the full effect of his feverish achy body. He can’t stop his breath as it hitches and the tears spill over. It just hurts so much.

Steve’s up and at the boy’s side almost inhumanly fast, doing his best to comfort him. Unfortunately, he’s no expert on Peter care (i.e, he’s not Tony). If there’s one thing he does know, however, is that you can never go wrong playing with the kid’s hair, which Steve had quickly learned by watching his boyfriend. And while Tony was the “Peter scalp massage pro”, Peter definitely wasn’t picky about who or how. The kid simply just wanted his hair touched.

So Steve did just that. The larger man was relieved to find that the action had the desired effect—Peter had calmed almost instantly, curling up against Steve’s side— but the super soldier was quickly fulled with nerves again as he felt the nearly scalding heat coming from the kid.

When Peter had relaxed enough, Steve grabbed the thermometer Tony had left on the coffee table. Peter spots the machine in Steve’s hand and opens his mouth, accustomed to the routine after being sick all day yesterday as well.

With the thermometer under his tongue, Peter lets his eyes close as they wait for the reading to be done. When it is, Peter lightly jumps at the beep before burrowing back into Steve’s side as the blonde takes the thermometer back and reads its results.

And while Peter looks peaceful once again, Steve is panicking. 103.5. Steve’s not a scientist but he knows that’s not a good temperature for the body to be.

“Friday can you- ah.” Oh, right. Steve remembers that the AI was down for maintenance. Instead, he looks around for his phone, ready to research exactly what he should do for a kid with a near brain-melting fever.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek as he, again, remembers. He doesn’t have a phone right now, as he sat with his last one in his back pocket and it cracked in half. He and Tony had laughed themselves to tears when it happened.

Steve wasn’t laughing now.

He’s thrown back into the moment as Peter groans again, another intense chill running through the kid’s frame. Poor kid must be freezing, Steve thinks.

Freezing.

With that realization, Steve is taken back to his teen years. The years he spent consistently sick and feverish like Peter is now. The years his Ma used to keep him in bed for days, wrapped in every blanket they had in their house.

Blankets!

Steve suddenly remembers how to treat a high fever. You sweat it out, duh. With a tiny smile at the memory of his Ma, he stands from the couch carefully and heads to Tony’s linen closet. He spots a soft looking quilt beside a thick fluffy throw and grabs the two, knowing that when paired with the blanket the kid was already wrapped in they would make the perfect fever banishing covers.

Peter is almost back to sleep when Steve returns, but he hears the man's footsteps and his eyes open again. Steve makes quick work of unfolding the blankets and laying them over Peter. The kid hums, content with the warmth of the added blanked combating his chills, and falls swiftly to sleep. It makes Steve smile, pleased with his ability to care for the sick spidering.

Steve was feeling pretty confident that Tony was going to be just as pleased.

______

Tony Stark was far from pleased.

He had excused himself from his meeting after an hour, intent on checking Peter’s vitals on his phone through the watch the boy wore on his wrist.

What he saw was less than ideal. In fact, it was terrifying. 104.3 should be Peter’s physics grade after perfectly completing extra credit for fun, not his kid’s body temperature. The mechanic bolts to the nearest elevator, paying no mind to the white-collar assholes who awaited his return. They didn’t matter, not when his kid’s brain was melting thirty floors up.

“Steve!” He shouts when the elevator doors finally open to the penthouse. The blonde jumps when he hears his name and his eyes widen as he sees his panicked boyfriend sprinting towards him.

“Tony wha-?”

“Where’s Peter, Steve? Where is he— is he okay?”

Still a bit flustered, Steve just points to the sleeping boy on the couch, still wrapped in the thick blankets. When Tony sees him, his eyes only go wider.

“What, are you trying to fucking roast him?” Tony asks, exasperated. Before Steve can answer, Tony begins removing the blankets from his kid. Cringing at the heat that wafts out from them as they go.

“I-I- his fever got higher! I was trying to help him sweat it out!” Steve stumbles through his explanation.

“Sweat it out? Jesus fuck what are you from the thir- oh my god you’re from the thirties.” Tony halts with the realization. Steve Rogers was borderline a complete stranger to modern medicine and comes from an era of absolute batshit home remedies. The man smoked cigarettes for his asthma for fucks sake.

“Okay, alrighty then. Steve do me a favor and go start a lukewarm bath for me please.” Tony orders in about the most anxiously calm voice Steve had ever heard.

“Okay but Tony-“

“Now please, Steven.” Tony demands once more. Steve gets the memo, fast, and quickly heads to Tony’s bathroom.

Shit.

_____

After a quick dip in the tub and a quick anxiety attack from Tony, Peter’s temperature is back down to a less dangerous level. He’s sat back on the couch in the lightest t-shirt and boxers he owns, sipping ice water through a straw with a fever patch stuck to his forehead. Maybe it was overkill, but you couldn’t tell Tony that.

When the boy's eyes begin to droop Tony takes the water from his hands and helps him lay back down.

“Comfy, bubba?” He asked in a hushed tone. Peter just nods and yawns as he closes his eyes and quickly drifts back to sleep. “Get some more sleep bud.” He hums softly, laying a thin—thin—blanket over his kid.

Steve watches the pair from afar, afraid to step in or offer any more “help”. He doubts Tony will even want to look at him after what he’s done. Which is why when Tony stands and turns to him, he immediately tenses. He’s ready to be yelled at, cursed at, probably dumped.

“C’mere.” Tony says, opening his arms to Steve, inviting him into a hug. The blonde is shocked, sure, but he accepts the hug quickly, silently thinking it could be his last with the man he’s come to love so much.

“Again, Stevie, I can hear you overthinking.” Tony mumbles against his boyfriend's shoulder. He pulls away from the hug and takes the man's hands, looking up at him. “All things considered, you did nothing wrong, hon.”

“Tony I just-“

“You just did what you thought was right. You didn’t know any better Steve.” Tony rebuts before Steve can even finish.

“I’m just…I’m really sorry Tony. You trusted me with your most important person and— I fucked up bad.” Steve apologizes.

“Woah there big guy!” Tony’s brows shoot up at the apology. “First off, language mister.” Tony teases, it makes Steve blush and a hint of a smile ghosts his lips. Tony sees that as a win. “Second, yes, you’re correct. Peter is incredibly important to me. He’s my kid, but you are my Steve!” Tony emphasizes, shaking Steve’s shoulders a bit as if it will help get the point across. “You are incredibly important to me too! You made a mistake, and guess what Steve, that’s human— you’re human!”

Steve smiles sadly and nods before looking back at Peter’s sleeping form on the couch, just double-checking that the kid was truly fine.

Tony huffs lightly, using his fingers to softly move Steve’s head so he’s looking at him again. “Look at me, love. Peter’s fine, you’re fine, I’m fine, and we are fine. Okay?”

Steve takes a deep breath, closing his eyes with a smile. “Okay.” He confirms quietly. He can feel Tony’s hands move to cup the sides of his cheeks as he’s brought into a deep kiss. It quells all of his anxieties. Tony is here, with him, and he’s not going anywher-

“Eeugh, y-you guys ‘re cute and stuff, but the PDA ’s kinda makin’ me nauseous.” Peter’s voice breaks their kiss. Both Avengers turn to the kid, their faces about as red as his feverish cheeks after getting caught.

Tony snorts. “Oh come on kiddie!” Tony pulls Steve’s face closer to his again, this time just peppering kisses across his face. “A man can’t show his boyfriend some love?”

The older men laugh until they hear a legitimate gag from Peter. “N-no I’m serious Mr. Stark—“ Gag. “I’m really nauseous.”

“Steven grab a trash can.” Tony prompts, the same anxiously calm demeanor back in his voice as before.

Steve wastes no time, sprinting to the closest receptacle. “On it!”

[warmblanketwhump]

Just needed to let yo know that your content is exactly what I've been need in more ways than one, thank you. Also may I offer - We love a good whump scenario involving regular sickness right? What about sickness brought on by stress? Being so mentally and/or physically fatigued that your body immune system is struggling to prevent illness like it should?

first off, THANK YOU 🥺 I’m so glad that you’ve enjoyed reading!

second: this idea is amazing and so are you for waiting this long for me to respond to it 😅I wasn't sure if you meant to send a prompt, but it inspired me!

this is my @comfortember entry for prompts 3 and 4: hugs and friends

——————

C’s brisk walk picks up into a run as they jog the last mile homeward to their apartment in the late autumn rain shower. They usually waited for the bus, but B had left them 15 missed calls and a panicked voicemail that begged them to come home. And with that tone of voice, C wasn’t sure what they’d find.

They’re barely up the steps to the external door before the door flies open and B grabs their arm, yanking them in out of the rain.

“B, slow down. What’s wrong?” C shakes the rain from their hair and sheds their raincoat, tossing it in a heap on the floor.

“I-I don’t know. I just - I found A like this when I got home. They've got a fever again. And I know they can’t afford a doctor, and you’re basically almost one-“

“I’m a 4th year premed student. That’s hardly a substitute for a real medical doctor.”

“You worked at the clinic that one summer. You’ve gotta know something.”

C sighs. They knew a few things beyond basic first aid, and apparently that was enough for B. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…I found them on the floor when I got home. They’re burning up. You’ve seen how tired they’ve been, but I just thought-”

“Shhhhh….” C shushes B before bending over and taking stock in the bundled heap on the floor. From the looks of things, A had dropped their bag and summoned only enough energy to crawl to the couch, yank a blanket off of it, and curl up right there on the carpet.

“A? A, can you hear me?” A moans weakly and C can hear the staccato rush of air through chattering teeth. They place a hand on A’s burning forehead. “How long have you had a fever?”

“Cold…” they whisper, shudders wracking their frame.

“A, I’m gonna look you over and ask you some questions, okay?” A’s soft whimper substitutes for consent, so C starts looking them over with gentle hands. They answer yes to feeling chilled, feverish, and achy, but no to having a cough or acute pain anywhere.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“They got home after 2 am this morning, and they were awake by 6,” B volunteers. A shoots them a death glare, and B clams up.

C turns back to A, exasperated. “And how long have we been keeping that sleep schedule?”

“A couple weeks.” The dark bruises around A’s eyes confirm their exhaustion. C imagines they’ve probably gotten a few hours' sleep across an entire week.

"Well in any case, you belong in bed. B, can you help me get them up?" B obliges, and the three hobble to A's bedroom and deposit them under the covers. C makes sure they're tucked in warmly, then usher B out of the room.

"B, I can't place it. They don't have any of the respiratory symptoms, and it seems like it came on all of a sudden. And they've been sick so often..." B shuffles their feet and flits their eyes back up to the door. They look guilty. "What is it?"

"I....they asked me not to tell you. They said you'd worry."

"B, come on. This isn't the time. A could be really sick." C looks through the crack in the bedroom door where A is tossing and turning, and their heart squeezes. They turn back to B. "Please," they ask, more softly this time.

B bites their lip and rocks from side to side uneasily. "I think it's stress. They found out their lab's funding got cut this semester."

C's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "And the semester's almost over. But what does that-"

"And last week they found out the whole lab is restructuring at the end of the semester, and if they don't get their research project done in time, they'll lose everything. All their data, all the access to to the equipment they need, everything they've been working on for their thesis for four years." B's voice is a hissed whisper. "They've been working themselves to death since last Monday trying to crunch all the numbers in between all their other classes. If they can't get it done in time..."

C rubs their eyes and sighs. A had been getting sick in spurts all semester - a fever here and there. C had been busy with their own schoolwork and hadn't noticed. Now, it all made sense. The compounding stress of the research project had led to this.

B bites their lip. "I should've seen something. But you know how independent they are, and I just thought...I didn't know it'd gotten this bad."

"B, I'm gonna talk to them. Thanks for telling me." B nods solemnly, and C returns to the bedroom.

A's laying on their side, curled up, their eyes open and unfocused. The blankets are pulled up to their chin, and C can see that they've been crying.

"A?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm not 100 percent sure, but think I know what's wrong with you."

A doesn't say anything, so C just forges on, their hand floating up to rest on A's blanketed shoulder. "You've got a stress fever. Happens when you overwork yourself, or in periods of acute stress. I'd like you to see a real doctor too, but that seems to be it."

An empty laugh bursts forth, hollow and tired. "So B told you, then. About why I've been such a mess this semester. If I can't do this, that's four years' work, down the drain."

C exhales, choosing their next words carefully. "A, you can't just work yourself sick like this. Your health isn't worth this."

"Oh, like you understand? What if everything you worked yourself to the bone for was falling apart right in front of you?" A's voice is sharp, a sob escaping from their throat. "I have to do this. I don't have time. I only came back home because I forgot a notebook, and then I fell, and I...I have to go back and-" They struggle to sit up, their arms shaking as they press up from the mattress. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry-"

"A, stop." C's hands are on their shoulders, and A tries to fight them, but they're too weak, and their head falls on C's shoulder. C catches them, and they feel the fevered heat of A's body through their layers. "Just stop. Please. Stop." The plea is soft and gentle, so unlike C's usual brusque tone, and it's enough to open a floodgate of sobs in A.

C holds them stiffly at first. They're not the consoling type - that's usually B's department. But A curls their arm around them and clings weakly as they cry, and cry, and cry.

C doesn't know how long they've sat there, but soon A's weight is dead heavy against them as they fall into much-needed sleep. So C lays them down and tucks them back in, tenderly smoothing a few stray strands of hair across their forehead. How'd we let you go this far, A?

When they come downstairs, B is furiously texting and tapping away at their laptop. When they see C coming down the stairs, they wave them over.

"I'm calling every person I can think of who remotely knows their way around a lab. I made a schedule and everything. We're gonna help them get this done." B's hopeful eyes meet C's. "It's possible. I know it is."

C glances back up the stairs towards A's room, then back at B. "Let's do this, then."

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

2 hours later, a bleary-eyed A stumbles downstairs, a blanket caped around their shoulders. They didn't mean to sleep that long. They had an endless to-do list and a finite amount of time to do it in. Their body still ached all over, but they were at least able to stand up on their own again.

As they enter the living room they notice C and B huddled over a laptop on the couch, talking quietly. The pair are so focused that they don't noticed A until they're right next to them.

"What're you both doing?" A asks, voice rough from sleep. Both B and C jump, and C leaps to their feet and instantly comes to A's side.

"A, you should still be in bed." C helps them sit down between them and B on the couch, and places a hand on A's forehead. "Your fever's down, but I don't want to risk a relapse."

"C, I have to go back."

"You don't, though." B glances at C, then back at A, who's got confusion written all over their face. "We...sorta saw how rough the past few weeks had been. And we felt bad that we didn't say something sooner. So we got you some help. A couple of my friends from lab last year and a few TAs that I know. Some of C's classmates, too. They've all got an hour or two to spare and they're totally game to help you get the leg work done...if you want it, that is."

C rubs A's shoulders. "There's still some things you'll have to do on your own since it's your project, but with any luck, most of it will be done this weekend and you can focus on -oof!"

C's cut off by A throwing themselves into their side in a fierce hug. Then they let go and wrap their arms around B in the same manner, before grabbing a hand of each of their friends and falling back on the couch, eyes bright with unshed tears. "How...how'd you..I don't even know what to say."

C squeezes their hand back. "You don't have to say anything. We've got you."

B nudges A's shoulder and wraps an arm around them, and C leans in closer, too. "You shouldn't have to work yourself sick for us to show we care about you. Because we do."

A's too tired to capture all the words and emotions that are bubbling up inside them. Too exhausted to properly express how much they care for the two people at their side. They can feel exhaustion tugging at the corners of their eyes, but they manage a gentle squeeze of both C and B's hands. Thank you. So much. Why did I ever think I had to do this alone?

And somehow, A knows that they hear them loud and clear.

[mushroommushy]

Lukalix December

Day 17 - Sick day

———————————————————————

Alix shook slightly, a hoarse cough forcing itself out of her throat and her head felt like she had been next to a bomb with the ringing as she tried to sit up. Everything spun as she stood up, with Fluff twitching nervously beside her. “Alix, sit down. You clearly aren’t well and are in no condition to be moving around.” The girl stumbled slightly, clutching onto her counter as her knees nearly betrayed her by giving out under her. She hadn’t told the team she was sick, and had been called to an akuma fight against the computer technician who moved through electronic devices that she needed to track down. He had been some sort of VR video game tester who had been fired after supposedly having messed around with the equipment when he wasn’t supposed to, though it could as much as been framing as it was the man actually doing something wrong.

Fluff frowned slightly, “Normally I refrain from doing this but.” She lightly bit the girls fingertips, not stopping until the girl fell back onto her bed, a stubborn look on her face. “I am not letting you leave. You won’t leave until yesterday when you feel better.” Alix groaned quietly, to achy to bother to correct Fluff’s mistake in speech. So she sat there for a few minutes, her vision blurry. Her father had stayed off work to take care of her, which wouldn’t be much of a problem since she knew he wouldn’t enter her room out of fear of getting sick himself. While he may check in on her and notice she wasn’t there, he would assume she was in her personal bathroom, where she could leave the shower on to trick him. Fluff would get mad at her but..she couldn’t just not answer the call. The team needed her. So she inhaled deeply, turned to Fluff and looked her dead in the eyes. “Please don’t kill me..Fluff, Clockwise.” The rabbit kwami let out a hiss of protest, more concerned than angry sounding as she spun into her pocket watch, activating it to its blue and white form.

The suit formed over her, covering her body in the soft and comfortable suit that immediately gave her a slight burst of energy, allowing her to stand. Though it didn’t do anything to stop the harsh coughing fit as she stepped over to her bathroom, pulling the handle to the side and running the cold water. She didn’t wanna waste any hot water that she could use later to relax to trick her father. She stepped out, closed the door and stumbled back to her bedroom door, opening it. “Dad, I’m gonna take a shower.” Alix yelled weakly, her voice cracking as her dad faintly called back to her. She smiled slightly, her lips dry as she went back to her bed, sliding the window open and dropping out of it. Instead of landing neatly like she usually would, she ended up collapsing in a pile. Not hurt, but drained already from the minuscule energy burst she had received from the transformation.

Bunnix pushed on anyway, opening burrow and hopping it. She quickly sat down, her legs screaming in relief as she pulled out her watch again to message Viperion. “Where is you’re location? I’ll grab you through burrow.” She got a quick reply that he was at the Arc de Triomphe. She pressed her hand to a burrow portal, sticking her head out to meet Viperion and waving him in. The girl quickly stood up, so he didn’t question the reason she wasn’t walking. The snake hero gave her a small hug, which she tried to avoid touching him much, creating a bit of confusion on his face. “Sorry. Anyways, Ladybug asked me to try and see if I can find Virtuality through the burrow.” She paused slightly in the middle of her sentence, choking down a cough.

The snake hero was eyeing her with a suspicious look that made her sweat even more than she already was from her slight fever. Viperion narrowed his eyes even further when she muffled a cough into her elbow. “Are you sick?” He said lowly, watching her face. “No.” Bunnix hissed, her face scrunched up. “I’m fine, we need to find Virtuality.” Viperion allowed her to turn back to the burrow screen, analyzing it until she couldn’t hold back her coughing. Her attempts to hide it were useless when she started heaving, a harsh coughing fit wracking her body and nearly making her fall over with the force of it. Viperion growled lightly, “You fucking idiot! You can’t fight sick!” He snapped, reaching his hand to press it to her forehead to find it burning up. “Stupid rabbit..” The snake hero stretched a hand down and picked her up from behind the knee and back, holding her bridal carry.

Bunnix’s face was burning an impossible amount, both from blush and her fever. “V-Vip..put me down you’ll get sick too.” The snake hero didn’t answer her, simply switching the burrow to her bedroom. Normally, a person wouldn’t be able to do that since they didn’t wield the rabbit. But since this was another miraculous holder and she had taught him how to manipulate the burrow, he was able to control it just as well as she could. Although the couldn’t summon a portal to it at will like she could. He stepped through the portal, standing before her bed and gently laying her down before going to her bathroom. She heard the background noise of the water being turned off before she heard her sink running. He came back with two wash clothes, damp with cold water. “Detransform, now.” It was less of a request and more of an order, which she quickly followed. The towels were pressed to her head, her hair being pushed out of the way.

Viperion pulled out his lyre, sliding open a hologram to text the group chat. “Bunnix is sick, she isn’t available. I’ll be coming to fight with the rabbit instead.” Alix’s eyes had fluttered shut by now, her breathing slowed. He gently tugged the pocket watch from her grip, looking at Fluff. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her once I’m done with Virtuality.” He smiled, the rabbit kwami giving a polite nod and a stern look to her holder. “Fluff, Sass, unify.” The kwami was sucked into the watch once more. The now double wielding miraculous holder leaned over, gently rubbing Alix’s cheek for a moment before pressing a small kiss to it. “Get well soon, petit Lapine. I’ll make sure to help you.” He murmured, before slipping out the window to fight.