#and by Saturday night i mean now. 00:00 between Saturday and Sunday

[goldenpinof]

one timer down, one to go.

(today i got a reply from irlmerch’s customer service saying “Even after the timer ends, we will continue to collect orders for a couple of hours.” take it as you will, ‘cause the red timer is more than “a couple of hours”, idk if they meant specifically that one)

wat? when did this get added?

[thevoidstaredback]

Saturday's at Wayne Manor are family days. The whole weekend is reserved for the family to come and go as they please, but the biggest events are the Game Days on Saturday from 11:00 to 16:00 and Sunday Dinner at 18:00.

Every Saturday is a Game Day, but the third Saturday of each month is Competition Day. The kids all choose their favorite games, and everyone competes against each other. It's very rarely missed by anyone, but there have been times when someone has had to tap out for one reason or another. Alfred keeps track of who's missed how many days. Barbra keeps the tally of who's won what and how many times. At the end of the year, on December 31st, the scores are announced.

Sunday Dinners are sacred. No one ever misses a Sunday Dinner. The last person who did Jason is still getting subtle jabs and looks from everyone and that was a year ago and he had a very good reason, thank you very much! Everyone is always present for Sunday Dinner because everyone still has a room and the option to stay the night between the two days. Most usually take up the offer, but there have been extenuating circumstances that have pulled someone from the Manor.

No matter any of that because everyone is here and everyone is staying the night. That means everyone is patrolling Gotham tonight. Almost everyone. Batwoman has offered to take over Bludhaven for the night, so that's where she's gone.

Bruce plans to present his idea of messing with his coworkers when everyone gets back to the cave after patrol. All his kids know who they all are, having been trained by him, so there's no risk or accidental reveals on his part. In actuality, the kids thought of it like a game. They even had a folder for it on the Bat Computer and everything!

Yes, that night, after everyone returned to the Bat Cave, he would gather his Chaos Gremlins and invite them to mess with the Justice League with him. He'd also try and get Alfred in on it. Family bonding, and all that.

Though, making his kids sweat was its own form of amusement for him. It was 3:00 when everyone finally returned. They all ran their own routes, watched over by Oracle, and their own times, but everyone was always done no later than 3:00. It was a rule that the Gotham Rouges had yet to pick up on because Batman went back out until dawn more often than not.

Anyway, Bruce has been the first to get back and had put on an act of being upset. He usually kept his Batman persona with his suit, so he was rarely ever this stoic while he was Bruce Wayne. He hid his smirk as he sat at the head of the meeting table in the Cave, waiting for his children to change and sit with him. Duke normally was asleep by now, but he'd asked the boy to be there, letting him in on the harmless prank while they waited for his siblings and Stephanie to arrive.

Once everyone was seated, he waited a total of thirty seconds, meeting eyes with every one of his children, before he spoke. "I'm very disappointed."

Dick's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He'd known Bruce the longest - aside from Alfred - and had likely picked up on something the second he saw Bruce and Duke at the table. "At who?"

"The Justice League," It was amusing to watch the tension melt off of all of them when he shook his head, "We all know who all of them are, as well as everyone who trained under them, but they don't know who we are."

"Except Wonder Woman," Jason pointed out, "She figured me out when I came back."

Fair, Bruce supposed. Jason was always Diana's favorite. "I think they need some help," he said, "A push in the right direction, so to speak."

Stephanie had a smile on her face that promised mischief. "We're not telling them, right? 'Cause that'd be no fun."

"Course not!" Duke yawned, "B said we'd give them a hint."

"What did you have in mind, father?" Damian asked, stoic as always, but matching the gleam in Cass's eyes.

"We invite them to the Bat Cave," he said, "Show them around a bit. The only exits we tell them about, though, should be the Lane," How the ground vehicles get in and out. "-the Zeta Tubes," Obviously. "-and the elevator. But, we don't tell them what's upstairs."

Alfred seemed very amused from where he had taken his seat at the other end of the table.

"From there," Bruce continued, "We invite their civilian identities to the next Gala. Meet them. Hint about the Cave without actually saying anything. If I know Clark as well as I know I do, then he'll, at the very least, piece together that the Bat Cave is under Wayne Manor."

"And if we play it right?" Dick's grin was manic, "They won't connect who we are."

"Won't that be suspicious, though?" Tim spoke up for the first time, "They may not have put things together yet, but they aren't stupid. They're heroes. If we give them the pieces, they're gonna piece them together."

Damian was the one to answer him. "Batman and Bruce Wayne hate one another, though there is a grudging acknowledgement and respect."

"Give them the right pieces, with a few from the wrong puzzle, in the wrong order, we could totally have them fooled!" Jason explained.

The group shared looks between each other. Nothing needed to be said because the looks and movements said everything.

Alfred smiled and shook his head fondly. "You may plan this in the morning. For now, go to bed and get some sleep."

Part 1 Part 3

[gladstones-corner]

Planetary Days and Hours - Commentary

If you're familiar with planetary magic, you may have seen the Table of Planetary Hours. It's usually split into two--one for day and one for night.

Designed to help magicians time their rituals and spells for best results, the tables usually look something like this:

Despite the fact that I use these tables semi-regularly, I never cared to take a dive into their mechanics until recently.

For that reason, today we're going to talk about planetary hours and how they're calculated. 

Let's start with the classical order of the planets. This method, which reaches back to Hellenistic times, is based on how fast the seven classical planets appear to move through the sky. It's become the de facto standard and is called the Chaldean Order. It goes as follows:

Sun 

Venus 

Mercury 

Moon 

Saturn 

Jupiter 

Mars 

How do we use it? Let's take an example.

To make things easy, let's choose Sunday. Its ruling planet is the Sun first on the list. To calculate planetary hours, we need to find the number of minutes between Sunday's sunrise and sunset, then divide by 12. This gives us the length (in minutes) of a single daytime planetary hour.

We repeat this process for the minutes between Sunday's sunset and Monday's sunrise. This gives us the length of a single nighttime planetary hour. With the exception of Equinoxes, the lengths of a daytime and nighttime hour will differ. 

Why divide by 12 and not, say, 7 for the number of planets? The simplest and most practical answer I can give is two-fold: 

12 allows 24 full cycles of planetary hours across seven days, allowing us to continually loop back to the Sun on Sunday.

Using 12 makes for cleaner timekeeping without fractional minutes. 

Alright, so we have the theory out of the way. Let's continue with our Sunday example to plot out the planetary hours.

For easiest math, let's say this particular Sunday is an Equinox. Say that sunrise is at 07:00, sunset is 12 hours later at 19:00, and Monday's sunrise is the following morning at 07:00. 

Daytime Hours 

19 – 7 = 12 (this tells us the number of hours) 

12 * 60 = 720 (this tells us the number of minutes) 

720 / 12 = 60 (this tells us how long each hour is) 

Nighttime Hours 

19 – 7 = 12 (Sunday's sunset minus Monday's sunrise) 

12 * 60 = 720 

720 / 12 = 60 

For the Sunday Equinox, the Daytime and Nighttime hours will both be 60 minutes each. 

Now we assign the planets in Chaldean order, starting with Sunday's ruling planet: 

Daytime Astrological Hours 

07:00 – Sun  

08:00 – Venus  

09:00 – Mercury  

10:00 – Moon  

11:00 – Saturn  

12:00 – Jupiter  

13:00 – Mars  

14:00 – Sun  

15:00 – Venus  

16:00 – Mercury  

17:00 – Moon  

18:00 – Saturn  

Nighttime Astrological Hours 

19:00 – Jupiter  

20:00 – Mars  

21:00 – Sun  

22:00 – Venus  

23:00 – Mercury  

00:00 – Moon  

01:00 – Saturn  

02:00 – Jupiter  

03:00 – Mars  

04:00 – Sun  

05:00 – Venus 

06:00 – Mercury 

Notice that Mercury is the final planetary hour for Sunday. If you look at the Chaldean Order, the next planet on the list is the Moon. If you take a look at the table above, you can see that the Moon is Monday's ruling planet. This means we can simply continue ordering the planets without any interruption or overlap.

This is true all the way to Saturday, whose final hour on the nighttime table is Mars. This means that for the first planetary hour on Sunday, we would assign the Sun. This means that each day's ruling planet will never change, producing this correspondence list:  

Sunday: Sun 

Monday: Moon 

Tuesday: Mars 

Wednesday: Mercury 

Thursday: Jupiter 

Friday: Venus 

Saturday: Saturn 

Okay, sweet. We've figured out how the table is put together. But what are the uses of such a table? What can we do with planetary hours?

Simply put, the planetary energies add a little extra power to your magic. A thorough grounding in astrology is not required, but a familiarity with each classical planet helps. 

At an orbital level (pun not intended), this is a description for each planet: 

Sun: 

Planet of consciousness and outward expression. 

Rules over vitality, ego, self-expression, leadership, and creativity. 

Influences success, visibility, and personal growth. 

Venus: 

Planet of love and pleasure. 

Rules over love, art, beauty, adornment, decoration, social graces, affection, harmony, and friendship. 

Influences the higher emotions. 

Mercury: 

Planet of intellectual energy, mental activity, and communication. 

Rules over intelligence, perception, reason, memory, speaking, and writing. 

Influences the way you see, hear, understand, and assimilate information. 

Moon: 

Planet of the unconscious and inward expression. 

Rules over emotions, intuition, and receptivity. 

Influences healing, creativity, intuition, and nurture. 

Saturn: 

Planet of responsibility, diligence, self-control, limitation. 

Rules over patience, stability, maturity, and realism. 

Influences trial and difficulty, especially that which challenges and strengthens character. 

Jupiter: 

Planet of good luck, optimism, success, and generosity. 

Rules over knowledge, higher learning, vision, honesty, joy, and abundance. 

Influences a willingness to partake of life, gathering new experiences, expanding, and how to get the best out of life. 

Mars: 

Planet of physical energy. 

Rules over energy, boldness, willpower, sex drive, forcefulness, and aggression. 

Influences action, ambition, desire, courage, and strength. 

At the end of the day, this manual calculation is helpful for knowing the theory behind why it works, but you don't have to manually calculate planetary hours every day. There are several apps that do this for you. My favorite is Time Nomad for iOS, as the home screen widgets tell you pretty much all you need to know: 

And that's really it for my commentary on planetary hours!

As always, thank you for reading. Blessed be~

[olderjodijournals]

Saturday, August 2, 2003

Tom went for the driving test today and was surprised at just how aggressive the driving was. At one point he had to do 90 MPH as well as weave between cones and on the slalom. He’s not sure he did as well as they’d like, though anyone can drive like a maniac at $7.50 an hour if you ask us.

I just hope he gets something, somewhere real soon! He said getting in at a temp agency will be no problem if it came down to it. That’s what he’s done before. In fact, that’s how he ended up at the fucking bank.

All I know is that the cock that fired him better end up doing us a favor because I am so, so sick of people fucking us over! Then, to add insult to injury, they get away with it! Ugh, it just gets so damn old! It’s scary, too. Especially what with knowing that time and age haven’t changed this old pattern of fuck-them-over-and-get-away-with-it. Take jail, for example. If I can be held in a place against my will in my 30s, then why not at any age?

Sometimes I wonder if the reason we’re not meant to have fences is to allow easier access to bad news. Bad news that walks on 2 legs, that is, and not 4.

I also wonder about the music I heard last night and the night before, if only for a few minutes at a time. Since living here, the before jail time was by far the most musical, shall I say, with the bass thumping. Looking back on it now, I take it as a nasty omen of the shit that was destined to come. Well, I just hope there are no hidden messages in anything I have heard and may hear in the future! Although I don’t have any bad vibes, I still fear pending shit in the future. I don’t always have bad vibes that far in advance, either. New Year’s Eve of ’00, I didn’t have any bad vibes. Not till I was swiped out of here by the pigs, and although I didn’t hear about the freeloaders again for 6 months, bad vibes lingered in the air only because I knew the word of a pig was as worthless as that of the cow shit on these farms.

If I don’t go where the trouble is, the trouble will come to me, and unfortunately, I have enemies out there. I got welfare bums who were obsessed with me enough and sporting enough hate and anger to hunt me down all the way out here, and then there’s Teddy Bear. I’m still 99% sure I didn’t get her fired, but what if I did and what if she’s planning on getting even? She’d be an obvious suspect if anything did happen to me, but so? God would protect her and why would the pigs care? After all, I’d only be a Jew to them and nothing more.

At least it’s some consolation to know that once the decibel laws they have pertaining to loud music get out here, they’ll no doubt be as strict as other laws in this state and people will be quick to follow them. Then again, maybe not. People out here seem pretty rebellious when it comes to noise. Telling someone to cut their weeds or pay their taxes is one thing, but when you tell someone to lower their music, you’re basically telling them to shut up, and people don’t like to be told to shut up. So, stricter laws don’t always mean people are going to be more willing to abide by them or else so many people wouldn’t be constantly in and out of jail like they are.

Anyway, in better news, we’ll be ordering Samantha on Monday. She could be here as soon as next Saturday, one week from today.

Yves’ latest story was that my stuff was shipped on the 31st, so now I don’t know what to believe. I still think I’ll get it this coming week. At least I sure hope so!

Sunday, August 3, 2003

I’m almost done with the editing.

Tom’s going to order Samantha first thing in the morning.

How I hope my Yves stuff comes tomorrow and intact, too! The other stuff would be nice and so would a letter from Mary updating me on what’s been going on with her. I doubt it, though. I mean, I don’t think she’s been broke. I think she thinks we ripped her off. I don’t know how she could believe Buffy over me, but that’s just the impression I get. Oh well. Can’t help what she thinks.

Tom doesn’t want to talk to his mom till he gets a job, saying it may worry her. I don’t think a little worrying would hurt her. If anything, it’ll get some money out of her. Of course, they’d never call him because that’s how self-absorbed they are, and when they do call it’s only when they want something. They can never call just to say hi and see what’s up.

Tuesday, August 5, 2003

No, but they can send email. I was surprised, but last night I got an email from Mary and Dave saying that because it’d been so long since they’ve heard from us, they were starting to get a little worried. They lost Tom’s number, so that’s why I was emailed. I gave them both our numbers and told them not to give them out, then I told them that yes, a lot’s been going on but I wanted Tom to be the one to explain it all, so just hang tight till he calls.

Anyway, he’s been gone since I got up 5 hours ago. I hope today’s the day he comes home with my Yves stuff!

Before stopping at the PO, he’ll be stopping to give the new place his driving record. Originally, he was given a shitty-paying job as just a driver, but then he got offered another daytime position doing all kinds of things. He’ll be a porter, though still with the shit pay. The good thing about it is, though, that with this position versus driving, he can show off his skills to more important people and obtain more important positions within the company. In the meantime, he’ll probably look for a part-time job elsewhere and we’ll probably cut our grocery budget from $90 to $80 and our monthly allowance from $60 to $40. This job will include benefits.

To my utter astonishment, the truck was registered and licensed yesterday! Now we’ll spend the next few days testing it before we take it too far.

He’s been working in the utility area stringing old well wire around the wall with a white covering so it won’t look ugly. This is because he wants a more kick-ass outlet outside for running the air compressor.

He ordered Samantha yesterday morning at 8:30 our time. As it turned out, the number he called went to the couple’s home and he woke them up, too. I was surprised they’d be sleeping at that hour and that their store was closed, but anyway, if all went well, she was shipped out to me sometime today.

As for a mannequin – that’s something I really want to buy in person, so if we go to California and I get one, fine, but if not, then I probably won’t get one.

Yesterday we received the few things we ordered like the colorful bead mobile, floral hummingbird magnets and ring toss game. Was anything broken? Well, of course. What’s a package to us without something broken in it? Fortunately, the breakage was minor enough. Just a fallen bead on the mobile and a wimpy magnet on one of the floral birds.

I had a badass idea for making a mobile using the hanger that we cut the crystals off of. Hopefully, he’s got a glass cutter because I want to take an old mirror and hang pieces of it. That’d look way cool.

A high-pressure system has swept through the area, leaving the weather more like it normally is in June, hot, dry and cloudless, though the system’s heading east and clouds are beginning to swing back in.

I decided that like it or not, chubby or not, 125 is my weight and that’s that. It’s just such an incredibly easy weight to maintain. Especially with these vitamins. It’s 20 more pounds than I need, but oh well. I’m just too sick of dieting to lose any more weight in the near future.

My editing is temporarily done and now I’m back to being bored silly till I can think of something to entertain myself with. Maybe I’ll cook up some other bullshit story. We’ll see. I can’t think of anything right now.

Wednesday, August 6, 2003

Tom spoke to Mary and explained to her how he got fired for being against their having Easter egg hunts and bringing religion into the workplace, and therefore not being seen as a teamster.

He also explained the new job he’ll begin on Monday for what’s now going to be $8 an hour. Still pretty shitty. We really hope he can work his way up fast! He’s still going to need to find a part-time job in the meantime.

He got a computer-made card in the mail today from the company he’ll be working for (Modern Engineering) welcoming him aboard.

He had to have a physical as well as a drug test, but he got the luxury of being allowed to pee in private.

Although the truck runs, it needs more work as does the car which nearly caused us a brush with death the other night. There’s a part underneath that steers the car which had come loose, causing the car to vibrate. Well, had it broken off completely, we would’ve lost control and crashed.

I’m just sick of this car and truck running so much of our lives!

I really hope that the only reason I haven’t heard from Mary is that she’s been broke and not because she thinks we ripped her off. I would not only be insulted to learn if she did think that but unable to continue our friendship as I just couldn’t fathom being friends with anyone who couldn’t trust me and was thinking the worst of me. For her to think that after all I’ve done for her would really be a slap in my face if I ever did find out that that’s what she believes for sure. I hope the poor girl’s just broke and that I find out soon enough whether or not she got my two books and whatever else is going on with her.

I’m surprised I haven’t gotten any letters to her from José. Makes me wonder if they’re still in touch with each other. I don’t see how they could be. They must’ve had a fight which is unfortunate. I went out and bought extra envelopes in case I do get anything to send from her to him.

I still have mixed feelings about our friendship. Yes, it’s nice to have a pen pal like her when I do hear from her, but a part of me is also like, go ahead. Accuse me of being a thief and give me a reason to dump you so I can avoid any potential problems between us in the future. It will be her loss if she does let this Buffy chick come between us by being dumb and naïve enough to believe her over me. The ball’s in her court and it’s strictly up to her at this point. I’m going to send a letter out tomorrow and send no more till and if I hear from her.

It really is weird that she and José haven’t swapped letters. It makes me think that they either got caught or she does think I ripped her off and therefore told him not to send me anything for her.

The good thing about it if our friendship ends, is that for once it’ll be of no loss to me. It’ll certainly be a hell of a loss for her, though! She’ll have a hell of a time getting her book done without me. Without me, she’d have to hand over hand-written, barely legible drafts with one misspelled word after another unless she gets out, gets a computer, and then writes the book.

My nose bled earlier, though only one side. The doctor said the sprays can cause that. This is the first time it has. Before, all I’d get was the post-nasal drip. I’m surprised it bled cuz I’m only using the spray once a week. Maybe I’ll just stop using it and let myself sneeze all the time. I sneeze enough as it is anyway.

Speaking of feeling insulted, boy do I feel insulted by God over this job shit! I mean, here my husband was working his ass off for that damn bank for years, twenty of those weekly hours being for free, and what’s he do to reward him for it? Leads him to a shitty-paying job. That’s his reward for all his hard work.

We just can’t get ahead in life and when we do it’s only temporary.

Tom feels pretty certain that as long as he doesn’t come across as desperate, he can get his mother to give us a lot of money. Like $500, $1,000 or maybe even more. I hope so! I really do. Things may not be too bad right now, but they certainly could end up that way if we don’t either get him a better-paying job, a part-time job, or if his mother doesn’t help out. He hopes to find contract work for part-time work where he can do computer programming from home.

Thursday, August 7, 2003

Today was a bit of a rough day and a busy one for Tom who ran a lot of errands, including picking up the two new identical pairs of glasses he got.

I’m glad the truck’s working and all that, but I’m not glad the damn thing wakes me up when he leaves in it when I’m sleeping. For now, I’ll sleep with the fan on high till he quiets it down with a muffler which is what it needs.

One of the junk emailers just wouldn’t leave me alone. I mean, they just wouldn’t give up. So what did I do to these pushy, persistent pests? Sent them about 50 emails of my own, letting them know that as long as they wouldn’t let me unsubscribe and kept badgering me, I’d do the same. In each email, I’d copy and paste a paragraph from old journals. Anyway, today’s the first day I didn’t get anything from them.

Still nothing from Mary. I don’t know what the scoop is at this point. I mean, it could be any number of things, I guess. Maybe she’s in the hospital having hernia surgery. I doubt she was hurt by another inmate. I’d think that if that were going to happen, it would’ve happened by now. If I don’t hear from her by the end of the month, I guess I’ll send her aunt a copy of her books and pictures on a CD, then delete them from my drive. I’ll keep a backup copy archived on my other PC. I don’t see why I wouldn’t hear from her, though. I’m sure she’s just having a rough time of it.

Okay, here’s the worst part of my day. It really was quite frustrating! Well, as I’ve said a million times, I’ve always believed that it varies from gay to gay as to who gets what they want and who doesn’t, just like it varies from woman to woman who has kids. That’s God’s decision to make in the end as to what women he’ll allow kids to. I not only knew I was never meant to have kids, but I knew I was a man’s woman and not meant to be a woman’s woman. God wouldn’t have paired me with a man like Tom if I weren’t which is fine since Tom’s a great guy. Anyway, I don’t know why I was meant to be with a man. Could be to tease me with the kid I once wanted, could be so I’d have medical insurance. I don’t know. I just know that God never liked it when I’d get it on with a woman and that was pretty much why the phone would conveniently go dead a lot back east when I would call the gay meeting line, and why I got hurt by Teddy Bear, etc. Although Tom and I certainly wouldn’t see it this way, he’d much rather I stepped out on Tom with another man before I simply fantasized about another woman. I really believe he wouldn’t punish me for it if I did.

Anyway, Tom was trying to get my burner to be the burner it’s supposed to be and not just a player when he suddenly came out and asked where all my Charlie’s Angels clips were that I spent so much time editing. I was like, “What do you mean, where are they? They’re where they always are.”

But not only did last night’s CA not record (I’m trying to snag the ones I missed), but the clips were all gone! All the CA clips were gone, but the circus acts, our wedding and me as a toddler were all still there. Now tell me something up there wasn’t trying to tell me I was a sinner and a half and I’ll tell you you’re full of it! There’s no way either Tom or myself would be dumb enough to have deleted all those files. No way! I know damn well what did it and it’s something that sits up in the sky. Something much more powerful than I could ever be who doesn’t agree with my ways, but like I can help it? We can’t help what we’re attracted to any more than we can help what flavors, colors and music we like or don’t like. We are who we are and so be it. It’s like, what do I do if whatever’s up there decides they don’t like short people? I can’t very well stretch myself up any taller.

So I said fuck it, I’m not going to mess with this evil outer source, whatever it is, yet Tom managed to rescue most of the clips, using a special recovery program. See, they were deleted only just last night so they haven’t had time to be overwritten. Still, I learned years ago that if we fight for the not meant to be and try to avoid the meant-to-be, we’re just asking for trouble. We must take what God gives us and accept what he doesn’t give us.

I also said I’d do my duties, so to speak, and get it on with him if he picked up some KY jelly, but I know he’s not interested in that any more than I am.

Anyway, we’re getting ready to hack in and break the registration code on the digital editor we got. It only gives you 10 free days with it, then you have to pay for it, but we can break the code and trick it into thinking we paid for it. It’s a shit program. I can’t imagine anyone buying it, but unfortunately, it’s all there is that I can use. Nothing else works, but with it being such a sin for me, I figured God wouldn’t make it easy for me anyway.

I’ve been walking and jogging a lot lately to fill in all this free time I have so I don’t get too bored. Right now I’m a little wary of writing any more gay fantasies. I start off jogging, then I walk briskly. As soon as my heartbeat starts slowing down, I pump it back up with another burst of jogging. I know that walking alone isn’t very beneficial. You really have to get yourself a bit out of breath.

I once read that walking 90 minutes a day burns 500 calories. If that were the case I could eat 1500-1700 calories a day and still lose weight, though I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like walking that much. My feet get pretty tired once I get over a half-hour, so I break it up and do it on and off whenever I feel like it.

For this next week, but only this next week, I was thinking of doing the eat-every-other-day routine to settle my curiosity as far as how my body would react to it with the vitamins. Without the vitamins, I lost anywhere from 0-2 pounds on non-eating days when I thought I’d lose 3-4. Maybe I could lose weight in 5-pound intervals, but I don’t know. I mean, do I really want to bother? We’ll see, depending on the results of this little test I’m going to do for a week.

My Yves stuff still hasn’t shown up. Tom thinks it will tomorrow. I hope he’s right! He also thinks Samantha will be here Saturday, but I think that’s too soon. It took Mei Li 4 days to come from California, so I don’t see how it could take Sam just 3 from North Carolina. She might not even have been shipped till Wednesday because they didn’t take the money till then. The only thing that worries me is that no one answered my email asking when I should receive the doll. They’ve always answered emails in the past. Their site’s been around a long time, though, so hopefully I’ll get the doll. Intact, I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ll get it.

Friday, August 8, 2003

I just completed what was the biggest workout of my life – 1½ hours long. My muscles are heavy and shaky and it’s an effort just to type this. Less resistance and more reps makes muscles tauter and less bulky so I’m making working out my job since I have no other job or commitment hogging up my time. I won’t get paid for it, but I’ll be in some serious kick-ass shape! My legs are already noticeably smaller, though I still don’t think I’ll ever lose my overall body fat and be like I was in my 20s. I’m too old for that and I also don’t have the patience or willpower to starve myself. I’ll just do what I have been doing and just try to eat reasonably, limiting the sweets to just once or twice a week.

Tom just informed me that my bird was standing just outside the front door staring up at it expectantly, so I threw out some bread.

We decided that when these two rats die not to get new big ones. We’ll get small ones that will use tubes like the mice did and live in cages that aren’t on the floor. That way, if we do have a dog, it won’t badger them. They’ll be up over the dog’s head and not out running around loose like big rats love to do. The little ones will use plastic balls to roam around in. It’ll be nice not having to worry about what I leave on the floor, too.

I don’t know if the date palm will make it, but the queen’s just about dead. It makes no fucking sense either; we start watering this tropical plant, then it dies. They’re supposed to thrive on endless amounts of water.

Tom thinks the doll will be here today or tomorrow, but I think she’ll be here Monday or Tuesday so long as she really has been sent and to the right address as well.

Still no Yves, but it hit Tom today, so he told me, that the reason that’s taking so long is because of its size. He said that the PO only flies small packages, but the big ones get driven. He thinks I’ll get that at the end of next week. Whenever I do, I can then do the rest of the survey Yves wants me to do. It better come by next Thursday or Friday or else I’m going to really be worried. I know they’re a reliable company, but that doesn’t always mean anything to those with package curses on them. I’ll bet, for example, that most people have no problems getting dolls from PG. Anyway, I hope I get the packages and that their contents are intact.

Saturday, August 9, 2003

My day’s been off to a pretty good start. Not only did my stuff from Yves come today intact but it was left in the locker they have there so he could pick it up. You can’t get big packages or packages with delivery confirmations needed at the desk on Saturdays. I love most of the stuff I got. They threw in extra freebies, too! The only thing I don’t like is the tomato body gel. Yves uses all-natural stuff from plants, fruits and vegetables. Tomatoes don’t smell great at all!

Enclosed was this deal for a $30 certificate if I get a friend to join and buy $20 worth of stuff. I sent it to Mom and Mary to check out, though I don’t know if they’d be interested. I told them not to feel obligated to order.

So, I got all kinds of things – colored mascara, shower gels, lotions, perfumes, bath stuff, face stuff, etc.

I decided to quit editing and burning CA episodes onto CDs. Instead, I’m going to wait till we get a DVD recorder and just record the episodes as they air right onto DVDs.

As far as Mary goes, I’m either going to never contact her again if she never contacts me, or let her know that she’s a real shit after all I’ve done and given to her if she writes me with any bad accusations. Either way, I’ll send her aunt a CD of her writing and pictures and be sure to let her know I didn’t take Jose’s money and let Mary have to explain that one to her.

Sunday, August 10, 2003

I am so bored it isn’t funny, and Tom doesn’t like to do much but watch TV. Especially when it’s too dark to work on the truck. He did that earlier, though. He got the mufflers off both trucks so he can put the one that was on the green one on the white one to quiet it down.

Using his email address and a bogus phone number, I’ve been entering us in various contests and sweepstakes. I know the odds are ridiculous, but I’m so freaking bored out of my mind. I gotta do something besides work out.

I was as close to throwing up as one could possibly get after taking my vitamin when I got up. I don’t know if it was because I took it along with my water pill or what, but I can’t help but get the feeling that it would never have happened if it weren’t something that helps me maintain my weight.

I’m still pretty sure we won’t get it on, but I had to ask myself this: Do I want to trust in fate to see that I don’t conceive if we do, or do I want to use birth control?

Tom said it was my call and so I decided I trusted destiny enough to skip the birth control. I also asked myself: God loves to see women who don’t want to conceive get pregnant anyway, think he’ll have the same attitude with me now that that’s not what I want?

No, I don’t. I think destiny is destiny, like it or not. Besides, I’ve been right about my vibes on that for 37 years, so why would I be wrong now? I believe that being in jail taught me the reasons it wasn’t meant to be. I used to believe that it was to punish me (back when I wanted one) and that I couldn’t handle the lack of sleep having one would cause. Well, while denying a woman a child she wants is definitely a punishment, being in jail taught me that although it’s hard functioning on very little sleep and having my sleep constantly interrupted, it is survivable, nonetheless. I now believe the reasons are because I couldn’t handle the pregnancy, childbirth and just the rearing itself and having no life or freedom. I value my freedom too much to throw it away. Being locked up and in the situations I’ve been in the past has taught me not to take my freedom for granted. I have nothing against kids whatsoever and I say to each their own as far as having kids goes. I, on the other hand, see nothing but hardships pertaining to that. All I see is it making me sick, fatter and in utter pain, then eating away our time, money, freedom and lives while limiting what we do and where we go. I just don’t see it as a worthy sacrifice and I know I’d be giving up so much for so little. Oh, I may have my bursts of gladness over having the kid, but I think that most of the time it’d drive me batty and that I’d regret having it. Of course, there’d be my crazy schedule to consider, and where would Tom sleep?

I also have another blessing in my favor and that’s a man who rarely cums, and if I was right all these years in thinking it was for fear of impregnating me, he should never ever cum again.

I learned something else by getting tested like I did too, and that’s that God doesn’t need to fuck something up in order to keep it from being used. He didn’t fuck up my plumbing because he knew that all he had to do was just make sure nobody grew in it.

I also asked myself: Would you resort to birth control if he did cum?

Well, I don’t know about that, though I know I wouldn’t want him cumming. Personally, I don’t even want to get it on with him in the first place simply because I haven’t the desire to. Knowing the feeling’s mutual, I think it’s safe to say I won’t have to worry. Tuesday will tell me. He’s stopping at the grocery store. They sell KY there. We’ll see if he picks any up. Anyway, I don’t think anything would be different if we did start having sex again. This is why I think he may’ve always been this way, even with other women. Of course, there’s also no saying how our sex life would’ve been had I been on birth control from the get-go. Maybe I am the only one he’s been this way with. I’ve always been sexually cursed, though to me it’s no curse anymore, just a wet, sticky mess we don’t need if he’s as content as he’s always been to keep things relatively dry. Still, why he is the way he is, I’ll never know. Before Helen gave me that info. I thought he’d clam up with anyone not protected, but now I see that it could very well be a lifelong problem he’s had that he simply never had the guts or desire to deal with. Or maybe it’s a combination of both. Perhaps he always had this problem and his lack of desire for a kid dampened any motivation to seek help.

Yves’ mascara washes off really easily. With the old shit I used to use, I’d have to scrub at my eyes with makeup remover and even that wouldn’t get it all off. The only thing is that I can’t tell that the violet mascara is violet or that the blue mascara is blue. Maybe out in the sunlight I could.

I emailed UPS asking if they do Saturday deliveries when Tom pointed out not remembering ever seeing a UPS truck on the road on a Saturday, and sure enough, they don’t. If Samantha was really shipped by Wednesday, then there’s no reason she shouldn’t be here tomorrow. In fact, I’ll be worried if she isn’t.

Tom said he saw a brief clip of an infomercial selling a split-end trimmer that trims only the bottom eighth of each hair shaft. That does sound way cool, but a bit expensive as well. What I really need is some thinning shears!

Monday, August 11, 2003

Tom’s on his first day of work right now. Oh, how I hope he likes the job and that the people treat him well and that he gets a serious promotion real fast! Either that or a whole new full-time job or a part-time job to supplement this one.

That doll also better be here before 5:00 or I’m not going to be the least bit happy.

The mesquite tree isn’t growing. All it did was green out, but it never did grow. Neither did the palm that survived. The only things that are growing are a few of the olies.

Later…

I just took my vitamin on a semi-full stomach 8 hours after taking the water pill. Now all I have to do is hope I don’t lose it! I had just gotten to the point where they weren’t affecting me so I don’t know what’s going on. If I get sick or really damn close to it, then once again whatever’s up there that doesn’t want me having any control over my weight wins and I stop taking them. I already decided some time ago anyway that I was going to stay in the mid-120s. Nonetheless, I’m making a burrito right now as today’s one of those bottomless stomach days. I eat and I eat yet I can’t fill up.

Tom said things went okay at work, though today was mostly orientation where he had classes and tours. He told me lots of tidbits pertaining to the place. The weirdest thing was the Japanese cars that are sent over here for just two weeks to be tested before being sent back to Japan by boat. He drove one of those today too, and said the writing on the dashboard was all in Japanese and the steering wheel was on the other side. I don’t know why they can’t test them in Japan. Perhaps because it’s so crowded there, they have no room for testing facilities. This Nissan testing facility is the biggest in the country with 3,000 acres. They even have working farms surrounding it to keep their water rights going.

Because there isn’t any snow and ice here, they have an area covered with tile that they spray water on so they can test the cars on that which would be the same as testing it on ice.

He still thinks this job will work out and that he’ll get a substantial raise soon enough. I hope he’s right and that we don’t end up suffering financially for a year or maybe even 2 or 3. We totally do not deserve that! We’ve been through that before and we struggled and worked our way up and we don’t deserve to be kicked back down for another handful of years. That’d be totally cruel and unfair of God if he let that happen, but I don’t think we’ll let it. We have more choices open to us than we had in the past, so we may be able to fight back this time, but hopefully we won’t fall so badly into debt that we’ll have to.

The whole thing still pisses me off. Yes, I’m glad Tom’s not at the bank anymore. They were using him at his own expense. However, he goes and works his ass off, a lot of it for free, and this is what he gets for it? Thanks, God, thanks a real lot.

It makes me feel so controlled, too. It’s like how the freeloaders came and had me yanked out of this house and along with the state said, “You cannot live in your own home for half a year and you must do this and go there, etc.,” I feel like his old boss is the one who’s going to decide how much extra money we have. It’s like our lives are always dictated by God or other people. His old boss might as well come to me and say, “No more $60 a month plus grocery savings for you, ma’am. You’ll have less than that from now on because of my actions.”

My doll didn’t come today. I agree with Tom when he says I should get her by Friday, but it still seems odd that no one answered my email and that it didn’t come today. Then again, why should it? I know there’s always got to be a problem with getting dolls. I did leave them a message on their answering machine, and they have been around a long time, so we’ll see.

Sample Net’s bugging me again with the junk mail. I knew they would too, and that they only wanted me to think they backed off for good. That’s okay. Two can play this game.

I was watching TV earlier. Oh, the things they tell kids. Trust the police, they tell them. And respect your elders. But what do you do when your elders don’t respect you? To each their own, but I could never respect anyone of any age who disrespected me.

I am not looking forward to when the nasal spray gets out of my system. I’m going to be so sick. But it’s either that or a bloody nose. It’s like something wants me to suffer.

Tuesday, August 12, 2003

Although it’s only coming up on 4:00, it looks like Samantha won’t be here today either. I hope Tom got a message from the people who say they sent her because I didn’t get any email. I just hope I get her eventually and that we weren’t ripped off or that she wasn’t misdelivered or that the people didn’t address the package wrong.

One of the leaves on my plant is now mostly unfolded. It’s a big leaf, too. It’s like two feet long and a foot wide.

Later…

When another day passed with no doll and no call-back from the Palas, I began to really get concerned, so I emailed them again and this time I got a response. The doll was supposed to be delivered today, they said, but just let them know if I don’t get it and they’ll trace it. They gave me the tracking number and I checked and found that there was a delay somewhere in Mississippi. I’m sure there was a breakdown. My typical shit luck, huh? If it wasn’t a doll I was expecting, it probably would never have happened. Anyway, the doll’s been rescheduled to be delivered tomorrow!

I’m having second thoughts about the thinning shears because I don’t want to end up with all these uneven hairs.

I was in for two surprises today, though the part where I got a letter from Paula wasn’t that surprising. I figured the phone being disconnected would prompt a letter from her, and so it did. She hasn’t been in jail, but like always, has pending court dates.

She and Justin are okay, she still has all the dolls, she liked the CD I sent, is being tested for diabetes, and is still associating with Miguel who aggravates her and is trying to get her in jail, so she says.

She was also in an accident on the bus when a van hit it.

Anyway, she asked what was up with the phone and so I told her of the new phone arrangement, gave her the number, and told her about Tom and his new job (he said it was boring and he had to drive to Tempe twice when he wasn’t just sitting around), and printed out my two stories for her (I began a third one last night).

The surprising part was that Tom really did get the KY. Maybe I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth after all, but we’ll see how it goes. Like I said, I don’t expect the sex to be different which means it shouldn’t occur that often.

If I don’t hear from Mary I’ll probably send her a piece of my mind directly at the end of the month, but I might not bother sending her aunt stuff. No, I won’t fuck her over. She does enough of that to her own self.

Thursday, August 14, 2003

I finally heard from Mary. She never mentioned the money at all. She said she’d been busy with her classes and is now at a 6th-grade level rather than 3rd. How’d she acquire such good vocabulary on a 3rd-grade level?

Anyway, she did get the religious booklet and my stories which she says are fabulous.

She says her family still sends her money and that she and José still write to each other, though not as much. How they’re doing this, I don’t know, so I asked her. She said his mother writes to her, too.

I told her about Tom’s new job.

She said Clarence is history and enclosed a note for Chuck asking for his help on how to get her book published and if he’d handle her royalties. I guess this must mean she doesn’t trust us, but if she doesn’t, why would she still be my friend if that were the case? That makes no sense, so maybe she has other reasons. He couldn’t legally help her till she got out, though. Maybe that’s why I never got a response from him. I waited a whole day so I could enclose it in her letter, but nothing’s come in as of yet.

She said she feels her dream of getting the book published is fading away because she doesn’t know how to go about it and as I told her, my heart goes out to her as far as her frustration and cluelessness as to how to get a book published. This is the main reason I got turned off from the idea of being a writer. Finding a publisher is like finding a needle in a haystack, but others have found them, so don’t give up, I told her, and also, even if it never does get published, write the book anyway, because you’re a good writer, you like to write, and it’s a story worth writing. She promised Gretchen she’d do this and I let her know that Gretchen wouldn’t be let down by her not getting the book published, she’d be let down by her not writing it at all. I also assured her that although life is seldom what we plan it to be and dreams rarely do come true, all kinds of wonderful things happen to us along the way that we wouldn’t trade for the world. All we can do is try our best. Not succeeding isn’t failing, not trying is failing.

She wants to change the title to From the Cradle to the Grave and I agree that that’s much more catching and appropriate.

I told her this ought to console her and that’s that if the state doesn’t do the right thing and fry his ass, other inmates probably will. Also, if jail was as hard as it was for someone like me who doesn’t like to control or be controlled, imagine how hard being told what to do all the time is for a control freak like him?

I asked her which of my two stories she likes better, but I know not to count on an answer from her. That girl does not like to answer all my questions!

Anyway, Samantha came yesterday and is very nice. She has pale yellow-blond hair that’s crimped and blue realistic eyes. She wears a soft blue dress with off-white lace. I can’t figure out if it’s an old-fashioned or a modern dress. It looks like it could be either. My floral earrings that go with the necklace I got not too long ago go beautifully with the dress. I cut the clips off with metal cutters and glued them on. Porcelain gets hot as easily as it gets cold, and boy was she scorching hot when I unpacked her at 2:30 in the afternoon! I was surprised to find she was wired, but that’s no big deal. Wires are okay on a standing doll of this size. It’s when they’re over 30” or are sitting dolls that loc-tite armatures are better.

I emailed Vicki Pala as far as how much a completed Sweet 16 Bailey would cost and she said $250, so they’re the cheapest yet. I really want to get her in the dress she comes in when it comes time to get her. It’s such a beautiful pink dress with roses.

I can’t print pictures for Mary, Paula or Bob cuz my color’s dead and I’m low on toner, too. At least I’m full on black, but hopefully I’ll eventually be able to renew everything and not have to resort to writing people by hand, but if I do, I do. We’ll see. I like to write, but I prefer to stick to typing.

I slept poorly the last couple of days that I ended up sleeping forever today. I slept like I was in jail again yesterday and barely slept 5 hours. I guess it was the excitement over knowing Samantha was coming that day. Then we had a 6-hour thunderstorm. I fell asleep last night and only slept an hour when a loud thunderclap woke me. It wasn’t till 2:30 before I fell asleep and I slept till nearly 5:00 right before Tom got home! Both tonight and last night we’ve had steady rain that lasted for hours. The olies will love it!

Lightning knocked out the power in the whole northeast region a few days ago. Feeling a bit sticky, are ya, Tammy? Hee, hee! It’d be even funnier if it happened in the winter, but not for Paula and Bob. August in New England is miserably hot and humid. It’s like in the 90s with 100% humidity.

The bombs have done a good job of keeping spiders away, and any flies that get in die off pretty fast.

I asked Yves for another introduce-a-friend certificate for Paula, but just like with Tom’s mom, who knows if she’ll go for it?

I’m working on a third story. I couldn’t figure out what to write for the longest time, so then I decided to start at least a little something and let the story lead me from there, then it came to me! Isn’t that cool? Most writers have their stories all mapped out before they even write the first word, but I kind of start with whatever comes to mind, then take it from there. When I started the first one, I didn’t know Kate was going to become a psycho.

Anyway, the last two stories were pretty much romance that turned suspense, but this one’s going to be the other way around, so it seems, with the suspense turning into romance.

I quit the 2-hour workouts as they were just a waste of time. A half-hour or so is all I need to do to keep in shape and working out really doesn’t burn calories, and I don’t give a shit what anyone says. It doesn’t. The key is watching what you eat, though I’m not trying to lose weight anymore. Just stay where I’m at. Even the Bowflex people said that more isn’t better.

Tom feels more and more certain, now that he’s been there a few days, that this job will be a good one. Already they’re giving him a desk and a computer! He does a lot of walking, parking and moving around the zillions of cars. That will keep him in shape.

As I told him, more is always better, but I’d happily settle for $50 a month of extra money. If I could get a doll every 3-4 months, that’d be better than never and they’re not all going to be over $200.

This weekend he’s going to put the green truck’s muffler on the white one and hopefully, it’ll be quieter than the one that was on it before. He’s not sure what he wants to do with the green one. Maybe turn it into a trailer or race it at the Firebird racing track where they do drag racing.

Friday, August 15, 2003

I’m mailing Bob a letter to mail to Kim with the hopes of getting some extra money out of her by doing whatever work she may need or want me to do that I can do from across the country. I even threw a stamped envelope in for him. I’m not going to lie and say that money isn’t my sole interest, because it is. Meaning, I’m not going to be friends with her if she says no. It isn’t that I hate her or think ill of her, it’s just that I see no point in bothering to resume a friendship with someone on the other side of the country. I know getting work from her is a hell of a long shot, but I didn’t think it could hurt to try. I’m not going to tell Tom about it unless she surprises me with having something for me to do, cuz if I’m right about my not being meant to generate any income, she’s not going to have anything for me, and there’d be no point in mentioning it to anyone. I don’t want Tom to get all paranoid or worried and think that just because I’ve made contact with Bob and Kim, I’m going to do so with Andy and my family. I’d never want a smoking pothead like Andy back in my life who’d do nothing but bug me, not that I expect he’d take me back as a friend either. I’d also never have anything to do with my family who abused me in so many different ways like they did for so many years. I have more self-respect than that. Everybody’s so hell-bent on forgive, forgive, forgive, but not me. Besides, I really think the only reason so many people are so big on forgiveness is that they hope it will get their own asses off the hook when they themselves do wrong. They figure that if they can get others to share their attitude, they’ll quickly be forgiven as soon as they cross the line and figure, why not do wrong? I’ll only be forgiven.

I hope to hear from Mary as to whether or not she and Mom are interested in the Yves deal, but I won’t hold my breath. I asked them to email me either way, but they strike me as the type to blow me off and wait to tell Tom they aren’t interested when they see him. That could be this Sunday after he puts the other muffler on. That’s quite a drive, so if the damn thing passes that test, he’ll feel more comfortable taking it elsewhere. For one, we’ve got to take a load to the dump. We’ve got tons of boxes, non-burnables, and shit outside that needs to go.

My Mary must really miss having a radio, though I can assure her she’s not missing much. It’s mostly full of welfare bums screaming about their rage, welfare, gangs and drugs. It really gets old! Here are these damn rappers who grow up on the streets in gangs, then get rich and famous by screaming about the things that piss them off and that they think are oh so unfair, but me, who grew up with all kinds of abuse and has a high school diploma and some college, still remains with an average or below income. And you know what else ticks me off? Society’s quick to write about the trouble I’ve gotten in, be it real or imagined, like they did with the freeloaders here and the prank calls back east, but when did anyone ever write about when I escaped the projects back in Norwich and journeyed all the way out here with little more than the clothes on my back? When did they ever write about when I quit smoking, drew a really good picture, got married, got an ear canal drilled, etc.? So much of the time the wrong people are getting attention or money for the wrong reasons while those who are much more deserving of recognition or money don’t get shit. Well, I don’t want any recognition or attention. Just the opposite, especially after being thrust into the spotlight like I have so many times throughout most of my life. But a home job, just a lousy home job, would be nice! Why is it that more often than not, the simplest and or most common things are just too much to ask for? And I’m sick of my family knowing about my damn business, too! Hell, Lori and Lisa know about the jail shit. Doe would’ve told Larry who would’ve told Ronnie who would’ve told Lori and Lisa. I don’t want these assholes to have the satisfaction of having any knowledge of my life.

I was both bummed out and frustrated over this sleep curse that’s so obviously a curse that’s been put on me. What to punish me for, I do not know, but it’s more than obvious that it is a curse designed to punish me and to hinder me from who knows how many opportunities. They say there’s a reason for everything and that God makes us how and who we are for a reason, but I can’t imagine for the life of me why I was meant to not be able to keep a schedule and to be so sleep-needy other than to be punished by it. Sometimes we get answers, sometimes we don’t. I mean, I think it’s safe to say that the reason God denied me a child was to punish me back when I wanted one and because he knew I couldn’t handle one anyway. Same with the singing, but why, for example, was I not meant to be with a woman as good-looking as Kate, Linda or Gloria? Not that I’d trade Tom in for the world, but why was it so important to God that I be with a man? I knew he was trying to tell me he wanted me with a man all along, like long before I met Tom, but why? Medical insurance is the only reason I can think of, but now a woman can name another woman as her insurance benefactor, so I don’t know what to think.

Sunday, August 17, 2003

Someone just blasted by. Anyway, I just saw Kate in a movie that was released this year. For a 55-year-old woman, she looks fantastic. Especially after all the cosmetic surgery, tummy tucks and starvation, she’s no doubt been through. Compared to 30 years ago, she looks awful.

Not surprisingly, I haven’t gotten any email from Mary.

Also not surprisingly, Tom and I haven’t gotten it on yet. He says he has to get the truck out of the way, which is true. After all, we’ve been having to get that damn truck out of the way since December now, but even so, I’m still convinced he isn’t any more interested than I am. If he was, he’d make the time for sex. This is just how he’s always been, though; a one-thing-at-a-time kind of guy, and there are always, always things going on with us. There are always projects and things that need to be done. I wasn’t kidding when I said that I expected nothing to be different about it this time around, which means that these projects are going to take precedence over sex. This weekend’s out as it is because he’s going to want to get working on the truck as soon as it’s light enough to do so and because he pretty much has always preferred sex at the end of the day. It was like he wanted to put it off till the last minute which made the predictability rather boring. There was never much spontaneity or variety and his putting everything else ahead of it was one of the biggest things that turned me off in the past. The biggest thing to come before sex was always the TV, of course.

If we do get it on, I’ll be proven right on something else I figured all along and that’s that what I say or don’t say pertaining to his not cumming does not affect whether or not he cums. Especially since it’ll be years since I’ve mentioned it. He used to try to tell me that my talking about his problem affected it and hindered him from cumming, but I always believed that to be untrue. I hate to say it, but my otherwise strong husband is a real wimp when it comes to this shit. So much so that he’s always tried to pin it on me when I knew all along I had nothing to do with it. The lack of protection may’ve affected it, yes, but nothing I said affected it. That much I always knew and still do. Even so, it’d always come back to me, in his mind. Somehow, I was always connected to it, so he’d tell me, be it something I’d do or say. He was never man enough to come out and admit he had a problem. Period. And that it was his problem and that if, and I repeat if, there was anyone to blame for it, that person could only be him. It’s either a physical problem or a mental one. If it’s mental, it’s likely due to fears of impregnating me. If it’s physical, like with those who can’t get hard in the first place, then it’s physical and only a doctor could tell him what to do for it, though I know he’d never have the guts to bring it up to a doctor.

Nonetheless, regardless of what’s caused by what and who influences it, it’s a good thing in this day and age that he doesn’t cum and is content to stay that way. If he’s happy, why make a gooey mess?

I couldn’t tough out the sneezing so I went back on the nasal spray. So far my nose hasn’t bled, so that’s good.

Here are my planting ideas for the fall. It’ll be rather costly, but a damn worthy investment. I want to replace the dead olies with new ones. Then, since there’s no one in front yet, I want to make a line of olies from the corner where the driveway is to about parallel with the shed (the metal one). That will up the value, give us a little more privacy and help keep some of their shit from blowing over.

Then I want to get a palm tree and put it by the bedroom where the tulip tree was supposed to be or maybe a little further out since they get so tall, figuring we’re not going to do anything at that side of the house since we decided to put the pool in back. If the date palm lives, it shouldn’t be blocked by any shaders cuz it’s next to the driveway.

Lastly, I want to get poplars for the front and back. We’ll replace the dead ones, then maybe add a couple more and extend the line on down towards the bedroom. In front, we can plant them from the rat’s graves to the driveway. Well, from the graves to the date palm, assuming it lives, or maybe put one sort of behind it. If the summer sun was in the position of the winter sun, it wouldn’t matter as it hits the house straight on, but we’re going to have to go as close to the driveway as we can cuz of the way the sun slants at an angle. And really close to the graves, too.

Fall of ’04, I’d like to olie most of the front and maybe pull the back line of olies towards next door, figuring that sooner or later there’ll be a house in front and a rental between the existing ones and Dan. I don’t think we’ll lose much privacy once a house exists towards the bedroom side. We’re never at that side of the house but to burn and water the olie. There’s a lot of dense brush there too, but we won’t know for sure till it gets there. I don’t vibe a house there anytime soon. I sense there’ll be one across the street before there’s one on that side, but I don’t know when. Probably by ‘05. Same with the fourth rental.

Thursday, August 21, 2003

I don’t know if I ever mentioned this, but the Charlie’s Angels clips that Tom rescued were pretty fucked up. Bits and pieces of other episodes and even stuff of ours like our old home videos would pop through the clips periodically. I decided to quit recording until we have a DVD recorder, but I’m sure there’ll be a problem with that, too. I hate this new digital system! It used to be so easy. You’d just click on the show you wanted to record and you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to use the VCR.

Tom got the other muffler on the white truck and it’s much better. Doesn’t even come close to waking me up.

The last of the frogs died the other day. We’re now down to just the two angelfish, two guppies, and the algae-eater.

The new Walmart in Casa Grande opens today. It’s supposed to be a grocery store as well, so this Saturday, real early in the morning, we’re going to head over there. I’m sure that because I want one, they won’t have the birthstone Barbies, and that if they do, it’ll be one I don’t want. I’ll just have to order the one I want online one of these days.

Speaking of online, I accidentally stumbled upon this site with these gorgeous figurines with very lifelike detail. I seriously considered one of them, but I don’t want to save up and spend a whole $140 or more on a teeny tiny figurine that shouldn’t be more than $30 like the one I got at the grocery store with the Osco in it. So, my current plan is to order Dalene at the very end of this month, then hopefully order Haiku or a doll that’s on sale that I like by early October as long as we have the extra money.

Meanwhile, I’ve been thinking of sculpting a lot lately and how cool it’d be to get clay, the proper tools and an instruction book so I can learn to make my own figurines. I know I’d never be allowed to make one penny from it, but that’s okay. I can do it just for fun.

It’d be nice to get a pool table to put in the center of the living room when the rats are gone. I’d then put the Bowflex where the rat’s cage now sits. However, pool tables are too expensive as opposed to a ping pong table. It’s just that pool’s something I could play without Tom.

Tom just ordered me all new cartridges. New inkjet cartridges and a new toner cartridge. I hope nothing’s wrong with any of them! It cost $75 but would’ve cost $150 from an office store.

We changed scratch tickets. We were doing bingo tickets, but now he’s doing a crossword ticket and I’m doing Crazy 8’s. It was cool how we could look online and see how many winning tickets are still out there. I quit doing the million-dollar lottery tickets because I know God’s not going to let me see the numbers.

Friday, August 22, 2003

Now we’re both doing the crossword game. That’s because Tom won an astonishing, mind-boggling $100 yesterday!! Amazing, huh? This game is fairly new so they still have a ton of winning tickets out there. We’re going to split the money and take it to Walmart tomorrow where Tom thinks I’ll spend it all. I doubt that, but if they have a cheap sundress that’s fairly decent and comfy, I may grab it. I still want dolls more than decorative stationery, clothes, etc. I’m set on socks, underwear, shorts, shirts, etc., so I doubt there’s much I’ll want. On the other hand, if they have a $50 fake palm tree I like, I just might grab that, too! I complain about him being on days, yet tomorrow’s going to be so nice being able to take our time shopping. In the past, we’d have to hurry up so he could get home and go to bed in order to get up at night for work.

I’m not saying I will, but I’m thinking of cutting my hair to my shoulders like I seem to do every 3-4 years once it gets really long. It’s near the middle of my ass when pulled straight and such a pain! It’s so heavy and such a bitch to deal with. Trying to keep knots out of it is like trying to get a black person to play their music for their ears only, or should I say “African-American,” as that seems to be the going title these days till they decide that that’s an offensive term, too. They’re so fucking sensitive! You can refer to them as being “of color,” but God help you if you refer to them as “colored.”

Tom nearly got within inches of one of the smaller rattlers that live here yesterday morning. It was under the green truck which he walked by without being smart enough to check under. It didn’t even rattle, that’s how brave they are.

It’s pretty cloudy out right now which is good because it’s keeping my office cooler. Especially since the sun’s on that side of the house at this hour. No matter where we move to, the next house is going to have most of its windows facing north and south!

My new cartridges won’t arrive till next Wednesday because they’re coming from New Jersey. I’m sure they’ll get here on time too since they’re not dolls. They left Secaucus, New Jersey at 6:33 ET, according to my online check, but by now I’m sure they’re out of the state. They’re probably in the very lower part of New York right now. I just hope they won’t be broken!

I wrote Mary and Bob by hand to let them know I’ve got to wait almost a week till they arrive. I didn’t want Mary to think something was wrong, because if I waited till Wednesday, then mailed her stuff on Thursday, she wouldn’t get it till Monday, September 1st at the very least.

I finally heard from Bob yesterday. He didn’t mention my autobiography, but he did say he got and read both my stories. He said they were good, but he wants more sex. He wants a 395-page story with tons of orgies, he told me, which is typical Bob. Sorry, I told him. I’m a romance/mystery writer, not a porn writer. He ought to subscribe to Playboy or Hustler. Arizona’s one of the few states that won’t allow inmates to subscribe to such magazines, but I’ll bet Massachusetts would.

I don’t know how many times I have to tell the old slut not to write on the fucking envelopes! I’ll just dump him again if he gets that annoying.

He also told me some jokes which were pretty good. He didn’t mention Kim, because he mailed this letter before I mailed him the one for Kim. He should have that right about now and so should Kim, assuming he knows her address. It’ll be interesting to see what she has to say, though I highly doubt she’ll have a job for me. No one has a job for me! Oh well.

I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Paula yet. I enclosed my number in my letter to her, so who knows what’s up with Miss Phoneaholic?

Aside from getting mosquito bites at work because of the surrounding farm’s water supply, it’s going okay. Some days he doesn’t do much and other days he walks a lot which he likes because it’s good exercise for him. He’s not sure if he’s going to get a promotion anytime soon, though, as he’s just not around that many hotshots.

Yesterday they began drilling a well in front which makes Tom think I could be right about another house or two still to come, pointing out how single houses don’t normally get wells.

I know I’m right. The split lots always have to be near us. I also think it’s been split because I haven’t seen anyone going to the house on a regular basis or hanging out in a trailer like we did till they could get in the house. The good thing about it is that whoever bought the lots and however many houses end up there will no doubt sell them and not rent them. You don’t usually put that much into rentals. Rentals are almost always dumps without wells. On the other hand, owners still have screaming kids and barking dogs and are just as quick to let their trash get out of hand as the renters are out here, so it’s not necessarily a good thing, though the fact that the houses are newer and more expensive is a good thing. It means the chances of blacks and Mexicans buying them are next to nil. I still can’t believe that the renters closest to us are white! Next door makes up for their whiteness, though. If I can’t have blacks or Mexicans below or above me, they at least have to be next to me. Either way, I am not looking forward to when all the houses are here and occupied. Not just because I don’t want to hear their shit, but because we’re going to lose even more privacy. It’s going to really, really suck when the land in front sells off. They’ll be the closest to us, therefore, I’m sure God will make them the loudest, and of course, I won’t count on there being just one house there.

Saturday, August 23, 2003

Today’s shopping spree was fun at the new Walmart. We left at 5:30 to beat the heat and crowds. First we started on the non-grocery side where I was pleasantly amazed to find just about all of the birthstone Barbies. It’s a good thing I got to see them in person because I decided that the December one is definitely the nicest and not September. December wears a turquoise glitter gown and a turquoise necklace. It’s cool that the best-looking one is my month. She was $25 and has dark brown hair.

For $50, they had a fake palm tree that was nice, but because I got the Barbie I didn’t get it. I will eventually, though. Probably by the end of the year. By the end of this month, however, I do intend to get Dalene.

I checked the children’s clothes, and they seemed to have a good variety of clothes that’d fit the 24” dolls. The clothes marked 12-14 mos. should fit them nicely.

I also got a couple of pairs of cloth-covered elastics with little strings of heart-shaped beads streaming from them in pink, purple, blue and yellow. One’s on a Barbie and it looks really cool.

There were many things I almost got, such as a $20 leafy tree. It was a good height at around 7’, but not very full. I also almost got a glow-in-the-dark puzzle but didn’t like any of the designs.

I got children’s gumball vitamins. I saw a commercial for them and couldn’t resist. They have cherry, watermelon, grape and regular bubble gum flavors. The metabolism vitamins seemed to have quit working on me anyway. This is a common thing for me too, where something works at first, then stops.

I also got a leave-in hair conditioner that I’ll never again live without. You just spray it on your knots whether your hair’s wet or dry and they slip right out.

We got a little carried away with the groceries, but oh well. Thanks to his winning ticket, I still have $21 leftover.

Sunday, August 24, 2003

Tom’s doing the usual, fighting with the vehicles. Again he doesn’t know if he’s going to make it into Mary’s today. It’s like something doesn’t want him to go there.

He acted weird this morning. When I got up, I saw he was watching one of the many pregnancy/childbirth series they got going on the health channel. As soon as he heard me stumble into the kitchen, he changed channels in an instant.

Hmm… I wonder what that was all about? Was he afraid my seeing him watching that stuff would make me think he wanted a kid?

But I know better.

Was he afraid seeing it would make me want one all over again?

Well, it wouldn’t.

Does he still think I want one and figured it wasn’t good for me to see something I couldn’t have anyway?

If that’s the case, he’d have to think I wasn’t honest about my feelings, but I can assure this journal that I’d never say I didn’t want a kid I truly did want, nor would I say I wanted a kid I didn’t want.

I realize more and more, though I figured as much a long time ago, that if he hasn’t been able to admit so far that he doesn’t want to get it on, he never will. I just wish he’d save the politeness for other people and be honest with me! And himself. What’s the point of saying you want to get it on with someone you don’t, anyway? Is he afraid of how I’d react if he were honest or something? Either way, the KY won’t be wasted since I got some tampons yesterday.

Well, right now it’s looking like we’ll still have extra money to play with after all, but the $60 a month for each of us will drop to $40 a month, and the grocery budget will get cut from $90 to $80, and we’ll still split any leftover money each week.

I really did my homework at the grocery store and looked around for things that were cheap, yet not loaded with calories.

As Tom pointed out, though, there are no guarantees for the future. We may have no extra money at some point which wouldn’t surprise me. It’s all going to depend on his pay and how much of our shit breaks on us which is usually quite a bit, quite often. If some emergency comes up that costs us thousands of dollars, well, then we’re out of luck.

Again I heard someone cruising around here with loud music, but I don’t know where it was coming from. I think it was somewhere in front.

Monday, August 25, 2003

Now I really think something doesn’t want him going to Mary’s. Again he set out to go there when he got a flat. I suggested he seriously consider calling the bitch and having her mail us the rebates, anniversary, and birthday checks. Then he can try going over to mooch some other time.

I decided now that I’m on days to try to keep a day schedule for as long as I can. If I can, it’ll be the first time I did so without having a choice. The past two times I was on a schedule I didn’t have a choice and that would be when we were in the process of moving, then later on, thanks to the freeloaders, when I was in jail.

My lungs have been so tight the last few days that I nearly considered praying for a minute there till a reality check ran through my mind. I told myself, after all he’s had you suffer through, you think he gives a damn about your poor little lungs? If you weren’t meant to suffer from asthma, you wouldn’t have it in the first place.

So I just live with it as best I can.

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

What is it with these thunderstorms erupting late at night and early in the morning? At this time of year, they’re supposed to occur in the late afternoon/early evening. Makes me think I should forget about being on days for a while. After not getting to bed till midnight, I was woken up at 6 AM.

What? Is it my compensation for not having a million appointments or my compensation for winning a $60 Barbie on eBay like I did last night for just $30? That includes shipping, too. Yes, I won one of the 3 dolls in the diva series, All That Glitters. This is a Hispanic doll with long wavy brown hair with blondish streaks. She wears a gold metallic mesh halter top and an orange skirt with dots of glitter. I want to aim for a white version of Red Hot and then a black version of Gone Platinum. I’ll try for one of them this weekend. As Tom taught me, it’s best to wait until the last few minutes of each auction. That’s when all the action takes place.

I got a little worried there for a minute because I bid on this doll a second time around before I even checked my email and learned that I won her! The computer stalled when I hit the submit button to submit my final bid which I waited to do when there was less than a minute left. Then it said that that auction had ended, so I assumed I lost that one. So I tried again and bid $8.50 on one that was currently bid at $3.75 with 6 hours left to go. Tom said not to worry and that he was sure I’d lose. Sure enough, much to my delight, I was outbid an hour later. I never thought I’d be so glad to lose! Meanwhile, the one I won should be here on Friday. It’s coming priority mail from CA.

As for Dalene, the more I think of her the less appealing she is to me, but if I can get a good deal on her through eBay, then sure, I’ll take her. Meanwhile, I’d rather not pay 50-something dollars for her. If I can get her for $35 or less, that’d be cool.

My cartridges made it to Phoenix early this morning and will be delivered tomorrow. I told Mary not to send me her book back as it gets rather expensive for me to turn around and send her copies. She has enough of a book where the ink and paper alone are a bit costly. I hope she’ll hang onto it till she’s out.

Her family said no to paying me to kite the letters, not to my surprise. See, I must work for free! Jose’s mother’s been doing the kiting, though. Wouldn’t this make Mary warier of what she said what with having to send it to his mother? Either way, she can have the job and I’ll stick with the typing.

She also said she never thought for a minute that I took her money which was nice to hear.

I never got a reply from Chuck for her which makes me think he’s either away or ignoring her, because in a sense, what she asked of him is illegal, whereas people like us who aren’t lawyers can simply “play dumb,” but not until she’s out of there.

I also haven’t gotten any email from the other Mary, but that doesn’t surprise me in the least. It’s sad, though, when people can’t do the simplest of things. Such a little, little thing, asking them to email me and let me know if they’re going to order from Yves or not. Why do so many people act like the simplest of requests are so damn hard? On the other hand, these are people who don’t exactly like me, so even if they were interested in the stuff, I doubt they’d order simply to keep me from getting the $30 certificate. Well, I’m not going to ask them about it in an email because I know they’ll just ignore me as will Paula who I spoke to yesterday. She claims she’s going to send me the form along with a money order because she’s not sure what to do, though I wrote out simple instructions for her to follow. Paula is retarded to a degree, so I can’t totally fault her, but I can for lying. I mean, I knew damn well and good that it was bullshit as soon as the words were out of her mouth about her sending me this and so did she. If I asked her about it in a week, she’ll swear she did send it. I know her.

She’s still living on the edge, loving conflict and violence, though no one’s been around to give her the beatings she so obviously adores because Miguel’s been in jail since April. The bulk of the conversation was about the usual – him and her problems with him. She goes on and on about the horrible things he says and does to her, and all I could do was say for the millionth time that she shouldn’t have a damn thing to do with him. Then I get the usual response of “I know,” before she goes on about how she wishes he would change, along with how horrible he treats her, and I’m left to wonder what it would take for her to see he’ll never change. I’m not sure who’s worse, her or Mary, but I guess I’d have to say Mary because, after all, she’s the one with the dead kid.

I totally regret sending her those dolls. They’re sitting in the box in the home of a paranoid skitzo who thinks Miguel’s going to break out of jail and sell them when I could’ve made money off them on eBay. Something does not want me making money! It’s so, so obvious, so you know what? I’m not even going to try anymore. I totally give up on that. I also know what can happen to me for trying to rebel or change what’s meant to be and what’s not, so if doing for others for free or at my own expense is my calling in life, then so be it. I’ll just shut up and do it.

She still asks if I got my braces off that I got off in ’99. Also, she never checked out the CD I sent with the journals and pictures because Justin’s been too busy playing games on the computer.

She’s going to court for her fourth or fifth violation on the 4th of next month, asking if I think they’ll throw her in jail. As I told her, if she’s managed to keep out of jail with this many violations, she may never make it to jail after all. She’s just so damn lucky she’s not out here. I’ve heard of people doing 3 months for their first violation and something like 10 months or a year for their second or third.

Yesterday I began to suspect that the property in front of us was bought by whoever bought the one in front of next door. One of the well workers was walking around over there. Tom said that to him it just sounded like a bored well driller. With about 900’ to drill in the 115º weather, how the hell can you be bored?

Thursday, August 28, 2003

I had a little scare at 11:00 this morning when there was a knock at the door while I was at the computer. They not only knocked long, loud, and as persistently as a cop, they knocked on all 3 doors! Naturally, in light of all I’ve been through, I thought the freeloaders were up to no good again. Remembering how I feared they’d pull something before or after the end of the probation, I thought, oh no! They were probably taken by as much surprise as I was to learn my probation would end early, so that leaves after the fact to fuck with me.

I did catch a glimpse of the person at one point. It was a middle-aged white guy who was carrying a water bottle in one hand. He had a fairly new and large dark red pickup with a built-in tool compartment.

I called and left Tom a message about it. He’s pretty sure it was a handyman based on my description and said that he was probably persistent if he had a job to do in the area because if he was late or unable to find the site the job was at, that’s money he loses.

When I asked why he’d carry a water bottle, pig or not, Tom said that’s what they usually do out in rural areas, especially when it’s so hot.

I hope this was all it was about. I don’t have any bad vibes and I haven’t had any warning dreams, though I do have dreams of being locked up again from time to time. I just assumed this was natural after all the times I was locked up in various kinds of places. In fact, these dreams, along with dreams of my parents, will probably haunt me for the rest of my life. It’s just that while undercover pigs may be corrupt, they’re not stupid. A guy in jeans and a T-shirt sporting a water bottle and that type of vehicle would make a damn good cover. Nonetheless, if it is connected to any enemies, they’ll be back and I’ll be waiting.

I doubt they were looking for potential houses to break into since this would be a hell of a risky place to do it. Not because there are lots of neighbors close by as potential witnesses, but because everyone has guns out here, and if the owners happen to come home, you can’t exactly make a quick getaway in the way that you could in the city.

We’re thinking of getting a regular phone again, but without the extras, so we can have a phone that’s reliable and just use one of the cells.

I might’ve forgotten to mention this, but Mary asked me what I’d do if I were raped by another woman. I don’t know what inspired her to ask this. I mean, I don’t know if something happened to either her or José or what. I asked, but I won’t count on an answer. In fact, I’m cutting down my questions to those I write to because asking questions that never get answered gets old. Anyway, I told her that on a not-so-serious note, if it were a young Kate, Gloria, Linda or Palma, I’d ever so gladly let them do it! On a serious note, I probably wouldn’t report it for two reasons. For one, I wouldn’t trust the shit system. First the pigs make it out like it’s the victim’s fault, then the courts rape the victim all over again, and if the perp did do any time, it’d be for 5 minutes, then they’d get out and rape again. Secondly, I know God would protect my rapist and keep them from any form of punishment be it for 5 minutes or 100 years. I really, really believe that; about God protecting my perps. It’s not something I just say out of exasperation. I know this to be a fact from 37 years of experience and there’d be no point in trying to tell myself otherwise.

It looks like I’ll be getting another one of the divas (Gone Platinum) this weekend. I can get her for less than the December Barbie and that’s including shipping! That is unless someone buys her before then.

I wish I could talk myself out of mannequins and big porcelain dolls and into collecting just Barbies since they’re so much cheaper, but there are really only a few more Barbies that I really like, so I think I’m going to get those, then go back to saving up for the better, more expensive dolls even if it takes me forever.

eBay may not be the best place for getting a mannequin, but it sure is when it comes to Barbies. I guess that’s because there are so many of them and they’re so popular. Not the birthstones, though. The average birthstone Barbie is in the 30s, base pay. Why pay that when you can walk into a Walmart and get one for $25?

Later…

Just as I figured it would be, this has been one active monsoon season. It’s been raining nearly every day! It’s coming down really hard right now.

My cartridges came on time and intact, but no doll yet. I think it’ll come tomorrow or the next day. I’ll probably get one this weekend too, and then September will be the start of our new budget till someone cuts out our extra spending money completely.

We decided to hold off on getting a dog till the rats die, then we’ll get smaller rats that don’t roam around loose like these jumbos do. Of course, as excited as I am about having a dog, that doesn’t mean I’m in a hurry for these rats to go belly-up too soon, either.

I did some online research for my book. Love in Disguise was set in the desert, Julie & Jill was near the beach, so I thought the woods would be nice for this one, Sacrifices, though I didn’t want a place that got cold and snowy which I hate. After investigating, I settled in on the small town of Ukiah, an hour north of Sacramento. I’m not going to bother with chapters or dates this time around.

It occurred to me that I never wrote a brief summary of Julie & Jill. Well, Jill’s this hot-headed Italian with a serious personality and Julie’s a flaky nut, though she’s not stupid. They meet when Julie goes for an exam in a clinic where Jill works as a nurse. They’re instantly attracted to each other, and that evening Jill picks Julie up when she spots her walking along the street. They have dinner and end up hitting it off, though Jill’s reluctant at first, not used to characters like Julie.

Then Julie’s crazy neighbor dies and she’s charged with her murder since the two never got along. Julie then pins the blame on the boyfriend whom she framed while Jill learns that Julie’s mother tried to kill her for insurance money and her father committed suicide.

Julie’s soon freed and the boyfriend is charged, then when Jill snoops into Julie’s journal and learns she’s the real killer, Julie shoots Jill before she can have a chance to react either way.

Friday, August 29, 2003

Again the door knocker came. This time it was just before 2:00. For a moment I was tempted to settle my curiosity and see who they were and what they wanted, but decided against it. If I am about to be framed again by our Jew-hating wacko blackos, let them either kick their way in or leave a calling card of some kind. The fact that they haven’t left a business card or a note of any kind is what worries me.

They knocked with a cop’s knock – loud, long and persistent, though they did give up quicker than yesterday. They knocked on the front door, went around to the side, then returned to knock again on the front door before leaving. It was the same vehicle, but it may’ve been a different guy. Yesterday’s guy was grayer with jeans and a T-shirt. This one, who appeared to be in his late 30s to early 40s was dressed up a little more in beige shorts, shoes with socks, and a short-sleeved shirt with a few buttons in front. They carried nothing in their hands this time. This gives me a little bit of hope that it’s not someone up to no good. If they were taking me to court again on more bogus charges, wouldn’t the person be holding a subpoena? And if it was a detective, wouldn’t they have left a card? They couldn’t call us so easily because we don’t have our old phone number and cell phone numbers aren’t so easy to get. You can’t look them up in phone books or call information for them.

I just hope this and the loud music I’ve been hearing at night aren’t nasty omens of trouble to come! I can’t shake the feeling that something doesn’t want me here and that it wants me in places I don’t want to be, with absolutely no control whatsoever. Past patterns worry me, too. Meaning, God doesn’t give me much more than a few months between long-term problems and I feel like these people are going to haunt me forever. Even if I never see them again, as long as I live here where they know where I am, I’m always going to jump out of my skin when someone comes knocking. I hope I’m just being paranoid, but I can’t help but wonder about all kinds of horrible scenarios like the pig erasing all forms of documentation saying I’m off probation, making me look like an absconder. I don’t think he could do that and if he could, I have my own documentation, along with Scot’s word. I just don’t want any hassles! The question is, are they going to return tomorrow or next week? They acted as if they knew someone was home, but then again, the truck out there would give that impression there might be. I don’t know, it’s just that people like JO and JN don’t give up. They just don’t know the meaning of the word quit! If this is connected to them in any way, then I’m 100% right when I say there’s no end to their shit. Especially as long as I live in Arizona.

I try to console myself with the fact that I didn’t do anything, but I also didn’t do anything in the past either, but send some journals with a piece of my mind enclosed. How was I to know the pig was friends with her and would fabricate other evidence which, unlike the journals, would be incriminating in this state? That’s the whole problem right there. If they can stalk and harass me through the courts once, I’m sure they can do it again. And white undercovers would be exactly what they’d send out too, if this is connected to my enemies. If they have any sense, then they should know I now know that uniforms mean deception and trouble and they certainly wouldn’t send any non-whites out by themselves.

I hope I can convince Tom not to open the door if they come back tomorrow. Unless they come when he’s outside being a slave to the vehicles, of course. It’s just that I don’t want to make it easy for anyone with bad intentions of any kind.

Who knows, maybe they really are some seriously lost handymen, though I’d think they’d have figured out by now where the hell they’re supposed to go.

For a brief moment, I wondered if it could be the guy who came to question us about buying property around here, but I think that guy was taller and skinnier. However, his knock wasn’t like it was when he came to talk to us and what the hell would he want with us this desperately?

Could it be connected to his suit against the bank? Teddy Bear?

I looked through the binoculars and haven’t yet been able to spot a dark red pickup in front where they’re still drilling unless it’s parking where I can’t see it from here.

Anyway, my guess is that they’ll be done drilling today, but we’ll see. I just wish it was two hours from now when Tom will be home! I left him a message, though, just in case anything happened to me, though I don’t think I have to worry about any physical harm coming to either one of us. I hope not! I mean, this man looked like I could take him with one arm tied behind my back, but if he pulled a gun on me that’d obviously change really fast.

Later…

My doll hasn’t arrived yet. With my shit luck, it’ll arrive tomorrow and not be in the locker, so I end up having to wait till Tuesday, since Monday’s Labor Day.

Anyway, Tom says it’s definitely not pigs knocking on the door and is sure that they’d come in marked cars with a bogus story just like before if they were to come out. He thinks they’ll come out again tomorrow, so we’ll find out what the hell they want then. It could be anything from them seeing we started to put up a fence and wanting us to hire them to finish it, to something about the neighborhood. I wish to hell we could have fences, but I’ve already accepted the fact that we never will.

Today Tom’s mom is 80 years old. I wonder if Art and Doe sent her a birthday card? I still can’t believe Mom would be so cold as to correspond with them after I asked her not to and told her I’d had a lot of problems with them. If someone I cared about asked me not to bother with someone who had hurt them, then I wouldn’t. It’s not like they’re buddies anyway, and as her daughter-in-law, I’m the one she should be respecting, not them. It’s okay, though. She can’t have that many years left and then we’ll be a little richer. I just wish she didn’t have so many kids!

My current auction plans are to try to bid a buck on the one in California that’s starting bid is at $14.99 and ends Sunday. If I lose, I’ll just buy the one in New Mexico outright for $15.99 +$6.50 s/h. This one doesn’t end till Tuesday, so hopefully no one will bid on it come Sunday.

Saturday, August 30, 2003

My first diva doll came today! She’s way nice.

I also won 9 Barbies for just $15.50! This isn’t from a store, though. It’s from an individual in Enfield, CT. She’s been an eBay member since ’99 and has no negative feedback, so I’d say she’s trustworthy. These aren’t new, boxed Barbies. They’re from her daughter’s collection, but she says they’re in good condition. It looks like all but two are dressed. I’ll describe them when I get them. Even if I ended up liking only a few of them, it’d still be a hell of a deal. I think I’ll like more than that, though.

eBay’s so much fun that who knows when I’ll start saving for the expensive dolls again? I’ll get back to them one of these days. There’s no hurry.

Once again, though, I hope I lose the other auction I bid on. Boy, was I dumb on that one! As for the other diva I want, well, I bid on the CA diva this morning before thinking to check if the NM was bid on or bought because if I’d checked and found that it had a bid like it was, I’d have just gone and bought the CA one. Once a bid’s been placed, though, the ‘buy it now’ option usually goes away.

If I win this, I’ll go from being glad I lost to being pissed I won and back in debt again, too! I only have $20 right now.

Anyway, there are a few more Barbies I really want, and then I’ll get off the Barbie trip and start saving for the nice porcelains.

No knockers today. Guess that means they’re going to return on Tuesday, but at least Tom’s right about them not being pigs. Pigs don’t take weekends off.

Tom’s going to make attempt number 10 to see his mother tomorrow, and then the next day, the shooters will be at it again during the daylight till around April.

I’m still managing my day schedule, though I sure wish I could sleep till I wake up on my own tomorrow. Can’t do that, though. If I do, I’ll end up sleeping till 11:00 which means I won’t get to sleep before 3 AM which means I’ll have to get up just 5 hours later and that’d be a bit hard on me.

Tom mentioned us “getting active” again but knowing him he’s going to put it off till the last minute which would mean late afternoon on Monday. One of the things that bored me to tears in the past when it came to sex was the predictability. It was always at the end of the weekend, just a few hours before he’d go to bed.

Although I’m still working out to keep strong and fit, I’ve given up on dieting. You have to have a metabolism if you’re going to go on a weight-loss diet. There’s really no other way around it. Trying to lose more than a few pounds with no metabolism would be like trying to drive a car with no gas.

Sunday, August 31, 2003

Two Divas down, one more to go in the series. Yes, I won the doll! I’m actually quite happy about it too rather than bummed because I’m not in as much debt as I thought I’d be. Only about $14, and assuming his mom gives Tom her famous $20 bill, I’ll be just $4 in debt. Anyway, if I thought getting a $55 diva for $30 was a great deal, this one’s even greater at just $20! I can’t believe I got a total of 10 Barbies on their way to me for just $35! The set of 9 is coming from an individual in CT and the black Gone Platinum doll’s coming from CA. So, there are just two more Barbies I want, unless I spot another grab bag for sale and or auction like I did with the set of 9. If they’re in good condition and are dressed in the types of outfits I like, I may go for it. It’s a lot of fun. I was really surprised not to find an email waiting for me when I got up saying I’d been outbid.

I’m going to be pissed if Mary doesn’t call soon. She, Dave, Mom, Bobby and Maria were to meet at the casino today, then call Tom when they were leaving so he could go visit. To stand him up would be really rude. Much ruder than it was when they couldn’t even do a simple little thing like I asked and email me about the damn beauty supplies.

The bitch is still having her many illnesses and injuries, and Mary’s not like Tammy. Meaning, she’s no hypochondriac. I know for sure she’s had the shingles like she told Tom she did and has been really sickly and I know why, too.

I think the mesquite tree has finally begun to grow, but I don’t think it’ll grow many feet a year.

We agreed to set a deadline on whether or not we do more work on the front and back doors to lessen their leaks. They’re shit doors we never should’ve gotten so we could never make them 100% leak-proof. Anyway, the plan is to work on them if we don’t have porches by then which means we’ll be working on them in January since our plans rarely work out.

I’m so pissed because I’m up to 129 pounds. Most people’s problem is that they can’t lose weight and that I could live with, but I can’t stop gaining! So now I’m forced to go on a diet and go hungry so I don’t end up gaining hundreds of pounds. I hate this forced diet thing! If we’re supposed to have free will in this life, then where’s mine? Losing weight has gotten harder and harder. It’ll take me a month of struggling to get down to 125, then in a few days, I’ll be right back up to where I am. Getting down to 120 is now virtually impossible for me. They weren’t kidding when they said it gets harder with age. I didn’t believe it because most people tend to exaggerate, but this is no exaggeration! So I’ll try to limit my calories to 1200 a day and walk a half hour or more a day along with my weight-lifting I do 2-3 times a week.

As for sex, well, like I said it’s being put off till the last minute. It bothers me too, as it makes me feel like I’m the lowest priority and this is what dampens my own appetite. Who knows, maybe we won’t do anything at all, and if we do, it wouldn’t surprise me if we do just manual and oral stuff which Tom will call “getting back into the swing of things,” then end up never screwing. To tell you the truth, I can’t say I’d be bummed out if we didn’t. I hate that starting-all-over-again feeling! It does not tickle.

[ladysisyphus]

Thank you all so much! All this support is incredibly heartening.

For a bit of timeline:

Friday morning, 6:30 AM: I send a request through Tumblr's internal support system asking for a review of the blog's classification; I get an automatic response saying it's under review

Friday morning, 6:32 AM: I get a "We’ve detected Explicit content on your Tumblr" email. Two new posts have been flagged, both well over a year old and marked "Mature" when I originally posted them. I sigh and delete them without appeal (even though one of them I probably could have appealed successfully).

sometime between then and 10AM Saturday morning: Tumblr terminates the shousetsubangbang account.

Saturday, 2:45 PM: I notice the account has been terminated and click the "Contact support" link it provides, sending an appeal; I get an automated "We got your email. We’re on the case and will respond as quickly as we can." email.

It is now 11:00 on Sunday morning, and I have received no further communication from Tumblr. They never even told me the account was terminated in the first place; I just reloaded the page and had it redirect me to https://www.tumblr.com/terminated.

I have been told by someone who contacted Support on our behalf that they received a response last night saying Support sees our ticket in the queue and we will hear back from them, though it may take a while. If you have also received this response in response to your contacting Support, you have had more relevant contact from Tumblr about this issue than we have.

And, you know, I get it -- we're an icky queer smut zine that sometimes posts naughty words and the occasional drawn picture of a boob or a butt, hardly making us Tumblr's favorite account. But whatever, we're tiny -- if a post we make gets over 50 notes, that's a big deal for us! And yeah, we've got a bunch of posts held in the "flagged" quarantine that I never bothered to delete, because why? If erasing all those (which couldn't be seen anyway) had really been so important to getting the blog unflagged as NSFW, I could have done that. Instead, somebody on the back end of Tumblr just nuked the whole thing from orbit.

What I'm kicking myself over is how, if I hadn't said anything, nobody would ever have done anything. And sure, we would never have appeared in any tags or searches, and nobody could ever have Blazed our posts, but whatever, we couldn't do that anyway! It would have sucked, but we still would have had an account.

Anyway, thanks again, everybody. SSBB is something I've loved and loved to make for nearly two decades now (yikes!), and it always makes me good to hear that it means something to other people too.

the queerest place on the internet 🙃

Hey, everyone please do me a favor! s2b2's tumblr has been flagged as adult for ages, but when the editor sent a polite request to staff for it to be unflagged so it would be searchable, they just... insta-deleted the whole fucking thing. It would be very helpful if everyone could contact support and ask them to reverse this.

[libraford]

The short version: We had a serial thief at the flower shop. She’s retired recently and I think that due to Covid she really means it this time. 

The long version? hoooo boy, here we go.

This story, and others, are viewable on Tablo

There are rules and there are rules.

In dealing with shoplifting in retail, there are rules on how one engages with a thief. The handbook, if there were one, would consist of a single word. 

Don't. 

Don't pursue, don't interrogate, don't accuse. Let them take the merchandise, let them get away. Let them return the Cricut machine for an equivalent amount on a gift card to be exchanged once again for drugs. 

Let them. 

There is no handbook on how to handle Flower Thieves. Prior to working in a flower shop, I never thought that this was a problem. 

Life is surprising. 

 I'm sure some of you have figured that out by now. 

The Flower Thief is notorious, and she has a system. There are days when you simply know that she's going to be in. 

"Break the heads off the flowers before you throw them away," Grandpa will say. "She's going to be here tonight, I think." 

And sure enough, she would be. At 6:45, a quarter til we close- the Thief would announce her arrival. Loudly. 

"Heeeeey, baaaaaaby!" 

The very first time I encountered the Flower Thief, she came in through the back door. 

"Oh Hiiiii, Darlin'- ain't seen your face around here: you must be NEW! I'm Wren, you know- like the bird? Well, Kyle and I have an agreement that I come and work for y'all sometimes. You should take out this trash, it stinks to high heaven. Anyways, nice talkin' to ya, see ya later." 

I may only be a little bit psychic, but I've spent enough time around liars to know insincerity when I see it. Kyle, at the time, was the manager of our store and I have it on record that he's tried to throw her out of the building once or twice. 

While I was taking out the trash, her pile of purchase became so tall it towered over her. I watched Clark massively undercharge her for the sake of getting her to go away. 

She has a pattern.

She comes in during the design classes because she knows that when there's twenty people in the store, there's not enough people to watch her and make sure she's not stealing. "There's a class today," she asks as if it's not literally every Tuesday. "Don't worry I know you all wanna get out of here on time." 

The Flower Thief announces her presence in a grand way and then makes her way to the back to grab a trash bag or an empty box and then proceeds to bury any spare parts she finds in the cooler in the trash bag, hiding them under the things that she's actually buying. 

After that, she checks the garbage cans for things we might have thrown away that will last another three days and stuffs them underneath her other ill-gotten goods. 

Just when you think she's finished, she'll go through her pile of flowers and say: "You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus." And she'll go back into the cooler with it, stuff it in her purse, and walk back to the register. 

And when she's all done being sneaky, she asks one of us to come ring her out. 

This is the part that no one wants to do. Because ringing out the Flower Thief means haggling with the Flower Thief. 

"Oh baaby, you know I don't pay those prices." 

"Oh baaaby, I only pay $19 for roses." 

"Oh baaaaaaaaaby, those carnations were on special." 

She'll talk you down to under $100 with a sob story: 

"Oh baaaaby, you know I'm donating this spray to the family. It's for that woman you know- you know the one. She got herself murdered a couple nights ago? Two children and she was pregnant too! Pregnant! Can you believe it? Who murders someone with child? What's the world coming to? So I need a good discount to make sure we treat this family right because they got a looooong road ahead of them." 

"Oh baaaaaaby, you know this one's for that car crash over on Cleveland Avenue? I hear he was taking care of his dying father himself, so it's such a shame for him to go first like that." 

"Oh baaaaaaaaaaaaaaby, this is for that little boy that shot himself, isn't that sad?" 

Thank you, Sister Mary Loquacious. 

And you nod because you don't want to come off as an uncaring sociopath. And while you're nodding and adjusting the price for her sad, sad consequence and mulling over how good she is for donating to these people in their time of need, she steals some greens from the trash can and sticks them in her bag. 

She hands you crisp $100 bills. You check them and she makes jokes about how she printed them this morning. They're legit. Counterfeiting isn't why she went to prison. 

What she went to prison for was drug trafficking. 

"Do you need some help," you ask, trying to be a good citizen. 

"Oh no, I got it," she insists. "I'll make it in two trips. I'm stronger than I look!" 

And don't you dare get caught looking to see what she put in the bag or she will give you one hell of a lecture. 

By the time all of this has passed, the class will be over and there will two minutes left in the work day. She's spent thirty-seven minutes in the store. Your register is unbalanced because now you don't have enough small bills to balance it and only have one $100 bill to get you through tomorrow. 

And that's why there are rules. 

On occasion, a new person will break the rules not knowing that there's rules. One such occasion was when Clair decided to be helpful. 

"You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus," Wren said. 

"Oh! I'll put it back for you," Clair suggested. And before Wren could protest, it was out of Wren's hands and nowhere near her purse. 

It was mentioned to Sage, who only worked for us one summer, that Wren had failed to pay for something and she immediately chased her out into the street. 

Wren drives very fast. 

If you cross her too many times, she'll make sure you never forget it. One day, she stomped her way in through the front door, angry. 

"You ain't treated me better than a damn THIEF," screamed the Flower Thief. 

Grandpa, who was helping Blue make a wedding bouquet at the time, departed from the desk. "Beg pardon?"

"A thief! You been treating me like a thief ever since they made you manager and I'm sick of it! I see you bringing in your henchmen, following me in the cooler, chasing me down the street. Treat me with some damn respect." 

Words were exchanged. They were not kind. We thought we'd seen the end of her. 

But she was back one week later, doing the same damn thing. 

So now there are rules. 

If you make something and there's an excess of flowers left over from the pack, you have to make something out of the leftovers or she'll pick through them and stuff them in her bag. 

If you cannot make something out of them, you must throw them out. 

If you throw them out, you must break the heads off first. 

The trash cans must be emptied every night before 5:00. 

We do not keep trash bags in plain sight. 

Break down all empty boxes, or she will use them in place of trash bags. 

Do not leave any food or drink where she can find it. 

Do not leave any half-used rolls of floral tape where she can find it. 

Do not let her know anything about you- lest she use it against you. 

If you speak of a Thief, you summon a Thief- speak quietly, and never her name or you invite trouble. 

The basic rules one makes when dealing with pests. Or fairy-folk.

There are rules and there are rules and there are rules. 

If you want to keep a pest away, you make these sorts of rules. But if you want to get rid of a pest indefinitely, you have to remove their food source. And Wren's food source was her discount. 

You start exercising your right to say 'no' to a customer in small ways. 

She saw a bunch of carnations in the trash and said: 

"Oh baby, these are still good! I'll take them off your hands for you!" 

"They've been sitting without water for hours." 

"They're still good!" 

"They were out in the sun." 

"Oh baby, I've been working with flowers for 40 years and I know that these will still be fine for a couple of days!" She picks a bunch of them out of the trash and shoves it in my face. "See, it's still stiff- it's still good!" 

"Okay," I said. And before I could stop myself: "Full price."

Her eyes just about popped out of her skull. If it were just a little bit colder, I would have been able to see steam coming out of her ears. 

We stared at each other for about a minute, waiting for the other to flinch. She took the bunch away from my face and threw them back into the trash. While she was in the cooler, I took the liberty of snapping the heads off of them and burying them further into the garbage. 

And so began a war between the flower shop and the Flower Thief.

She came in: every single night. And each night, she got me. 

Again.

"Oh no, baby! These carns are supposed to be 39 cents a stem. I can bring up the email." 

"Sure." She brings up the email. "I see that they are 39 cents but... this was for Saturday." 

"Yea, and I bought those carns on Saturday and you charged me full price!" 

"Saturday." 

"Yeah." 

"You didn't buy these on Saturday. You bought them Friday." 

"Well I didn't know that they'd be on sale, so I need them for that price because I didn't know they'd be on sale." 

"The sales are one-day only. I can't adjust a sale from Friday to reflect Saturday's sale... on Sunday." 

She made a noise that reminds me somewhat of a cement mixer. 

 And again.

"I got a bad banner last time, can you print me a new one?" She shows me the banner in question. It's white. The 't' and the 'h' in 'mother' ran together. 

"Sure." 

"Okay, I need it to say 'Beloved Mother' and I want it in pink." 

"Sure." 

I print it. I ring her up $5. 

"Oh baaaaaaby, no, that one should be free." 

"Grandpa said- banners start at $5." 

"Oh, but you sold me a bad one last time." 

"We haven't sold you a banner in three weeks. How long have y'all had that body sitting in your cooler?" 

She grumbled, and paid. 

 And again. 

"I swear you been workin' every night this week! You must be tired," she said, nerves plain in her voice. "When do you get a day off?" 

"When the work is done." 

"That ain't what I'm askin'. When's your next day off, baby?"

"I stop working when the work is done, Wren." 

She narrows her eyes, which is a fun change from them bugging out of her skull like a fruit fly. "You don't ever get any days off?" 

"When the work stops, I rest."

 And again. 

"I'll be in and out, I know y'all want to get out of here on time," she said- announcing her presence to the entire class. She piled her stuff across the register counter and Grandpa began ringing her up. 

"Oh baby..." 

"No. We're doing away with the discounts." 

There are twenty people in the workshop for the class and Grandpa doesn't want to make a scene. She pulls her into the back, and I choose to make my instructions louder to mask the sound of them yelling. 

"So you're going to take your hypericum berries and you're going to cut the stem to about ten inches-" 

"How can you do this to me?" 

"And you're going to slowly fill the vase with these berries to kind of set the shape of the arrangement." 

"After all these years and this is how you treat me?" 

"Fun fact- you might know hypericum berries as their more common name: St John's Wort! St. John's Wort has been used as a medication for depression prior to modern medicine." You see- I, too, have taken notes from the Chattering Order.

"You can't do this to me," Wren said, stamping her feet like a toddler.

"But I wouldn't recommend eating them. However, they do smell somewhat like baked brown sugar." 

Stamp, stamp, stamp. 

Wren threw herself into the cooler and began putting a bulk of her flowers back. 

"This is robbery," I heard her say to Grandpa at the register. 

"Is it now?" 

 And again. 

She came in and immediately reached for a half-empty box of oasis bricks (the green sponge material that we use to hold flowers.) She said few words to me, few at all. She talked to Carrie about how she was going out to the country for awhile, to take care of her nephew's property. She needed to stock up. And oh- don't worry about it, she knows what she's doing. She's part of The Family.

She is in no manner of speaking, a member of The Family that owns this shop. Not even a third cousin. 

I saw her beeline for a rose I'd set in the trash. I picked it up, opened my mouth, and bit the head off of it. She stood in the middle of the workshop, absolutely stunned. 

Rose petals have the vague texture of arugula, by the way. Slightly sweeter, though. Tough to swallow in one go. 

She ran back into the cooler and didn't talk to me. 

I began taking down numbers. 

27 bricks of oasis. One pack of roses. Ten calla lilies. 1/2 pack of assorted greens. 

I punched the numbers in to the register. As if sensing something was amiss, she emerged from the cooler. 

"$54? What do I have that's $54?" 

"The oasis. They're $2 each." 

"Oh no baaaaaby, they're $1." 

"I can text Grandpa and ask her." 

"... that won't be necessary. Why are you charging me $22.50 for roses? You know my prices by now!" 

"22.50 is the price for a pack of roses." 

"22.50 is everybody prices." 

"Welcome to 'everybody.'" 

"I ain't paid a price increase in 7 years!" 

"The price of milk went up, Wren. So does everything else." 

She was seeing red, I knew it. There's a vein in her forehead that pops out when she's angry and it's the same shape as the river that runs through my home town. She sized me up, as if wondering if she could take me. 

I'm 256 pounds of 4H beef, and I have a knife. Try me. 

"I'm gonna call Kyle on this." 

"Do it." A lifetime of retail has made me immune to 'I'd like to speak to the manager.' 

She grumbled and put things back. Carrie offered to watch her, I held up my hand. 

"Can you do something for me  on these carns? They're the last pack in there and they're lookin' kinda ratty." 

"9.50." 

"9.50's the regular price." 

"Regular price is $14." 

"No it ain't." 

"Is today. You're taking our last pack and we need those for funerals." 

She put them back. 

She gave me a credit card. It seemed fake, but it ran. Every time I see here, she's got a different card. Did she print this one this morning, too? At least she stopped trying to sell me on Bitcoin. As you can see, it made her incredibly wealthy. 

She gathered her things and left. "Guess I'm getting the rest of my flowers from KROGER!" 

There are things you want to say. Like... I hope they enjoy your company just as much as we do. Or: Haven't graced them with your presence in awhile, huh? But at the time, it was better just to watch her leave with her minuscule bunch of flowers. I get a choice in where I loan my voice. 

Not here. 

Is it over? Nah. She'll be back for another round. But one day she'll finally retire in the way that she's always threatened to. And then? Then it can be as over as it ever will be. 

It is shocking to come from a history of retail, where you're not allowed to even hint at the idea of a customer being wrong, where you have to override every single price change to get the scores up, where you have to just let them steal your things and pull the wool over your eyes... 

... to flat-out telling someone 'no.' 

"No." 

It's such a great word. 

There are rules and there are rules. 

And there are thieves that the rules are made for. 

And there are words like 'no.' 

And all those things are magic in very human ways. 

[just-here-for-the-moment]

For the DIFFERENT POV GAME:

I want Javi’s POV on this whole adorable scene.

Okay, my Queen @quica-quica-quica, I want you to know that I suuuuucked in a huge breath when I saw this Ask, because I was entirely unsure if I could do this. It seemed like a really hard challenge, but FOR YOU I’ll try anything.

I dug in to see what I could do, and of course because I can’t just write succinctly I had to start waaaaaay back in the beginning of the story to get Javier where I needed him for the phone number scene… hope that’s okay!!

Thank you for challenging me this way! This went from scary to amazing in just a few days! I love you so much, my friend!!!

---

Coffee Shop Girl (a companion piece to “For Now” told from Javier’s point of view)

Word count: 3000+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (Austin coffee shop barista; cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow-burn; references to previous hiring of sex workers; cigarette smoking; Javier masturbating

Javier Peña felt like he was at loose ends. Not for the first time in his life, but it’s different feeling ‘lost’ as a young man than feeling ‘lost’ when you’re on the wrong side of 40. At least a teenager can still expect their whole life ahead of them. Since leaving the DEA and the fight in Colombia behind, he had been feeling directionless.

Spending some time at his dad’s ranch in Laredo had helped, the way that hard labor and sweat always does. It left him too tired to ruminate, to sink into the blues and feel sorry for himself. He had lined up a teaching job at a university in D.C. but it didn’t start until the fall semester, and Javier wasn’t looking forward to an entire blazing-hot summer on the ranch. So when his friend Bill called from Austin and offered a short contract job doing consulting for one of the state agencies, he jumped at the chance.

Javier landed at Mueller Airport at 2:00 in the afternoon on the second Saturday in June. He made his way out of luggage pickup to the Hertz desk and signed for a rental car. It didn’t take him long to find the apartment complex where Bill had arranged for him to stay. Bill’s coworker’s son had graduated from UT Austin in May, and the lease wasn’t up until August, so everything worked out perfectly. Javi could sublet for the remainder of the summer, and the apartment complex was close enough to the office that he could take the bus, meaning he wouldn’t have to put too many miles on the rental car or pay for parking downtown. A small, blandly furnished one-bedroom apartment near work was perfect. He could make it work for two months, and he had certainly lived in much worse places during his years traveling.

On Monday Javier was introduced around the office and given his portfolio of cases to consult on. He also found out that the coffee in the office was total shit. He had spent too many years drinking government-grade slop at the DEA and other agencies to put up with it now. He wasn’t one to complain, or to order any of the frilly new designer coffee drinks that seemed to be making the rounds among the ladies in the secretarial pool, but he had noticed a coffee shop between here and the bus stop. Some local place, one of those Austin things where they boasted about fair trade and locally roasted beans. If they made a decent cup of black coffee he could splurge, buy a cup on his way into the office each day.

The bus dropped him off at the corner at 7:45, so he could grab a coffee and still be on time to work at 8:00. Punctuality wasn’t always his strong suit, but Javier wanted to at least make a good impression while he was consulting. You never knew who might be a network contact to something good, and he didn’t want to screw Bill over after he had recommended him for the contract.

Tuesday Javier tried the coffee shop and found out that their coffee was not only decent for the price, it was actually good. Wednesday he went back again, this time brushing fingers with the pretty barista by accident. He offered her a “thanks” and then went on his way. Thursday he walked in and stood patiently in line behind two stoner kids trying to make up their minds between breakfast tacos and blueberry muffins. The pretty barista was there again, and she waved him over with a smile, indicating he could skip to the counter and leave the hippie kids in line.

“Black coffee, right?” Her smile actually reached her eyes, and for a moment Javier was very glad for all of the body language and psychology classes he had ever had to sit through. It was nice having a pretty lady smile at you to start your morning, and even better that this one already knew his order. She was quick, he figured, and good at her job if she had his order memorized after only two days as a customer. Not that ‘black coffee, to go’ was a difficult order, but he hadn’t expected to become a regular so quickly.

He smiled and nodded, “That’s right. Thank you.” He looked for a wedding ring and then for a nametag on her black apron, but didn’t see either one. He slid a rumpled $5 bill across the counter, larger than the singles he had paid with the previous two days, but she was nice. “Keep the change.”

He thought he saw her bite her lip as she turned away, and while she was fixing his cup he took a moment to check her out. He wasn’t some kind of pervert who would goose her from over the counter, but from what he could see she was attractive. Hell, most women were attractive to Javier. He suddenly realized it had been a while since he’d gotten laid. His last relationship was years past, and he no longer visited prostitutes regularly. Javier wasn’t a ‘reformed man’ by any means, it was just that that habit had been limited to a specific time and place in his life where he wasn’t stable enough to have a long-term relationship, and it had the added bonus of gathering intelligence.

The barista turned back to him with the cup and when she handed it off their eyes locked and their fingers touched again. He saw her pupils dilate and recognized the little spark that turned over in his own gut. Damn, she really was attractive. But Javier didn’t want to be the kind of lecherous guy who hit on a woman while she was working. Too many men mistook the minimum of customer service friendliness for a sexual invitation. Or worse, like the men who hit on waitresses on purpose since they couldn’t be outright rude to stop them. Javier suppressed a smile and took the cup from her, nodding his thanks.

On Friday when he breezed into the coffee shop he saw the pretty barista smile from behind the counter, and she immediately turned and started pouring his to-go cup. She turned back and gave him the ‘what’s up’ chin nod while holding his cup up. Javier walked up and he slid a few singles across the counter to her.

Javier gave her a warm, “Thanks,” and winked at her. That was at least a harmless bit of flirting, in line with her bright smiles and her friendliness so far. If she liked it, great; and if not, then at least he hadn’t made her uncomfortable by asking for her number or hitting on her directly. When he said, “See you next week,” she smiled that bright smile back. Javier noticed that it again reached her eyes, lighting them up just a bit more than last time. A good sign.

The weekend dragged but Javier filled it up with errands: a run to HEB for groceries and to Highland Mall for a new shirt. If there was the possibility of a date sometime in the next few weeks he at least wanted to wear something other than his work clothes. Saturday night he ordered pizza and watched a movie on TV, some lame action movie with giant muscled guys shooting way too many bullets, and of course all the curse words and a sex scene edited out for network TV. Can’t let the kiddies hear the word ‘shit’ while they’re flipping channels, but watching Stallone blow a guy’s head off is good for their growing brains. He finished his pizza and a cigarette and then felt that tug, the loose ends, a little bored.

Javier took a shower and his mind went to the pretty barista, that smile, the sparkly eyes. He thought about those eyes looking up at him through her lashes, or down at him from on top. He wondered what her skin felt like, imagining the rest of her naked, spread out, touching him all over. He felt a little bit creepy touching himself to the thought of her, hoping it didn’t make him a bad person, hoping he would see her again on Monday. But fuck it, he needed the release. Javier came, spurting hot in the steamy shower as he leaned his head on his forearm and groaned into the cold tile wall. He wished he at least knew her name.

Sunday Javier slept in and then did laundry, tidied up the apartment, and took a jog around the neighborhood. He tried to talk himself out of a repeat of Saturday’s shower. It didn’t work.

On Monday Javier lit up as soon as he stepped off the bus. The first week of the consulting gig had gone well, but today was a big meeting and he knew the agency was not going to like his recommendations. He was constantly trying to quit, but at least he had cut back recently. He was down to a pack a day and only one cup of coffee. That had to count for something, right? Maybe his doctor would finally get off his back about that.

He smoked as rapidly as he could on his way to the coffee shop, and stubbed the cigarette out as soon as he reached the big window that overlooked the street corner. He tucked his sunglasses into the top pocket of his blazer and opened the door to the coffee shop.

The pretty barista was smiling, looking right at him and already holding up his cup of coffee like a game show model holding a prize. Javier felt his heart give a little squeeze, and he smiled and winked at her again as he approached the counter.

“You psychic or something? Or am I just that predictable?”

“Both, maybe.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him and gave him a toothy grin.

Javier opened his wallet and saw that his smallest bill was a $10, but he decided not to ask for change back. She was attentive to her customers, she had surprised him by having coffee ready, and she was cute. “Great service, keep the change.”

Her face lit up and she turned to put the money in the register. Javier turned and exited the front door, and then decided to look back through the big plate glass window. She was looking at him, and Javier realized that meant that she had watched him leave. He hoped he wouldn’t have to tip $10 every time to get that look. He lifted his cup, nodded at her, and then made his way to the office.

Tuesday she had his coffee ready again, so he gave her another wink with his smile, and he thought that she purposely put her fingers in a spot to touch his as she handed the cup over. He paid with a $5 bill again, and then thought about her smile and her touch all the way to the office a few blocks north. He didn’t want her to think that the overtipping was him trying to come on to her; it really was nice to have his order ready to go every day.

On Wednesday she had his coffee ready again as soon as he walked in, but Javier supposed that was a testament to the bus schedule more than his own punctuality. This time he paid with singles. But he didn’t want her to think the smaller tip was because of anything wrong with her customer service, so he smiled a little more warmly, turning the charm up as much as he dared without just outright hitting on her. He noticed she was looking again through the glass as he left. But of course the only reason he knew that was because he had looked, too.

On Thursday Javier decided that it wouldn’t hurt to flirt a little more obviously, but to give her an out in case she wasn’t interested. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or fuck up his supply of good coffee, so he decided to take it a little slow. When he got to the corner he glanced into the window of the coffee shop and saw the pretty barista looking right at him. He took that as a good sign that she might be receptive to his flirting. He opened the door and let someone exit, then walked up to the counter. She pointed at his cup sitting on the counter in front of her, smiling that bright smile.

He arched an eyebrow up. “You trying to get rid of me? In and out so quickly?”

She grinned at him. “Depends on how long you were planning to stay. We close at 1:00 a.m. after open mic tonight. After that you gotta go somewhere else.” That was the most that she’d spoken to him yet. Javier decided to take his chance.

“And what time do you get off, after the morning shift?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” She winked and then bit the inside of her lips, like she had said something she shouldn’t have.

Javier decided to be direct. At least that would give her the chance to say ‘no’ if she wasn’t interested. He locked eyes with her and said, “I am.”

He was relieved to see her flash that big smile, all pretty soft lips and sparkly eyes. “I finish at 1:00, after the lunch rush.”

“Good to know.” He stuck his hand out to shake. “I’m Javier, by the way.” She continued to smile as she gave him her name. When she took his hand she gave a good firm shake, not like one of those women who went limp as soon as they shook a man’s hand. Javier liked her even more.

He fished a few bills out of his wallet. “Can I maybe stop by after your shift, take you to lunch sometime?”

“You can do me one better than that.” She reached down to grip the lid and spun the cup. He saw her name and seven digits scribbled in Sharpie. “My phone number’s on the cup.”

Javier gave her the eyebrows, very much enjoying how direct she was. It was nice to get a clear signal from a pretty lady, instead of having to play guessing games and worry about overstepping. He pursed his lips and nodded in approval.

“You do that for all your customers?”

“Just the best tippers.” And there was her pretty smile and her wink again, so soon after the first one.

Javier decided to give her both barrels. He put his hand out again, palm up instead of a handshake. When she put her hand in his he lifted her knuckles to his lips and pressed a soft kiss, giving her a look from under his eyelashes before he let go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Javier picked up the cup and left, and gave her a warm smile through the glass as he walked away. As soon as he got to the office he jotted her name and the number on a scrap of paper and tucked it into his wallet. He felt hopeful in a way that he hadn’t for a long time, and he rolled the cup endlessly between his palms while he considered his options. Options. Something he sometimes had taken for granted in life, until those moments where they suddenly ran out.

Javier drained the last of the coffee and then scribbled over her number with a Sharpie before tossing the cup in the trash. No sense in letting her number out into the world where some creep might find it. He smoked his third cigarette of the day out on the plaza and thought about her smile, the brush of her fingers on his, the way she approached him directly. He could use a friend in town, one who wasn’t a guy at the agency or an old college buddy. One who was soft and sweet and might be open to a date… or more. He checked his watch and calculated the hours until 1:00 p.m.

Normally he wouldn’t go back to the coffee shop until tomorrow morning, but it wouldn’t hurt to pop back over there today at the end of her shift, see if she wanted to grab lunch, right? He hoped it wouldn’t scare her off, going back so quickly. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray by the lobby door and jogged back up to his office, taking the stairs two at a time. He wanted to finish up, get this meeting over with, see if he could get over to the coffee shop before she left. He sat in the meeting, watching the clock hands spin slowly, listening to someone drone on about a budget issue that didn’t impact his work, and which could have been a memo in the first place. He felt his irritation creep up the longer the meeting went on.

Finally the meeting closed and Javier hopped to his feet. He told Bill he was headed to lunch and then jogged back down the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator. He walked the few blocks to the coffee shop, keeping an eye on his watch. He hoped he wouldn’t miss her.

When he got to the coffee shop he opened the door and let his eyes adjust to the dim light for a moment. And then he saw her, slinging her bag over one shoulder and coming out from behind the counter. Javier smiled.

She stopped a foot away and smiled softly, “Hey.”

Javier realized he was still wearing his sunglasses, no wonder it was so dark. He took them off and slipped them into his blazer pocket. He really hoped she wouldn’t think it was weird, him coming back so soon.

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you. Are you busy, or can I take you to lunch today?”

Her face lit up. Good sign. “No, I’m not busy. I’d love to go.”

She gestured out the big window, “There’s a sandwich place around the corner, and a park we can go sit in.”

Javier felt his face split into a wide grin. “That’s perfect.”

---

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[dembenchboys]

Don’t - Tyson Jost

AN: this has been in my notes for like 6-7 months now I hope you enjoy! It’s based if the song don’t by Ed Sheeran.

Warnings: cheating and a mention of sex nothing detailed at all.

Word count: 1.9k

I met this girl late last year

She said, “Don’t you worry if I disappear”

“Yes.” That's the response Layla whispered in Tyson’s ear after he asked her to spend the night with him. As he planted more open mouth kisses to her neck, Tyson could feel her breath quicken and her plus racing up.

Tyson wasn't expecting to be taken back by the stunning brunette with green eyes who he locked eye contact with as she was busy dancing in the corner with her girlfriends when he went to the local bar Monday night with the boys for a simple night of relaxing. When they bumped into one other at the counter and she introduced herself to him while grabbing a drink, he wasn't expecting his heart to race a little quicker. He hadn't expected to be bringing her home at the end of the night, yet here he was, holding her hand as they climbed into the car he had booked for them.

What Tyson really wasn't prepared for was the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he woke up to an empty bed and a piece of paper on his nightstand with only 11 numbers scribbled on it.

I told her I’m not really looking for another mistake

I called an old friend thinking that the trouble would wait.

Tyson realized he should've tossed the little letter away as soon as he got off the phone with JT who reminded him to think with his head and recommend throwing it away. But Tyson, on the other hand, was always one to follow his emotions rather than his mind or gut instincts. After all, he was known as a softy for a reason. His head was telling him that he should simply toss the paper away since it was just going to cause him misery. His emotions, on the other hand, were reminding him of how he felt last night when he made eye contact with her. They were reminding him of how his heart raced and how he felt a nervous pulse in his stomach for the first time in a long time.

So, four mornings after waking up to an empty bed, he decided to take the plunge and message her. He realized that texting her at 11:00 a.m. would not lead her to believe it was a booty call. Tyson opted to keep it short and sweet, only saying, "Hey, how are you?" And before he could back out, he sent the message, not realizing how drastically those four words would impact his year.

It was 10:45 p.m., according to the clock. Tyson had become increasingly nervous as Layla had yet to reply. He was thinking to himself, what if he had waited too long, what if she had just left the note out of kindness and didn't mean it? But his phone vibrated in his hand just as he was about to turn it off and put it away for the night. And there was a text message from Layla on his phone screen, saying, "I'm okay, what's up?" “Have you finally missed me enough to send a text?” Tyson felt the blood rush to his checks at that moment, as he hoped she didn't realize how long he had been waiting, but she did. Tyson decided to make up for the fact that he hadn't spoken to her in four days, so he spent the rest of the night getting to know the lovely woman he thought had a good heart.

But then I jumped right in a week later, returned

I reckon she was only looking for a lover to burn

Tyson decided to invite Layla over after about a week of talking with her through his phone and tossing the idea around in his head. He had all of the spare time in the world before heading to Alberta since the Avs season had just ended.

Tyson had discovered recently she was a CU Denver student. So when they agreed on a Saturday, Tyson realized she wouldn't have classes, so he wouldn't have to worry about her cancelling, but he was still worried that she wouldn't actually show up. When a soft knock came to his door around 1:00 p.m., those nerves faded.

When Tyson awoke to an empty bed on the Tuesday morning he was supposed to leave for home, he wasn't surprised. Tyson found himself going to bed with someone and waking up alone more often after that Saturday afternoon spent with Layla at his place.

Then I put it on pause until the moment was right

I went away for months until our paths crossed again

After waking up alone on that Tuesday morning when he had to leave, Tyson wanted to put some space between himself and the situation. Tyson knew that if he went down that particular road with Layla, his heart wouldn't be able to heal if anything bad happened. Tyson tried not to think about her during his time in Alberta, but it became more difficult with each passing day. Tyson found his feelings growing towards her each day. He found himself thinking about her at odd times throughout the day, hanging with his family? Layla. Sitting around the fire pit? Layla. in bed right before he closed his eyes? Layla. She was an addiction, the kind you get when you try a new treat and can't stop thinking about it.

Tyson promised himself he wouldn't message her again until he returned to Colorado, and he kept his word. He'd been back in the city for about three weeks before he decided to pick up where they'd left off.

She told me, "I was never looking for a friend

Maybe you could swing by my room around ten

Baby, bring the lemon and a bottle of gin

We'll be in between the sheets 'til the late AM"

After several late-night phone calls to catch up, Layla eventually told Tyson what this meant to her after he invited her to dinner. “Around 1:00 a.m. on a Monday morning, she muttered to him, "I'm more into the friends with benefits situation right now." Tyson was definitely devastated but he was willing to take whatever Layla had to offer.

Tyson was unprepared for the feeling he got when he glanced down at his phone after leaving JT’s apartment to see a text that said, "baby, I'm swinging by your place with a bottle." Tyson knew that meant he'd wake up alone in the morning, yet he didn't care at the time.

Tyson and Layla had been seeing each other more and more in recent weeks. Tyson’s feelings for Layla became stronger over time, but he never expressed them. He just loved her company, and if that meant getting lost in the sheets more often than not, so be it.

And for a couple weeks I only wanna see her

We drink away the days with a takeaway pizza

Tyson was in a slump, he wasn't producing on the ice as he wanted to, and the media was branding him a draft bust because of it. As a result, he found himself blocking others out, with the exception of one individual. Tyson discovered that Layla was the only one he truly wished to be with. She didn't mention hockey at all, because they could easily lose themselves in each other and block out the rest of the world. They'd eat as much takeout pizza as Tyson's diet permitted.

Yet something changed between them in those few weeks. Layla confessed to developing feelings for the curly-haired boy. As a result, they opted not to label what they were doing, but they did promise not to see other people. Not that Tyson was doing so before.

Wish I'd have written it down, the way that things played out

When she was kissing him, how I was confused about

Now she should figure it out.

Tyson should have known something was wrong when Layla started staying at school longer than usual, but he didn't think much of it, assuming it was just finals. Tyson should have known something was wrong because she took longer to respond to his text messages and began avoiding his phone calls, but he was so wrapped up in the feeling she gave him that he didn't notice. When Layla failed to pick him up from the airport on Sunday morning, Tyson should have known something was wrong, but he just convinced himself she slept in.

But two things happened when the car he ordered from the airport arrived in front of Layla's apartment and he saw her kissing the kid from her biology class: one, Tyson's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, and two, something clicked and everything made sense to him.

That afternoon, at Tysons' place, he had to have a conversation he would never forget .Layla explained that she genuinely wanted to be with him and that she was just messing around with Tyler, the name of the kid from biology, because she wanted to be official with Tyson. And in a relationship, she puts a significant importance on trust and respect.

So they agreed to become an official couple that day, and the eight weeks that followed were some of the happiest memories Tyson had managed to make.Tyson grew more and more in love with Layla with each passing day, and he indulged in it. He treasured the cuddles and long conversations late at night. Tyson was certain he was in love with Layla, or Ly as he began to refer to her. He was about to reveal her to the group of people in his life that he held in high regard: his teammates.

She was crying on my shoulder, I already told ya

Trust and respect is what we do this for

I never intended to be next

But you didn't need to take him to bed, that's all

And I never saw him as a threat

Until you disappeared with him to have sex, of course

Tyson wasn't expecting to see Layla on the sofa on top of Tyler from biology when he stepped into Layla's apartment on the morning of the 23rd, three days before their three-month anniversary, ready to celebrate because he'd be on the road. But that is precisely what he saw.

Layla didn't know she'd been caught until the beautiful white roses fell to the ground and the door slammed shut  from behind her.

As the knock on Tyson's door rang through the silent apartment, Tyson knew that all that had occurred in the previous year, his best days, and the one person  he could turn too would all be gone in less than 20 minutes.

Tyson had never expected to have a conversation like this one in his dark, relatively clean apartment. When Layla cried on his shoulder, he reminded her of their compromise on trust and respect, telling her, "If you were unhappy, you should have left, I never saw him as a threat, well, before you slept with him of course."

But after all of the screaming and pleading, Layla gathered her belongings and closed the door to Tyson's apartment; the sound that echoed in the house was almost close to Tyson's heart beating in his chest.

As Tyson came into the dressing room the next morning, feeling dishevelled, he grumbled to JT that he should have just thrown it out.

[sally-mun]

On Thursday I had to go to bed very early, because the next day was Black Friday and I was scheduled to open my current store, much earlier than usual shopping hours. I had to get up at 4:30, meaning that I needed to go to bed by 8:00, 9:00 at the latest. As a result I ended up having to miss out on my weekly game group, which meets on Thursday nights. This night was going to be a special Thanksgiving event, but I didn’t get to go.

Friday was Black Friday, which is probably enough said, but in addition to the usual reasons the day sucks I also ended up feeling sick to my stomach. We haven’t been able to get any more of my usual coffee brand for a couple of months and just ran out of our supply, so I had to start a new one, and I figured I’d really need it for the day since, well, Black Friday and all. Unfortunately not all coffees are created equal and this one ended up making me really queasy. Made the day harder than it already necessarily was.

Saturday I had to get up at 4:30 again because for some reason the mall decided it would run the same hours as Black Friday. Went in with no coffee this time, which is almost as shitty as going in with bad coffee but in a different way. The first associate that comes in to work with me ends up getting a call while at work, and she casually mentions that family members who were at her house for Thanksgiving have now tested positive for covid. She doesn’t seem concerned about this at all and just keeps casually replying that it’s fine, her family didn’t catch it. It sounded like she wasn’t quite clear on how the incubation period works and I tried to explain that she should at least be on guard and maybe get tested after a few days to see if anything comes up, but she’s continually unconcerned. I’m kind of disarmed by her nonchalant dismissal, but ultimately there’s really nothing for me to do. Even if they did catch it, it’s only been two days, so she wouldn’t be symptomatic or contagious yet. I drop a text to the assistant manager who’d be in later that day to make them aware of the situation, tho. She calls me back maybe an hour or so later to ask for more details, then asks me how traffic has been. I explain that it’s been surprisingly dead for being the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and she says I can send the associate home on the basis of it being dead, then, since there was another employee in by now as well. I do as instructed, then fill her in on any additional details once she gets in for her shift a little later.

Sunday our fridge broke down, probably sometime in the night. When I left for work that day I thought the things I pulled out felt surprisingly less chill than usual, but just figured it wasn’t getting as cold because the fridge was so full of leftovers. I later get a text while at work that it’s completely broken, everything in the freezer is ruined, and my family is scrambling to try to safe the rest in coolers or by storing it outside in the garden bin or the trunk of the car, since it’s so cold out. I’m also informed that the fridge now reeks from the food that did get ruined. I can’t tell if I’m more upset about what’s happening or the fact that my family has to deal with it alone and I can’t help them.

Monday we were supposed to get a new fridge; we did not. There was good new at least in that the one they’d be delivering the next day would be brand new and bigger than our old one, but the bad news is that the life raft of using coolers only lasts for so long, and we have to throw away more food. All of the Thanksgiving leftovers are thrown away. It’s probably at least 2/3rds of the total food that we made. We’d intended to eat a bit more and then pack up the rest into portion-sized packs and freeze them as ready-to-go meals that could be warmed up on short notice or taken as a lunch to a shift at work. In total between Monday and Sunday we lose a couple hundred dollars’ worth of food.

Tuesday the new fridge comes, but the guy backing up the truck isn’t properly paying attention and crashes into our garden bin while backing up. The bin is still functional, but definitely broken. More issues ensue as they try to bring the fridge inside, resulting in a huge gash across the front of our brand new fridge. The doors are also facing the wrong way, but we already know that’s an easy fix, so shouldn’t be a big deal. The maintenance manager says it’s getting close to lunchtime for his team, so he’ll send someone back in an hour to flip the doors. An hour goes by and no one shows up, and I’m getting anxious because I need to eat something before I go to work that day and I’m trying wait for this to get done first so I can stay out of the guy’s way. I decide to go ahead and make my food after 15 minutes because I’m very hungry at this point and HAVE to have something. The guy finally shows up about half an hour late, and waltzes straight into our house bare-faced while I’m still warming up my food. Last I knew they’re supposed to wear masks when working inside someone’s home, so I asked him if that’s still the rule. He pauses and says it’s up to the tenant, and I said I’d feel more comfortable if he had a mask. He says he has one in his truck and he can go get it, but as he passes he grumbles that if I’m going to require it I should say something before the person comes in. I’m stare at him and respond that I didn’t expect someone to come in without one. He returns with his mask, and I retreat to sit in the living room with my partially-prepared food. I figure I’ll eat as far as I can downstairs while he flips the doors, then do the rest when he leaves. For some reason this guy faffs around with the fridge for an hour and a half; flipping the doors should only take 10 minutes, 20 minutes tops. A significant portion of this time is spent with both doors completely off the fridge, which had just spent the last hour+ getting cold, so now all of that is completely undone. He’s still not finished by the time I have to get ready for work, so I ask my mom if she’ll pack up the rest of my food once he leaves. I go to work still hungry.

That same night I come home and discover that my computer is stuck in a blue screen loop. Earlier that day when I had gone downstairs to make my food, I had only intended to be down long enough TO make the food, so I didn’t put my computer to sleep. Normally that’s fine because it’ll go to sleep on its own after half an hour, but it’s been having some issues lately, and it looked like it had gotten hung up trying to enter sleep mode. I attempted to wake it back up, but nothing worked, since it never properly went to sleep I assume. I waited as long as I could for it to come back, but nothing happened, and I couldn’t leave it in limbo like this if I was about to leave for work, so unfortunately I had to give it an improper shutdown. When I tried to start it that night after getting home, however, it got stuck in a loop of trying to fix itself after the improper shutdown (which is normal for that) and then getting a blue screen error and rebooting to try again. Rinse and repeat. Googling on my phone suggested that this was a memory issue and was fixable, but I couldn’t even get into safe mode TO fix it. I’m now currently stuck without my PC, which I either have to pay to repair or buy a new one completely, which I’ve now completely missed the right opportunity for because it’s now past both Black Friday and Cyber Monday. In addition, the computer chair I was sitting in completely busted apart while I was sitting in it trying to fix all this. Literally the left side completely detached and I couldn’t sit comfortably in it at all.

Today at work my store manager pulled me aside into the back room to ask about the issue with the associate on Saturday, since she hadn’t worked that day. I figured she was following up, so I took her through the events of the conversation with the associate, then the conversation with the assistant manager. I’m then confused because my manager starts talking about various things that I have to consider when sending someone home and what the rules are about preventing someone from working due to covid, and I realize mid-conversation that this is a disciplinary discussion. I’m even more confused because, as I pointed out, I sent the associate home at the assistant’s behest. My manager then says that, according to the assistant, I had made the decision to send the associate home myself, and that she was claiming uninvolvement because “the associate was already gone when she got in.” I told her, yes, the associate was already gone when she got in because she freaking called me and instructed me to send the associate home prior to her own shift. For some reason despite all this, my manager continues with her points of things that I need to think about and account for if I’m sending someone home, as though my judgement had at all come into play in this situation. She goes on to say that she had to discuss this situation with HER boss, the district manager, because it could be a legal matter to deny someone their work hours because of covid if they aren’t symptomatic and such. I tell her, AGAIN, that I wasn’t planning on sending her home at all and wasn’t even the one that brought the idea up. Even if the associate has indeed caught covid from her exposure, it was only two days ago at the time, so there was no risk that day. I had only texted the assistant because I felt obligated to pass the information up the food chain, because if it turns out the associate DOES have covid and it comes up that I knew and didn’t say anything, that seemed like a bigger offense. My manager doesn’t give me a formal write-up for this because I guess the water is too muddy at this point, but I’m so fucking pissed because my hunch is that the assistant was getting a similar talking, realized she fucked up, and then threw me under the bus to save herself. I specifically accept the offer for this job because my trust had been so severely breached at my last one, and this is exactly the kind of shit that I don’t want to put myself through anymore.

Tomorrow I’m taking my PC in to the technician. I have no idea what this is going to cost me or how long it’ll be before I know anything. All I know is that I’m going to end up missing out on my game group’s session tomorrow night, again, for the second week in a row. I’m also going to miss out on a livestream I was scheduled to be on for Friday, because I can’t play the game I was supposed to be helping with.

So basically this has been a pretty horrendous week+ and I’m having a very bad time. I hope you all are doing better because I wouldn’t wish this shit on anyone.

[nbrook29]

love you to the moon and to saturn

This is part 4 of my Sander in NYC ‘verse. I posted it on ao3, but recently I’ve also been posting my fics on tumblr so here it is 😌

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 

Warnings: mild sexual content

* * *

Saturday, 10:00

His sleep was anxious, mind too preoccupied with stress to allow him to get a proper rest. The wake up was even worse as mere seconds after he blinked the sleep away from his tired eyes the memories of last night crept back in, flooding him with worry and making his brain replay the argument over and over again like a broken cassette. And then he checked his phone only to find a string of messages and missed calls, all from Sander, causing his stomach to twist with nerves at what they were going to say. 

His abrupt leaving had been a dick move and if Sander was pissed, Robbe knew he couldn’t blame him. So he stalled, finger barely swiping at the screen as he was unsure whether to unlock it and face the consequences or maybe throw the phone back on his bedside table and bury himself under the covers to wait for his courage to come back and for his nerves to settle.

Heaving a sigh, he chose option number one because it was the only rational one. 

He tapped Sander’s photo, holding his breath without even registering it.

Two seconds later he knew.

He didn’t need to worry.

 Sunday 13:00

Robbe hides another smile into his glass at the thought of yesterday’s evening, trying to focus on what Marie is saying. She’s talking animatedly about a guy she met at her new internship, hearts almost flowing out of her eyes as she swoons on the wooden stool and sips her black coffee. She’s the kind of girl who falls in love quickly and falls out of love just as quick. Across from where he’s sitting, he sees Fien and Lucas rolling their eyes at her exaggerated lovesick sighes making him snort in his marshmallow latte.

“Weren’t you obsessed with that lanky guy from Starbucks last week? What happened to him?”

Marie shrugs, tossing her long brown hair back from her shoulders. “I decided he was too old for me.”

“Didn’t you say he was 21?” Robbe interjects with amusement, remembering their group messenger chat he caught up with this morning.

“Exactly!” 

They all start bickering about the appropriate age difference in relationships, Robbe watching them as he munches happily on one of the soggy marshmallows he fished out from his cup, trying not to giggle at Lucas’ scandalized face at Marie calling 21 old. Robbe knows from the many stories Lucas has shared so far that his own boyfriend is a senior at college so his reaction is even more entertaining because of that.

It feels good to be around them again, Robbe thinks to himself. He’s been canceling on them way too often those last few weeks and he still feels guilty about it. They’re a fun bunch, their bantery dynamic established since day one when they all chose the middle row to sit in during their morning classes, and then promptly spent half of it bonding over the outrageous occurrence that was the absence of a coffee shop on the campus. Not long after, Robbe also discovered that apart from the passion for filmmaking, they all also like skateboarding. After that, the rest was history.

They were for sure a nice distraction from Robbe’s intrusive thoughts in the beginning of the semester. He lucked out, finding his group, his people, so early on in his college journey. But at some point even their goofiness and honest attempts at cheering him up weren’t enough. Not since the news from Sander came that he’s staying in New York until February and since the thing with Jens.

Now, observing them from over his half-drunk coffee, lips twitching at some of the more creative but still lowkey insults Marie and Lucas throw at each other, he realizes he has really missed them. They’re like siblings, the two of them, constantly bickering and teasing one another, but it’s all good-natured and amusing to watch. 

“Oh my god, let it go, children, for the love of god,” Fien cuts in abruptly, before turning her big expectant eyes on Robbe, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger and adding innocently, “I’d finally like to hear about Sobbe’s makeup.”

Heat rushes to Robbe’s cheeks and he scratches at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden. She’s the number one fangirl of his relationship, he has learned recently, but in a cute way, not creepy like Aaron sometimes used to be with his invasive questions. She always moans about being forever single, pouting at Robbe for some fluffy snippets and claiming in faux-seriousness that he owes it to the world to share them with others for being lucky enough to have a fairytale-like love story. 

Robbe has never disclosed to them how unfairytale-like some of the details are because it’s not his story to tell. But he really likes her so he always indulges her, usually after a bit of teasing. And, sue him, but he’s proud of his relationship and the fact that he of all people can call Sander his boyfriend, so even if he brags a little, he thinks he has good reasons for it. 

(He’s still kinda smug when he thinks about the time when he showed the three of them a photo of Sander, a pleased little smile on his face at their reactions and playful threats of stealing him for themselves.)

“Oh yeah, I wanna know too,” Marie agrees excitedly, scooting her chair closer to him. “You’ve been all smiley ever since you came over here so I’m guessing that hottie of yours did something right,” she ends on a teasing note, her waggling eyebrows leaving Robbe no doubts she expects some saucy details.

“Oh my god, stop,” he groans as he hides his face in his hands, his friends giggling at his embarrassment. “It wasn’t like that! We just… finally talked things out.”

 Saturday, 18:00 (flashback to last night)

Robbe’s been gnawing on his bottom lip relentlessly, completely unaware, to the point it’s a few bites away from drawing blood. He can’t help but feel nervous, the cursor hovering over the 'accept' button as he's rolling his eyes on himself internally, telling himself to stop making a bigger deal out of this that it needs to be. There is a bit of embarrassment clouding his logical reasoning to be honest, embarrassment about his overreaction last night.

Was it an overreaction? He's still not completely sure, but it's not like avoiding the situation is going to magically fix everything between them. Even though he'd really like that. It feels so awkward to be in this position. Robbe doesn't know what the protocol here is. They bicker, quite often even. Fight a little too, stomping off out of each other’s room grumpily but only over stupid stuff, nothing like this.

He's walking on an unknown ground just hoping he's not going to make things worse. He desperately needs their dynamic back because he's already over it. 

Not being able to share the most mundane every day stuff with each other over texts to joke about it, rile the other up or just vent about something stupid like their coffees not being hot enough on a given rainy morning sucks.

So he takes a deep breath and clicks on the button before he works himself into a never-ending second-guessing.

When Sander says a soft hi and smiles at him with the usual warmth in his eyes, something akin to relief courses through him from head to toe. 

He gives him his own tentative smile and a short hi, pushing himself higher against the pillows. Before Sander can say anything more, he lets go of what has been weighing down on him the entire day.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, contrite. “About yesterday. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just logged off like that without explanation. And then ignore your messages,” he adds after a pause because that’s what he feels most guilty about. He knows he’d freak out if Sander just cut him off without giving him an opportunity to talk things out, would worry himself sick. 

Sander looks conflicted, brows knitted together, like a part of him wants to reassure Robbe because it's in his nature, but the other part is genuinely hurt. Robbe doesn't want compassion. Not for that, because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Causing Sander distress is the last thing he wants.

"Yeah, it did suck," he finally admits after a moment passes, and Robbe finds comfort in his honesty. It’s a good start. They won’t get anywhere with false niceties and pretending everything’s fine. Robbe tried pretending, yesterday and most of their calls before that, and it got them where they are now.

“I mean, I know you didn’t want to talk about your problems yesterday,” pausing, he scrunches up his nose a bit, “but maybe next time just don’t log off so abruptly so I know you’re okay?” his voice tilts on a hopeful note.

Robbe just nods, feeling shameful, hating that there’s not much more that he can do when he’s talking to him through his computer, and can’t exactly reach out to cuddle up to Sander’s side or kiss the underside of his jaw as a silent apology to then stay close for the rest of the evening as they heal together. 

It’s frustrating and disheartening, but it affects them both the same amount and Robbe needs to remember that. Because the truth is, Sander didn’t exactly give him a legitimate reason to doubt him or to think he didn’t miss him. Those full of hurt eyes Sander gave him yesterday at the suggestion have been eating away at him all day.

Robbe just got swallowed by his own insecurities and let the little things that bothered him consume him all instead of, well. Communicating.

Sander was right yesterday. Of course he was.

He knows he has some more apologies to give.

“I’m also sorry for not telling you earlier how I felt,” he keeps pouring his heart out, “and for, you know, assuming you don’t miss me much, and-”

“Woah, hey,” Sander stops him before he can get himself deeper into the spiral. “Robbe, I fucked up too, don’t take it all on yourself.” He adjusts his laptop and Robbe can see his face clearer now, his eyes bloodshot and tired, a clear sign of a sleepless night, and the guilt clogs his throat even more now.

“I should have seen something wasn’t right.” When Robbe shakes his head and goes back to apologizing, Sander shoots him a pointed look that makes him shut up. “I should have, don’t deny it. You know, I took a long walk yesterday after you hung up, to clear my head, but also to get a perspective on our latest talks. And I felt so dumb for not realizing you were not doing okay.”

“Sander, I don’t expect you to read my mind,” Robbe tries to joke, but it falls flat even in his own ears. But he can’t bear those big regretful eyes on him. He doesn't deserve them.

“Baby, I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you the way you needed me to. Please tell me now? What’s been bothering you, hmm?” 

Robbe scrubs his face trying to collect his thoughts, to find a concise way to get everything out of his chest, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“It may take a while.”

Sander makes a show of fluffing the pillow he placed against his back and getting himself more comfortable on his bed, sighing with contentment for a better effect. 

“Look, I’m in my comfy clothes, got an energy drink on my nightstand, the computer battery is full and I told everyone I’m busy so they won’t nag me with anything. I’m all yours today.” He gives him an encouraging smile, fondness etched into every crevice of his face.

Robbe’s heart does a little skip at his words, Sander’s demeanor so comforting that he feels the last pieces of apprehension ebbing away, the need to vent overpowering the hesitation of showing his vulnerability. 

“I think I just found myself overwhelmed with some things,” he admits quietly, picking at his nail, an absent-minded habit when he’s nervous, as he’s trying to find the right words. “A lot has changed in those last few months, almost all at once, and I kinda have trouble coping. And like,” he scoffs at himself, “I’m angry with myself ‘cause I should be enjoying most of it, being in college and majoring in something that I actually like, and it’s great, but I can’t help but focus on all the things that are different now, things that are not so great.”

Before continuing, he flicks his gaze to Sander for a second, only to then cast his eyes back to his lap. “The last two years with you were the happiest of my life, you know? After years of bullshit and constant misery and pretending to be somebody I wasn’t I-,” he sighs, bittersweet smile on his lips,”I finally found my person, you know?”

Sander mirrors his smile, but he’s frowning a little. “But you still have me,” he reminds him softly.

“I know, but it sucks when I can’t just, I don’t know, snuggle up you and forget about stuff. It’s all your fault, by the way, you’ve been too good to me and now I have withdrawal symptoms,” he pouts, and hears Sander chuckling on the other side of the screen.

“You have no idea how much I wish virtual hugs were a thing. And kisses, oh my god, kisses too. I’m so kiss-deprived. Once I finally get my hands on you, I won’t let you go for a week.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

For a short moment, Sander manages to bring a genuine smile on his face, but it quickly disappears when the reality sets back in. There are still almost four long months to get through. He watches Sander’s smile slipping off his face slowly and he knows they’re both thinking about it.

The boy sighs deeply. “You know, sometimes I feel like it was a mistake to-”

Robbe’s eyes snap to him. “No, no, no, don’t think that, it wasn’t a mistake. Please don’t feel guilty or something, that’s the last thing I want you to do,” he stresses. Sander still looks conflicted, and fuck, this is exactly what Robbe wanted to avoid.

“Hey, I’m serious. Look, you not being here is tough, but like I said, it’s just things piling up, changing. Shit like school work that has been piling up and me getting so stressed about the end-of-the-semester project because I still haven’t figured out the details. Plus people moving away, all of that makes it difficult for me to adjust. So don’t go thinking it’s because you’re the center of my universe or something,” he ends his rambling with a feigned-offended huff and Sander easily lets them slip into their usual banter.

“I’m not?! Wow, the things a guy finds out after being such a devoted and doting and loving boyfriend.” He wipes the imaginary tear, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Such a menace, breaking my heart in half on this lovely Saturday afternoon.” He purses his lips in offence and Robbe is grateful for Sander’s attempt to lift the mood, trying to be upbeat.

He feels a tug in his chest thinking about how if Sander was here, he’d be tackling him to the nearest surface to shut him up with tickles and loud smooches and playful jabs in the sides and how they would make much more noise than necessary, acting like the rambunctious teens they are.

That’s going to have to wait too. But he discovers this thought doesn’t hurt as much as it would have yesterday because their conversation right now, this opportunity to vent and Sander’s texts last night, all of it makes him feel better, helps him see he’s not alone.

“I love you,” he blurts out all of a sudden, and it’s something he’s wanted to say since he read his heartfelt texts this morning that almost made him cry in relief.

Sander blinks a couple times, surprised, but then his previously playful face melts into such a fond look it makes Robbe blush like it was the first time he said it.

The I love you too comes right away, soft and quiet, like he’s telling a secret, and it’s heart-stoppingly precious.

To keep himself from drowning in fuzzy feelings, he shoots him a private little smile and steers the conversation back to his friends, telling him how it sucks that it’s they all now live away and how unexpectedly difficult it is to meet up. Robbe’s used to basically having everyone at arm-reach.

“We do video call, obviously, but you know, Milan is all loved up with Ralph in Amsterdam and not that keen on leaving their love nest and Zoe and Senne keep traveling between Genk and Ghent, which with Zoe’s coursework and internship is already a struggle. I don’t think they’re doing that well, actually,” he winces, remembering their last conversation.

If during freshman year somebody had told Robbe who his best friends were going to be, he’d looked at them as if they had grown two heads. Because for real, Jana’s new friend and her roommate? And school’s fuckboy? 

But life’s funny like that sometimes. Moving into their apartment in his sophomore year has been one of the best decisions he’s ever made. His number one best decision is currently frowning at him from his dirty screen.

“Oh, that sucks. Do you think they’ll work it out?” 

Robbe sighs deeply, propping his chin on the heel of his palm. “Senne has been thinking about finding a job in Genk so I hope so.”

Sander huffs a laugh suddenly, shaking his head. “Wow, I wish I was in his place and there were only 2 hours between us, instead of a whole ass ocean.”

“Yeah, I think once you’re back we’re gonna have a master's degree in that long distance bullshit,” Robbe smiles at him wistfully. 

“Ugh, never again though. You’re not getting rid of me, it sucks without you, Robin.” He sounds so grumpy Robbe can’t help the short giggle that escapes him, but deep down he’s happy they both share that sentiment.

They’re staring at each other now, enjoying the moment before Sander shoots him a knowing look. “You haven’t mentioned Jens.”

That sobers him up enough for the fuzzy feelings to disappear from his stomach. 

Jens. There’s not much to talk about really. And isn’t that a punch-in-a gut kind of truth considering it was his best friend? Isn’t it heartbreaking that Robbe didn’t even feel like fighting for that relationship and there’s a nagging voice in his head telling him that Jens didn’t either? Just a regular heated argument was enough to finally cut that last string, to put a stop to a friendship that had been hanging by a thread long before. Not that they had noticed.

He felt awful, afterwards. More alone than ever before. But deep down he knew it had only been a matter of time. He just wished Sander had been there to pick up the pieces.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Robbe winces, going back to apologizing once he translates his feelings to words the best he can, hoping he made Sander understand.

The boy pulls a face at him, eyes narrowed as he pretends to give him a stern look. “Enough with apologizing today, okay?” He waits until Robbe nods, albeit begrudgingly, because it’s in his second nature to keep saying sorry when he knows he messed up.

He nestles against his pillows to get more comfortable as he glances to the window, registering that sometime during their call it got completely dark outside, November days getting shorter still. He can feel tiredness starting to creep into his bones, the nervous anticipation before their call he had endured all day wearing him down significantly. 

There are still some things he needs to get out of his chest and Sander coaxes them gently one by one, listening to him moaning and groaning about his school course load and how he thinks he’s not skilled enough to come up with interesting ideas and being quick to cut him off and reassure him when Robbe’s words get self-deprecating. He’s so attentive and so patient with him, not even an ounce of judgement in his eyes that Robbe feels the pressure and stress that have accumulated over the last few weeks finally letting go with each word he pours out.

When the conversation eventually steers to Robbe’s uni friends and he admits sheepishly that he kinda ghosted them lately, feeling too blue to go out and have fun, Sander interrupts him mid-sentence.

“You should reach out to them, tonight.”

At Robbe’s unsure look, he continues, “If they’re as cool as you made them out to be, I’m sure they’re gonna understand you needed some time to figure things out.”

He then proceeds to cover his ears and whistle, refusing to talk more until Robbe caves and shoots a text to the group chat, trying to keep it short, but explaining things along the way and making amends. Sander’s very pleased with his persuasion skills, beaming at him when Robbe reads him the replies he gets from Lucas, Marie and Fien, wearing a small smile himself as he rolls his eyes at Sander’s smug face. 

Sander then asks about his mom and it’s so sweet because he always makes sure to ask, and Robbe falls for him even more each time he does. He’s a bit reluctant when Robbe tries to make him talk about his recent days, keeps saying this call is not about him, but he gives in before Robbe gets upset about it.

Watching his eyes light up with excitement when he talks about his classes works like a balm for Robbe’s yearning heart, Sander’s genuine happiness making his own struggles worth it. It’s a nice reminder that he’s there to make his dreams come true and that it’s everything Robbe has wished for him.

When Sander talks about shenanigans with his friends, Robbe recalls the TikTok video he watched some days ago.

“Nice Michael Jackson moves, by the way,” he comments, trying to sound innocent, but it ends up coming out a little coyishly as he bites at his finger to hide his smirk. 

Confusion clouds Sander’s face but only for a second. Then, his lips stretch in a wide grin and he looks very pleased with the confession. “Have you been stalking me, Robin?”

Robbe shrugs, a picture of innocence as he keeps peeking at him from under his lashes. “I might’ve seen a video or two. They’re all so thirsty for you in the comments though,” he adds, putting a note of faux-jealousy in his voice. He quickly noticed that Sander’s new uni friend is semi-popular on the app so his videos always get a fair share of comments. Ever since Sander appeared in them, the hoard of the guy’s fans has been declaring their love for Robbe’s boyfriend under every video. They mostly make him laugh, but sometimes he’ll roll his eyes at some of the raunchier ones, possessiveness that he didn’t know he had activating in his brain.

He waits for Sander’s cocky comment, but to his utter delight, he blushes deep red and scoffs.

“Shut up, it’s so embarrassing,” hiding his face in his hands, he adds, “All of my friends have been teasing me about it constantly.”

“Aww, poor you, being fawned over must be such a hardship, how do you cope?”

“Oh I don’t know, smartass, you can tell me from experience ‘cause I saw those comments under your old vlogs.” 

Robbe huffs a laugh. “They were nowhere near as detailed as yours!”

“What can I say, I’m irresistible,” Sander quips back and yeah, there he is, Robbe’s favorite (cocky) dork. “If I’d known you’re my TikTok fan, I’d have sent you those videos right away so you wouldn’t have to waste your time searching for them."

Robbe sighs. “They are a nice window to your life there,” he replies offhandedly, not even registering the implied double meaning to his words, but the immediate change in Sander’s amused expression makes him aware of the slip.

Fuck. 

“So you noticed. That I’ve been texting you less.”

Robbe drops his gaze, pulling the cover further up his body, feeling awkward again. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of this.

Sander shifts on his bed, scratching at his head. “I felt like I was too much, you know? I wanted to share every silly thing with you, but then, well, it was something Josh said that I should,” he waves vaguely trying to find the right words, “cut back on my ‘running commentary’ ‘cause it’s probably annoying.”

“Tell Josh he’s stupid,” Robbe cuts in with a huff, grumpily beating his pillow into submission to make it more comfortable. 

The corners of Sander’s mouth twitch at his comment, but his face remains sheepish. “I think he was mostly joking, but it got stuck in my mind and made me question every message. In the end, I didn’t send like half of them,” he explains softly, voice colored with poorly hidden self-consciousness. “I didn’t want to give you the impression I don't have time for you, I’m sorry.”

And, fuck. They’re both idiots.

Sander’s brows shoot up when Robbe bursts into giggles out of the blue, clearly surprised with the reaction. But at this point, it feels like the only proper thing to do.

“So basically we could have avoided this whole bullshit if we just talk about all this sooner,” he groans at the realization, burying half on his face in his pillow to hide his heated face because he’s a little embarrassed he blew things out of proportion.

There’s a visible relief on Sander’s face too, eyes crinkling as he regards him with a dopey grin, and Robbe knows.

They’re gonna be fine. 

“Here I thought we were masters of communication,” Sander sighs with a faux-disappointment, leaning back to smile at the ceiling. “Fuck, no more of assuming shit, what do you think?”

And that sounds like something Robbe can get behind one hundred percent, more than ready to leave their misunderstandings in the past and just do better. So he nods, chin digging into his collarbone uncomfortably with the position he’s lying in, but it doesn’t matter, he’s too preoccupied with staring at his happy face and swimming in his fuzzy feelings.

“Prepare yourself for an onslaught of photos and messages, I’m not messing around,” Sander warns, smiling at Robbe’s soft okay. “You know, just a few days ago I ended up at Pebble Beach, it was cold as all fucks, but the view was just,” he imitates an explosion over his head and Robbe giggles at his childlike enthusiasm. Then, Sander’s face softens and becomes a little sad. “That place is so romantic that it made me feel like shit without you there,” he sighs, and Robbe can relate. “I’ll take you there one day.”

“You’re gonna take me to New York?” Robbe asks, doubt lacing his voice as he cocks his brow which makes Sander scoff in indignance.

“Hell yeah! You don’t believe me? What do you think I’m doing here everyday? I’m scouting the best places for dates, finding the best skateparks and checking out all the museums so I can be the perfect guide for you!” Sander throws his hands, a duh expression on his face, but there’s a wide smile brewing on his lips letting Robbe know he’s not really offended or anything. And, honestly, Robbe just melts with his words.

“I can’t wait, baby,” he sighs dreamily, rubbing his cheek against his pillow as he gazes at him with what he’s sure is the softest look. 

Sander narrows his eyes playfully from above the can of Redbull he’s been sipping on. “Don’t ever doubt I’m gonna go out of my way to impress you.” 

Robbe blows him a kiss that morphs into a huge yawn, eyelids growing heavy, forcing him to blink repeatedly to stay away which prompts Sander to tease him a little about boring him, but it quickly dies out and he’s just looking at him fondly.

“You should go to sleep.” He ignores Robbe’s melodic neeees, giving him a stern look that was probably supposed to be intimidating, but he looks too amused to keep it up. Once Robbe gets his promise they will see each other tomorrow, Sander sends him several virtual kisses and goodnights before logging off.

Robbe falls asleep with Sander’s beaming face flowing through his mind.

The sleep that comes is unsurprisingly the calmest he’s had in weeks.

 Sunday, 18:00

Sander: And?

Robbe: And what?

Sander: Was I right?

Robbe: About?

Sander: About your friends

Robbe: Kinda

Sander: So it means I was 😎

Robbe: :):):) yes

Sander: Thank you sander

Robbe: Thank you sander 

Sander: See, you're so precious everybody's in love with you and forgive you in seconds 

Robbe: 🙄 

Robbe: Precious srsly?

Sander: So precious 🥰

Robbe: Omg

Sander: Haha

Robbe: We're good 😊

Robbe: But I don't think they are in love with me 😂

Sander: They better not be 🤨 I'll fight them all! 🗡💀🧟🤺

Robbe: Dork ❤

Robbe: I think they a little bit in love with u though 🤔 

Robbe: They've been babbling all afternoon about how cute you are 🙄

Robbe: A g a i n *yawn*

Sander: They have good taste 🤷♂️

Robbe: Nah they just don't know your annoying habits so that's why

Sander: 😮 I don't have any how dare you badmouthing me like that

Robbe: 🥴

Robbe: You never wash your coffee cups right away so they lay around

Robbe: You always tickle me when you want sth

Robbe: You're full of corny jokes

Robbe: You eat my fries when I don't look 

Robbe: You hog the covers

Robbe: And I still remember that Wednesday when you ate my last bag of chips 💔

Sander: Okay first of all

Sander: Wow

Sander: Don't hold back 🥺

Sander: Second of all

Sander: I THOUGHT THOSE CHIPS WERE MILAN'S I TOLD YOU!!!

Robbe: That's what they all say 💔

Sander: You're unfair, I thought I made up for that lil mistake 🍆

Robbe: Well you did 🙈 but I still remember 😝

Sander: Also you love my jokes

Sander: They're awesome 🤧

Robbe: I'm just messing around 😘😘

Sander: 🥰

Robbe: But I swear to god if I have to listen one more time to Marie waxing lyricals about your 'perfect moles' I'm gonna 🤮

Sander: What haha 😂

Robbe: I mean they are but like

Robbe: Chill girl he's not your man 🤨

Sander: That's right cause I'm your man 😏

Robbe: And don't you forget that

Thursday, 3:48

Soft knuckles brush his skin, body arching into the touch that turns his muscles into jelly and sends liquid fire rushing through him. He’s overheated in the best way possible, seeking out Sander’s tongue, but the boy denies him access, smirk well in place as he pulls back, green eyes cloudy from lust. He’s staring at him like he wants to eat him whole and Robbe almost whimpers, bones melting and lids closing when Sander takes the tender flesh of his neck between his teeth and bites at it ever so gently, but just enough to make Robbe see stars. 

He sighs as he feels a ghost of touch on his nipple, Sander leaving a trail of kisses down his sternum as he’s moving so teasingly slow to his final destination, and he doesn’t even hesitate, spreading his legs wider around Sander’s hips in a blatant invitation, blushing hot pink when Sander sends him a fox-like grin, mouthing at his inner thigh.

The details get fuzzy for a few seconds, Robbe blinking rapidly to get his surroundings and finding himself on top of Sander, and there’s an inkling at the back of his brain telling him something’s messed up about the logistics here. He decides to ignore it, focusing back on the moment and Sander’s glistening, kiss-swollen lips, on his eyes transfixed on the place where they’re connected, and he leans down, his tongue sweeping over his Sander’s bottom lip before he starts pressing soft, spit-slick kisses into his mouth. He pushes Sander’s hands up over his head and intertwines their fingers, arching his back as he takes over, the rush of pleasure almost overwhelming him.

“Ohmygod, Sander,” Robbe breathes into his mouth. His hands are trailing all over Sander’s chest and stomach now, squeezing and rubbing almost like he’s his personal plaything.

It’s not long before Sander’s warm hands draw him back towards his chest, lips ghosting along Robbe’s, teasing, always teasing, but not granting permission to properly meet, making Robbe impatient and whine in desperation only for Sander to grin wickedly at him. He feels nails dragging along his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake, stopping at his cheeks, massaging them to his heart content while Robbe can only pant, rocking back and forth and biting his bottom lip to keep from coming.

He’s an oversensitive, blissed out mess, trying to keep his eyes open to take a mental snapshot of Sander’s lust-blown pupils as they watch each other, Sander fucking him slowly and punching the prettiest sounds out of Robbe’s mouth.

Hips stuttering, he drops back down on his elbows to crash his lips against Sander’s, feeling his body tensing he’s so close and-

Eyes shot wide open, blinking harshly against the darkness of the room. His first instinct is to reach out to the other side of the bed, snuggle closer to the source of heat lying next to him, but his brain catches up with his hands quickly and he stops himself mid-reach, groaning as he flops back on the bed, disappointed. He kicks his covers down grumpily, letting cold air hit his overheated skin, frustrated and too awake to go to sleep now.

Fuck.

 Thursday, 13:08

*photo attached*

Sander: Good morning x

Robbe: Heeyy sleepyhead 😘

Robbe: You look cute

Sander: I had very interesting dreams last night 

Robbe: Oh yeah? 

Sander: Yeah I'm still affected by them 😏

Robbe: Stop it I'm at a coffee shop with the guys!

Sander: I'll have to tell you about it tonight then 😈

Robbe: Can't wait 😘

Sander: Today at 16 my time right? 

Robbe: Yep :) 

Robbe: You know

Sander: Hmm?

Robbe: I might have some of those dreams too last night

Sander: 🥵🥵🥵

Sander: Do tell

Robbe: 🙈

Sander: Now I’m super intrigued 😈

Robbe: How about I tell you tonight 

Robbe: With details

Robbe: Lots of them

Sander: Tonight can't come fast enough 😩

Sander: Looks like I will though 😏

Robbe: Omg you're such a dork 😂

Sander: Did it get u hot

Robbe: No wtf 😂

Sander: ☹🥺

Sander: Kay

Sander: I have to get up now

Sander: I'm late 🙄

Sander: Robin it's raining I don't wanna go out 😩

Robbe: Haha get your pretty ass out of bed and go be a good student!

Sander: Ugh fine 🙄

Sander: I love you ❤

Robbe: ❤

Sander: Hey no, not an emoji, tell me you love me ☹

Robbe: Haha

Sander: Come on

Robbe: 🤐

Sander: Robbe

Robbe: Gotta go 😌

Sander: Okay then 😔💔

Robbe: I love you too idiot ❤❤❤💯

Sander: Yesss 🥰

Sander: Hey that's my emoji 😏 so you like it after all

Robbe: 😂 go to class!!! 

Sander: I'm going I'm going

Friday, 19:00

Robbe checks his phone for time again, not wanting to be late for his call with Sander, but there’s still about half an hour until he should get going. It’s been a pleasant evening and a while ago he would have never called any time of the day spent with his father ‘pleasant’, but there he is. Enjoying his dinner not only with him but also with his girlfriend of six months that he met in July when the first attempts to salvage the relationship with his dad have been made. 

And it’s all because of Sander. The fact that he’s even here speaks volumes about his skill of persuasion. If it hadn’t been for his boyfriend, Robbe would have continued to stew in his own juices and ignored his dad. 

“How is Sander doing? New York is a jungle.”

Robbe huffs a laugh. “He’s good, he fits in well in the city vibe. But, um, he needs to stay a bit longer, till February actually ‘cause the school postponed the art show.”

He goes for another bite, frown on his face at the mere reminder of the change of plans. 

“You probably hate it, huh?” his father questions. 

His only response is to throw him a duuuh look, making his dad snort.

“You should visit him.”

Robbe looks up from over his spaghetti, expecting to see his dad laughing or winking at him, but both him and Margaux are looking at him with unsuspecting smiles, like the suggestion is the most obvious thing in the world.

He exhales a short dad in a laugh, glancing at them back and forth. “I don’t have a spare several thousand euros lying around waiting to be spent on a trip to New York,” he explains, slight exasperation in his voice. 

“Oh I don’t think you’d need that much, Robbe,” Margaux smiles at him as she puts away her fork and reaches for her phone. “A few months ago I was actually backpacking with my friend through the East Coast and, wait, let me check, I have everything saved on my AirBnB account.”

Robbe gets back to his dinner as she scrolls on her phone, trying to squish the building hope in his chest away because even if it’s cheaper than he thinks, there’s still no way he can afford it; his equipment and books for school have eaten all of his savings.

“There it is! Look,” she scoots her chair closer to him, his dad peeking at the phone from the other side. “We stayed in Brooklyn for 98$ a day for a double bed, in Bedford to be exact and the conditions were really nice, plus the train station was close by. I’m sure you could find something half as cheap since it’s just you and the room can be tiny, just to sleep really.”

“That’s a reasonable price, I think,” his dad joins in, and then proceeds to ask her questions about her other expenditures while in the city and the flight prices, debating whether it’s better to drive to Frankfurt and take a direct flight from there or maybe decide on a layover flight from Brussels. 

They are so into the planning and discussing the best options that they both jump slightly when Robbe speaks again, clearly forgetting he’s sitting right next to them, a picture of confusion. 

“Guys, guys, wait. It doesn’t matter if it’s 1500 euros, or even 1000 euros because that’s still a 1000 euros more than I have to spend on a trip anywhere.” 

His dad is so enthralled into checking different flights that he barely raises his head from above his phone, replying offhandedly, “I’ll pay for it.”

And, okay, no. Robbe gapes at him like he grew two heads, spluttering, because hell no.

“No way, I won’t take your money, dad.”

His vehement tone finally makes his father properly regard him and he sighs after a second. “Robbe, please don’t treat it as an attempt to buy you or your feelings.”

Straight to the point, his dad, always has been. It definitely is one the reasons for his refusal, but it’s not only that.

Robbe takes a deep breath to calm down. “Look, dad, it’s still lots of money. I can’t-”

“I’m many things, but irresponsible with money I’m definitely not. So if I say that I can pay for it, it means that I can afford it and it won’t affect me.” He gives him a pointed look. Before Robbe can argue again, he continues. “We can treat it as your Christmas gift. And next year’s birthday gift. And last two Christmases gifts as well.”

Robbe thinks about the packages he received from his father those holidays, and how he sent them back without even opening. Then, it definitely felt like buying his affection.

“You’ve been doing good at school, got into the university you wanted, you’ve been more responsible those last few years that I could’ve ever asked from you. Then you worked during the summer because you were adamant about paying for school stuff yourself. I think you earn it, Robbe. If you don’t want to go for other reasons, then that’s fine, but if it’s just about the money, please let me give you this.”

“New York is the kind of place everyone should visit at least one,” Margaux says gently. She has a warm smile that immediately made Robbe like her, despite really trying not to for obvious reasons. “And I think Sander would love for you to come visit too.”

Robbe has been torn before she spoke, but the mention of Sander reminds him of their videocall a while back, Sander telling him about places he was going to show him one day, being his guide and taking him to his favorite spots in the city. He can see it all vividly now when the opportunity is at his fingertips, can’t stop the excitement filling his body at the thought of seeing Sander before that dreadful February, even though he’s still now sure what to do.

While he’s been lost in his thoughts, trying to come to some conclusion, Margaux has been typing away at her phone. “Dates around Christmas are very expensive, but what would you say about, let’s say, December 8th? Til December 17th?”

Robbe wouldn’t even consider Christmas because there’s no way he would leave his mom alone for the holidays, but… the dates Margaux offered seem kinda perfect. His main project is due on December 4th so he wouldn’t have to worry about that and it’d be fine if he missed classes for those several days. Completely unaware, he finds himself making plans in his head before he even made a decision to accept his father’s money, but when his eyes snap to his dad’s, the small smile he gives him lets him know he already knows Robbe’s answer.

 December 7th, 22:00

His excitement has been uncontainable the entire day, making him so giddy he had to cancel his regular call with Sander because his boyfriend would figure him out in seconds. And that’s the last thing he wants. 

He’s still in shock that he somehow managed to keep it from him, planning a surprise in his head ever since he agreed to his dad’s help and working extra hard at uni to afford missing those 8 days of school. There’s apparently been one close call when Younes almost spilled the beans to Sander during their Zoom, but thank god for Yasmina who managed to effortlessly salvage the secret, improvising and coming up with an easy lie, leaving him unsuspicious of any ploy going on.

And Robbe just. He just can’t wait. He’s been counting hours since last week, his lips yearning to be kissed by his favorite person, body pining for touch and caress. 

Lost in the dreams of their reunion, Robbe’s startled by a ping from his phone, lips stretching in a wide smile when he sees a notification from Sander’s instagram. He opens it, curious, melting when he’s greeted with a graffiti sign saying ENKEL LIEFDE, Sander’s style easily recognizable to him. Underneath, there’s a heart and his own handle and that shit never fails to make Robbe heart stutter. There’s a DM from Sander waiting for him as well, the same photo, but Sander’s caption says The High Line needed its own version of my love declaration for you, but unfortunately I couldn’t find enough space for a redo of your gorgeous face Robin :( So I did this :) You like it?

He replies with a bunch of red hearts, likes the post and adds another heart in a comment because there’s never too many of those. Then he flops back on his bed, a smile glued to his face.

Nineteen hours.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Breakable Heaven (pt. IV) - p.l. dubois

part I part II part III

Oh my gosh, I seriously can’t believe this little series has come to an end. I’m so so happy with how it’s turned out, and want to thank anyone who’s stuck with Laurel and Pierre-Luc throughout this month. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever done, and it’s yours to enjoy now. Please please let me know what you think of this part, what you think about the series - getting anon comments is amazing, my inbox is always open, and I LOVE reading tags. Reblog if you like what I’m putting out, it helps me know that!

Warning: Smut (It’s light, but it’s there, so no one under 18 please!)

Part IV (7.8k)

September 23 (thurs)

Laurel was running through the Toronto airport, her carry-on bag bouncing on the tile behind her as she frantically searched for her gate. Thank God Air Canada domestic flew from the international terminal; her layover was only an hour and ten minutes and even more time had been shaved off by a departure delay in Montréal. She had forgotten that flights from Toronto cleared U.S. Customs in Canada, and if she hadn’t been able to skip the line and slap her American passport on a kiosk reader she would have almost certainly missed her connection. 

No matter how many times Laurel had tried to insist on an economy ticket when she and Pierre were booking flights for her visits, he refused to cave. “They don’t include a checked bag in economy, but they do if you fly business,” he had said, shrugging, with a small smile on his face. “Baggage fees alone would make it pretty much a wash.” Laurel doubted that, and she doubted that she’d need a checked bag for a four-day trip, but her husband had made it clear that he wasn’t budging. 

So needless to say, she was more than a little bit out of breath as she finally arrived at Gate F66, which was conveniently almost as far away from her arrival gate as humanly possible while still being in the same terminal. She handed her boarding pass and passport to the gate agent, smiling apologetically as she hurried down the jetbridge. It was barely past noon, but there was nothing in the world Laurel wanted more than to sleep. Maintaining a full-time schedule at the hospital while also trying to organize a trip to Columbus that lasted more than two days meant she had to switch shifts. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue; that week, however, the only open slot was the 12-hour overnight shift on Wednesday. Which meant that she’d been awake for some twenty hours straight, but almost all of that had been on her feet at work, or walking from the parking lot to the check-in counter in Montréal, or running through the halls of Pearson Airport in Toronto. She took her seat, half-listened to the safety briefing, and passed out as soon as her head hit the headrest. 

Much to her chagrin, the flight itself was only just over an hour, and she was really only able to get in a generous nap before their descent into Ohio. Sitting in the second row, she exited the plane in record time, flicking her phone off of airplane mode and waiting for a text from Pierre-Luc. At least she didn’t have to go through TSA again. He wrote back in record time, letting her know he’d be in his car at the curb right outside the terminal. She waited at baggage claim, grabbing her forest green suitcase; the same one she had when she’d moved to Toronto for university, fresh-faced and 18 and so, so unaware of what the world had in store for her. If only she could see herself now. Laurel ran her thumb along the side handle for a moment, pulling at a loose thread, before hefting it onto the floor and turning towards the sliding exit doors. 

As promised, Pierre was waiting right outside the door, flashing her a bright smile and throwing the driver’s side door open as soon as he saw her. “Welcome to Columbus, babe!” he exclaimed, wrapping Laurel into a deep hug and kissing her on the cheek. 

She laughed as the trunk popped open, each of them grabbing a suitcase. “It’s a little bit funny, don’t you think? That I’ve lived in the Midwest for almost my whole life and the first time I go to Ohio it’s because I’m living in Canada?”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Pierre said, holding his thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart. “I’m really happy you were able to come, though, Laurel. I got used to having you around.” His face was softer now, looking over at Laurel with an expression that wasn’t quite placable but seemed like it was somehow communicating so much in a single glance. 

“Me too,” Laurel replied. The ride to Pierre’s Columbus apartment took just over ten minutes, and Laurel was in the door, petting the dogs, before the clock struck 3:00. 

Pierre approached her from behind, his hands on her shoulders as he leaned around to kiss her on the cheek. “You want to take a nap?” he asked. “We’ve got that thing with the team at 7, and I know you’re probably running on fumes right now.” 

Laurel nodded, giving him a weary smile, dropping her bag on the floor of the master bedroom with an all-too-satisfying thump. “Nap sounds good.” 

---

The nap was good, so good, and Laurel woke up at half past 6 feeling like she’d just had the best sleep of her life. She yawned, rubbing her eyes, and looked around the room to see Pierre with his back towards her, buttoning up his shirt. He turned around, catching her eye, and grinned. “You like the view?” he asked, gesturing to his half-naked torso. 

Laurel rolled her eyes, pulling the sheets up to poorly conceal her embarrassment at being caught. “And if I do?”

She heard a loud laugh, peeking her head out from under. “I’d say my wife has every right to appreciate it.” He walked around the bed while fastening the last few buttons, holding his hand out for Laurel to take. “I let you sleep as long as I could, but we’re going to have to get going in fifteen minutes or so. I was told that ‘we’ve waited this long to meet her, the least you could do is get your damn wife to the party in time,’” he said, adding air quotes for emphasis. 

Laurel nodded, tossing back the covers and walking over to her suitcase, intending to rifle through the stacks of clothes to find something for the night’s festivities. Instead, she was greeted by an empty bag. She wheeled around to look at Pierre, who was sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at her suitcase. “I unpacked your stuff,” he said, nodding over towards the spare dresser. “It’s in there. I’m sorry if that seems weird and I won’t do it again if you feel like that was pushing your boundaries, but I know for me when I’m on roadies I like to unpack, even if it’s just one night. Makes it feel more like home.”

Laurel was too overcome with how sweet the gesture was, small as it may have been, to realize that that meant he had touched four days worth of bras and underwear. It shouldn’t have bothered him anyways, and if he hadn’t said anything about it, it clearly hadn’t. So instead, she pulled him into a warm hug, standing on her tiptoes to bury her face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you, P. One less thing I have to do.” 

“You do still have to actually get dressed, though,” he added, giving her sleepwear an appreciative once-over. “Unless you’re planning on wearing that.” 

She let out a giggle. “As much as I love wearing a massive Cloquet High Lumberjacks t-shirt and no pants, somehow I don’t think that’s the move,” she said, ambling over towards the dresser. She found the tops on the first try, pulling out a wine-colored wrap shirt and grabbing the same pair of light-wash jeans she had worn on the plane. Pierre moved to duck out of the room, presumably to give her privacy to change. Laurel made a split-second decision to call after him. “You don’t have to leave.” Pierre stopped in his tracks.

Laurel slipped the shirt on, tying it in the front, and fastened her jeans. Mascara on and booties zippered, and she was good to go. “So what is this thing, anyways?” she asked Pierre as they drove to Foligno’s house. 

Pierre tilted his head. “Little bit of this, little bit of that. Half the typical beginning-of-the-year preseason party, half the wedding reception we never had. They were very insistent on bringing gifts, so be prepared.”

“Will do,” she said, laughing. “And by they, you mean…”

“Some of the guys, but mostly the wives and girlfriends. Their parties are the stuff of legends, so you can imagine how excited everyone was when I told them we never had a proper reception.”

“But they don’t know why we didn’t have a proper party,” Laurel reminded him. 

“About that…” Pierre started, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

Laurel froze, her thumb hovering over her phone screen, halfway through composing a text to Kristen. “Pierre,” she swallowed, her voice deadly soft, “did you tell someone?”

---

It was the Saturday before, and the team had gone out to celebrate the end of the first week of training camp. Sunday was an off day, so Saturday night found all the over-21s — and anyone who could get a good enough fake — at a bar in the city. Pierre had just crossed the line into tipsy, and as his captain was about to find out, tipsy Pierre was an oversharer. It was common enough for families to be a topic of discussion on nights out or in the locker room; that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that, as the old adage goes, drunk words are sober thoughts. And, if he was being honest, Pierre was still harboring some guilt from having to hide the truth of his and Laurel’s marriage from everyone, Nick included. Pierre hated that he couldn’t tell Nick the truth. He was his captain and his friend, and he felt the least he owed to him was not to lie. 

“It’s just so weird being away from Laurel, away from Montréal, for this long,” Pierre sighed. 

“Sure,” Nick said sympathetically, “but you said you’d been friends for a few years, so you’ve had feelings for her for a while, no? It’s obviously not ideal, but you’ve been away from her for longer.” 

Pierre turned towards Nick, some of his beer — his fourth of the night — spilling out of the cup. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

Nick rolled his eyes, thinking he was going to be hearing some dumb high school confession, that he had asked out a senior girl when he was a freshman, or filled his QMJHL captain’s gloves with shaving cream or something. He didn’t expect what he heard next. 

“We got married so she could stay in the country, for her permanent residency. I never met her before June.” 

Nick sucked in a breath. “You’re not fucking with me, are you?” 

“Nope.” 

“You realize how much trouble you guys could get into if they figure out, right?” he asked. 

Pierre nodded, looking down at his clasped hands nervously. “We both do. But you’re not going to tell anyone, right?” 

“No, of course not,” Nick said. “I trust you, and I know you and Laurel were just doing what you thought was the best and most logical thing given the circumstances.” Pierre let out a somber nod. “But,” he continued, “I feel like this whole...situation just leaves open the opportunity for things to get really messy really quickly.” 

“Messy how?” Pierre asked. 

Nick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking at a spot just beyond Pierre’s head. He didn’t want to, not really, but it was his job as Pierre’s captain — more importantly as his friend  — to make him consider every angle. “Someone catching feelings, one of you falling for the other, or God forbid, someone else. There’s already so much at stake in a ‘normal’ marriage, but yours just has added complications.” Pierre felt a twinge in his heart. He didn’t want to admit it, he really didn’t want to admit it, but Nick was right. “Do you love her?” Nick asked softly. 

Pierre sunk back into his chair. “I don’t know. She means a lot to me, more than I ever thought she would, but I don’t know. Plus, I have no clue how she feels about me, and I wouldn’t want to say something like that only to have her pull away.” 

“Did you guys talk about that?” he asked. 

“About what?” Pierre responded. 

“About what would happen if one of you caught feelings. Because I’m assuming it was supposed to, is supposed to, be a strictly platonic thing.” 

Pierre shrugged. “Not really. We didn’t like make a pact or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. We really didn’t talk much about it at all,” he said, finishing his beer. “I mean, obviously we agreed that we wouldn’t be seeing anyone else, dating or hooking up or anything like that. It was just too risky. But no, we never really addressed how we’d deal with it if one of us ended up...falling for each other. I guess it was just supposed to be a ‘we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it’ type of thing.” 

“And have you come to it?” Nick asked. 

“I don’t know.”

---

Pierre finished the story, hazarding a glance over to Laurel, who was wringing her hands as she looked out the windshield. “I’m not mad at you,” she said finally. “If Nick said he wouldn’t tell, I trust you when you say he won’t. One of us was bound to let it slip eventually.” 

He turned his eyes back towards the road, still feeling a pang of regret. She was almost being too good to him. “We’ll be okay,” he said, saying it just as much to himself as he did to her. 

Laurel gave him a small smile as they pulled into the Foligno’s house, parking on the stone-paved driveway. “We will be.”

Janelle opened the door practically the second after they knocked, greeting Pierre and Laurel with warm hugs. “Laurel, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, squeezing her hand. “We know how hard it is to find the time off and make the trip down, and everyone’s excited to see you.” She led them through the entryway to the living room, where Laurel was passed around to some twenty-odd players and their partners, where she introduced herself over and over again as “Pierre’s wife, yes the nurse from Minnesota who none of you knew existed.” 

Dinner was a barbeque outside, Nick, Pierre, and some of the others manning the three grills as Laurel helped set up the drinks table. He held her hand under the table as they ate, his thumb gently rubbing across her thigh every so often in reassurance. “You good?” he murmured in his ear as Laurel sipped a beer, half-listening to some story Korpi was telling about a near-miss incident with a water ski back in Finland during the summer. 

Laurel nodded, squeezing his fingers. “I’m good.”

Plates were cleared, dishes were washed, and everyone was herded into Nick and Janelle’s enormous family room, where a small mountain of wrapped boxes and bags sat in the far corner. “I don’t know if you know this,” Janelle said conspiratorially as Laurel sat down, “but NHLers make more than a little money.” 

She laughed. “So I’ve been told.”

“Which means that, clueless though they may be, you’re going to be getting some very nice presents.” 

And very nice presents they were. A wine club membership, a set of dutch ovens from Seth — “It was my mom’s suggestion”  — Jones, an espresso machine from Boone, a set of matching, personalized dog bowls for Phil, Georgia, and Piper. Laurel honestly wasn’t sure how it was all going to fit in the car, let alone how she was going to manage to stay under the baggage limit on her way back to Canada, but the thought and kindness that went into each gift was what really made it special. 

“From me and the other girls,” Janelle said, passing Laurel a bag. 

“Oh, this is too much,” Laurel said. “You already got the knives and the mixer, I don’t need anything else.”

Cam’s wife, Natalie, shrugged. “Would it help if we made it, didn’t buy it?”

Laurel’s brow furrowed in confusion, her fingers moving to undo the ribbon that tied the handles together, taking out the tissue paper. “Oh!” she gasped quietly as she pulled out a denim jacket, a Blue Jackets logo ironed onto the back, Dubois embroidered where a name bar would be. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“You’re still a part of the family,” Natalie said, smiling. “Even if you’re not here all the time. We want you to feel as included as anyone else.”  

Laurel folded up the jacket carefully, tucking it back in the bag as Josh walked up to Pierre, holding out a small box, clearly wrapped by himself. “Well now I just feel silly.”

Pierre shook his head, smiling at his friend. “Don’t, Josh. I’m sure we’ll love it.” He thumbed open the folds on the wrapping paper, setting it aside before pulling off the top of the box. He fell silent. 

Laurel peeked over, trying to catch a glimpse of the box’s contents. “What is it, P?”

Instead of answering, Pierre just held the box upside-down. Condoms of all colors and sizes rained down onto the hardwood floor as Pierre stared at Josh, clearly trying very hard not to laugh. The side of his mouth twitched. “Interesting choice of gift, you don’t think?” he asked.

Josh shrugged helplessly, his cheeks red. “It’s practical?”

 November 28 (sun)

 Laurel caught every Blue Jackets game she could on the TV, even the ones in early November when Pierre was out for a few games with a mild concussion. She was his wife, but she was also a nurse, and made sure to get daily updates on his condition, restraining herself from FaceTiming him to help limit his amount of daily screen time. But he had been back for a few weeks, making second star of the night with a goal and an assist, so naturally he was pulled away for a few postgame interviews. 

Laurel watched the screen, trying not to get distracted by the sweat drenching his Underarmour. Reporters, the good ones at least, were usually considerate with steering clear of asking personal questions, but sometimes an injury, or the birth of a child, or, as luck would have it, a wedding, begged an answer. “So, Pierre, I think a lot of us were surprised to see you announce on Instagram that you had gotten married this summer. Congratulations, by the way,” the journalist from the Dispatch said. 

“Thanks,” Pierre replied, smiling. 

“And I hope I speak for everyone here when saying that we entirely respect you and your wife’s decision to keep things quiet and announce it in a much more subdued fashion than usual. Players often speak a lot about how integral support from family and friends is, and just how important it is to have that kind of a support system in place.” Pierre could see where the question was going. “Obviously you’ve got the boys down here, but it doesn’t look like your wife Laurel is based in Columbus like you are. Is there a reason for that, and do you think that’s affected your game?” 

Pierre sucked in a breath; it was a fair question, and a reasonable assumption to make, but that didn’t mean he liked answering it any more. But it was almost suspicious how quickly he had an answer. “Uh, yeah, it’s been interesting for us to have to navigate. You’re right, Laurel’s back in Montréal, she spends most of her time at our place in the city. She’s a nurse in the intensive care unit of CHU Saint-Justine, so she does pediatrics there. She loves what she does, and she’s so good at it, and it just wouldn’t be right of me to ever ask or expect her to leave on my account. I know we’ve got a great hospital at Nationwide Children’s, but she loves where she is. We both do. So yeah, it’s rough being away sometimes, but luckily she’s able to move shifts around and make it down twice a month or so when we’re not on the road. But we keep in contact daily, obviously, and I’m able to lean on the guys, especially the other married ones, on how to deal with the stress of being away for so long. But it’s rough. I miss my wife,” Pierre finished. 

Laurel clicked the remote, turning the TV off, her hand scratching behind Piper’s ears, and tried not to replay his words in her mind as she crawled into bed and fell asleep. 

 December 18 (sat)

 Laurel stumbled through the door of Pierre’s Columbus apartment, laughing breathlessly as she tried to lock the deadbolt. “You need some help there, L?” Pierre asked, raising one eyebrow. 

“I’m good,” Laurel said, taking two more tries before it would actually lock. The eggnog from the Christmas party was starting to take its toll; Pierre had agreed to be the pair’s designated driver for the night, so she had had maybe a glass too many. The night had genuinely been so much fun, Laurel had initially been worried at how well she might fit in with the group in a more casual situation. As much as she loved being able to hang out with the team and the other WAGs when she was in Ohio — and she did — she couldn’t help but be nervous that she didn’t have the same level of camaraderie that could help turn a night from good to great. Laurel couldn’t have been happier to be wrong. She was embraced from the moment she walked in the door, a glass of wine pushed into her hand and her Secret Santa gift deposited on the entryway table. 

Laurel used to always roll her eyes at the idea that “time flies when you’re having fun,” but that couldn’t have been more true for the party. It seemed like only minutes had passed, but suddenly it was almost midnight, and the couples with kids had to head home to relieve the babysitters, and Laurel and Pierre were headed home. 

“Let’s get some water in you, no?” Pierre murmured, walking to the kitchen and opening the cupboard. 

“Thanks,” Laurel said softly as she took the glass from him, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet under her on the couch. 

Pierre perched on the arm, absentmindedly playing with his watch. But while a tipsy Pierre was an oversharer, a tipsy Laurel was always emotional in one fashion or another. “How’d you like the party?”

“It was great,” Laurel said. “I’m not sure why Alexandre thought I’d be into a Blue Jackets scarf, but I guess it’s the thought that counts?” She pulled the offending object out of her bag, running her fingers through the fringe on the edge. “Seeing how amazing so many of those couples are, Janelle and Nick especially, it was awesome…” She trailed off. “But it was hard.”

His brow furrowed. Why would it be hard? “How so?”

“I always thought that, when I got married, it would be once and that was it.” She screwed her eyes shut. “And that’s not to mean I’m not grateful for what you’ve done, it’s so incredible and goes so far beyond just plain kindness. I just thought it would be a forever thing.”

Pierre’s heart dropped. Of course she’d feel like that. If marriage was something she wanted to take that seriously, how could she not feel like she was cheapening its meaning by treating it as nothing more than an arrangement of convenience? It wasn’t even like he felt any differently; hockey was obviously still his first priority most of the time, but he’d always seen himself as someone who wanted to settle down and have a family one day. He guessed that he just hadn’t let himself think about it. “Laurel,” he said quietly, reaching out to her. But she wasn’t done. 

“It’s just,” Laurel sighed, one hand tugging on her hair, tears threatening to escape her eyes, “knowing this is all temporary. Knowing that in a couple of y-years, when I g-get my citizenship and we get d-divorced, this is all going to end,” she said, hiccuping through her words. “I won’t be able to come to your Christmas parties and fly down for games and sit up in the WAG box with my friends and that jacket and a jersey with your name on it. I won’t be able to do any of that any more because it wasn’t real, it wasn’t ever real, and that fucking kills me inside, P.” Laurel sat on the corner of the couch, a spot as precarious as the words tumbling out of her mouth. 

“Why?” Pierre asked, even though if he was honest, he’d stake his career on the belief that he already knew the answer. “Why would it hurt so bad?” His voice was so quiet that if Laurel hadn’t been sitting two feet away, she wouldn’t have heard. 

“Because I’m fucking in love with you,” she whispered. “And that’s the single most terrifying sentence I’ve ever said in my life.” Even though Pierre somehow knew that’s what she was going to say all along, it didn’t stop her words from stealing the breath out of his lungs. Laurel looked up at him through her tears, her eyes beginning to redden. “Say something, please, P.”

Pierre knelt in front of her, his thumb resting gently on her cheek, wiping away her tears. “God, Laur, how could I not be in love with you?” She blinked rapidly at him, trying to process the words that were coming out of his mouth. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. You’re so caring, not just for me, but for everyone in your life. You’d give a stranger the shirt off of your back. You’re probably the smartest person I know, way smarter than me.” A giggle escaped Laurel’s mouth. “The dedication you show to everything in your life is amazing. At your job, you treat every patient like they were your own sibling or your own child. You make the trip down to Columbus once a month, twice a month. That’s not easy, all the flight time and having to leave Piper and switching shifts around so we can see each other. You’re gorgeous, not just on the outside — though you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen — but the light in your eyes when you talk about a new book you read, or how happy you look when you let me taste a new recipe you’re trying, or how passionate you get when you see something wrong and know there’s something you need to do to change it. So what if we’re doing things a little backwards? First comes marriage, then comes love.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I fell in love with you awhile ago. I think it just took me a second to realize it.”

 January 26 (wed)

 Laurel thought the distance and space between them would be easier now that she knew how he felt, now that they both knew how they felt. She couldn’t have been more wrong. So the All-Star break, and the Blue Jackets’ bye week, couldn’t have come at a better time. Pierre had made plans for the break a few months earlier, but after everything that happened over Christmas, it didn’t seem right to ditch Laurel for a boy’s trip with Alexandre and Seth. So Hilton Head was traded in for Saint Lucia, and his teammates were traded in for his wife. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Laurel was using three of her paid vacation days and Pierre was able to make the schedule work just right to get five nights in the Carribean. “A belated honeymoon, if you will,” he had said, cracking a grin over FaceTime as they booked the flights. The flight from Columbus was much less straightforward than hers from Montréal, but by a chance airline scheduling his first layover was in Toronto. Laurel met him at the gate, hauling her own green suitcase behind her as he flung his arms around her, kissing her with everything he had in him. They may have missed the not-so-subtle fans taking pictures that later circulated around Twitter that may or may not have led to some grade A chirping in the team’s group chat. But Pierre didn’t care. He cared that for a few days, he could forget about the stress of hockey and trying to make a playoff run and all the rumors floating around and just be with his wife. And, Pierre thought as they walked through the airport door into the Carribean sun, there really wasn’t anything else he wanted. 

They hailed a taxi, the twenty minute drive to their resort rushing by in a blur of palm trees and seas so blue Laurel thought she could fall into them just by looking. Pierre jogged into the main office to check them in, coming back with their key cards before the taxi continued on its way, dropping them off in front of their villa. Laurel spun slowly as they got out of the car, smiling up at the sky as Pierre pressed a few bills into the taxi driver’s hand with a nod of thanks. “You okay there?” he asked with a grin. 

“It’s so warm,” Laurel said in wonderment. Even in January, the weather in Saint Lucia hovered in the mid-70s, a far cry from the twenties and teens of a Montréal winter. Laurel was no stranger to the cold — Cloquet had seen temperatures pushing thirty below when Laurel was in high school — but the idea that she could be somewhere and wear shorts while it was snowing in her hometown was a concept so novel she hadn’t quite grasped it yet. 

He nodded, looking at Laurel with a gaze so soft she thought her heart would maybe burst. “We’re in the Caribbean, L. It’s warm all the time.” 

She rolled her eyes, bending over to get her suitcase, but not before Pierre snatched it up himself, holding the key card between two fingers. “Are you going to just stand there, or do you want to check out our honeymoon suite?” Laurel’s words dripped with suggestiveness, her sandal-clad feet dragging their way up the path to the villa with tantalizing languor. 

“Coming.” 

Even after the six months of their marriage, and even after everything that happened over the holidays, they hadn’t had sex. They’d gotten close a few times, both on her trip in December and in ones since, but never managed to go all the way. First Laurel needed a new birth control prescription — the last thing she would do would be have sex without being extra safe about it — and then she was too tired after a night out, and another time Pierre had scored a hat trick and they had partied way too hard to even think about sex. So needless to say, it had been a while for Laurel since she’d gotten release by any hands other than her own, and even longer for Pierre. And it certainly wasn’t because she didn’t want to. Laurel was well aware that her husband was hot as fuck, and she’d be lying if some of her lonelier nights weren’t filled with thoughts of exactly what she wanted him to do to her. But it felt different than any of her other relationships. Obviously, it felt different, she hadn’t been married to Oliver or Ryan or Carter. And that didn’t mean she wasn’t invested in those, but just that the stakes were so much higher and she had fallen so much harder for Pierre than she ever thought imaginable. She didn’t want to have sex with him until she was sure. Sure that it was going somewhere, sure that it would last, sure that he loved her in the same way that made her heart ache every time he dropped her off at Columbus International Airport. 

---

By the time they had unpacked, eaten, and gotten a few rum punches in their system, it was well past 7 and the sun had long since set. Laurel peeked out the door onto their balcony, nodding at the private plunge pool. “We’ve got quite the setup here.”

She walked over to the dresser, grabbing a swimsuit out and crossing over to the bathroom, her hand hovering over the knob. “Just something to think about.” Pierre put his swim trunks on in record time. Laurel padded out of the bathroom, the top straps of her bikini dangling, the swell of her breasts peeking above the cups. “Do me up?” she asked. 

Pierre’s fingers brushed the baby hairs at the base of her neck as he tied the straps of her white-hot bikini. “Sure you don’t want to go out to the beach?” 

Their villa came with a stretch of beachfront, and it seemed like such a shame to let it go to waste. Laurel shook her head, a smile playing on the edge of her lips. “We’ve got a couple of days to enjoy the beach. I’d like to stay somewhere a little more...secluded.” She bit her lip as she opened the door to the balcony, dipping her toes in the pool and sighing at the warmth of the water. Laurel looked back at Pierre, one eyebrow raised. “You coming?” Pierre couldn’t follow fast enough. 

They stayed in the water for a while, lazily kissing and staring at the stars and sipping drinks that had lost their potency hours ago, but neither of them really cared much. Sometime during the night, Laurel had made her way onto Pierre’s lap, where she reached over to the balcony, lofting herself out of the pool and wrapping a scarf around her body. “Getting a little cold,” she said, bending down and giving him a soft kisss. She walked into the room, drying herself off; he followed. Laurel threw the towel over a chair in the corner of the room, walking over towards Pierre, stopping when their noses were almost touching.

Laurel’s wrap fell from her shoulders, pooling on the wood floor. Pierre’s hand skated up her arm to rest on her cheek. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She stood on her tiptoes as her left hand tangled in his hair, her right pressed against the back of his neck. She whimpered into his mouth; it took everything in Pierre’s power to keep the blood from rushing south. The kiss got more frantic, tongue and teeth clashing against each other as he walked her back to the bed. The back of her knees bumped up against the edge. 

Pierre pulled away slightly, letting out a moan as he saw Laurel’s face. Her lips were puffy from kissing, her chest heaving with the force of her breath, and her wild hair had long since been taken out of its ponytail. In other words, Pierre was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laurel, in that moment, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “You sure you want to do this?” Pierre murmured. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But he’d never do anything without making sure that she was absolutely comfortable. Laurel nodded, biting her lip. “I need to hear you say it, babe,” Pierre said, taking a step forward, their noses almost touching. 

“I want you to ruin me.”

Pierre audibly groaned, capturing her lips in his before throwing her back on the bed, his hand moving to her back to undo the tie of her bikini top as his lips trailed down her neck. He threw the top off to one side, paying exactly zero attention to where it landed, as his hands slid up her waist to cup her breasts, his thumbs ghosting over her sensitive nipples. Laurel’s breath hitched in her throat. “You like that, baby?”

“Mhm,” Laurel whimpered, unable to form a complete sentence. 

He smirked, lowering his mouth to her chest, flicking his tongue over her right nipple as his hand pinched her left. The air was filled with breathless sighs from them both until Pierre’s hands left her breasts. Laurel whined in protest until she felt his fingers toying with her bikini bottoms, his head lifting just enough so that his eyes could meet hers. “This okay?”

It was all Laurel could do to choke out a single word. “Please.”

Pierre pulled them down her legs, kissing down, down to her hips, down to her inner thighs, down to everywhere except for where she needed him. “You need something, Laurel?” Pierre asked, his voice dripping with sex. 

Laurel groaned, not wanting to give in but also knowing that Pierre could stay where he was for hours if it meant teasing her. “Your mouth.” 

“As you wish.” And then his tongue was on her, and in her, and she couldn’t help but let out a moan. And Pierre was loving every second of it. He stayed down there for a while, long enough to finish her twice. 

Laurel pushed on his shoulder, trying to get him to turn on his back so she could return the favor. Pierre shook his head as he shucked his shorts off, pulling her head down to kiss her roughly. “I’m going to cum right here if I don’t get inside you in the next two minutes, babe.” He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom. “Guess I’ll have to thank Josh for these when we get back home.”

She raised one eyebrow, clearly unamused. “If you do that, I can promise you I’ll never put your dick in my mouth. Not now, not ever.”

Pierre held his hands up in surrender, the foil packet shining between two fingers. “Alright, alright. I won’t.” He paused just before bringing the wrapper up to his teeth. “You want this?”

Laurel nodded frantically as he rolled the condom down his length. He looked so hard it was painful. “So bad.” He leaned down to kiss her, propped up on one arm as he pushed into her, hair falling into his face as he closed his eyes. He was too blissed out to be able to focus on anything other than how good she felt around him, how tight and warm and how well she fit, like Laurel Elizabeth Klerken was made for him and him alone. 

“More,” Laurel cried softly, and that was all it took for Pierre to grab one of her legs, throwing it around his hips as he increased his pace, head dropping to her neck as he nipped at her pulse points. It didn’t take long for Pierre to reach his high, Laurel right behind him. He pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead before getting up from the bed, going into the bathroom to tie off the condom and grab a washcloth. He cleaned up between her legs as Laurel lay there, trying to steady her breathing, absolutely spent from the night’s three orgasms. “Why didn’t we do that earlier?” Laurel murmured. 

Pierre laughed, throwing the cloth in the laundry basket and tilting down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I don’t know. But it was worth it.”

 February 20 (mon)

 Laurel had learned early on in her relationship with Pierre that she couldn’t put much stock into what was said on Twitter. Or Instagram, or any social media for that matter. So much was speculation: about draft picks, about trade rumors, about Pierre-Luc Dubois’ secret wife, that it just wasn’t useful or healthy for her so spend much time looking around. She still had her accounts, but Instagram was the only one she went on with any regularity nowadays. And she rarely checked her phone during the work day anyways; unless it was an unusually slow day  — which was never a good sign in the medical world — the only time she was even able to spare a glance was during her lunch break or when she’d run to the bathroom. So when her phone buzzed with a text from Pierre as she sat at the nurses’ station, her brow furrowed as she unlocked the screen. 

Are you free right now? I need to call you. 

Laurel bit her lip, nerves threatening to boil over. He knew her schedule, he knew she was at work. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait? Are you okay? Did something happen?

He typed a response as soon as her text showed as delivered.  I’m not hurt, it’s not bad, really, I just need to tell you something and I don’t want to have to do it over text. 

Laurel checked her watch. 11:18. It was early for a lunch break, but as long as she wasn’t needed, she could take her half hour any time between 11 and 1. She caught the eye of her charge nurse. “Claudette? I’m taking my lunch if that’s alright with you.” Claudette nodded, and Laurel quickly made her way to the locker room to grab her leftover pasta, texting Pierre on the way. Headed to the changing room now. Are you going to tell me what this is about?

Her phone rang a minute later, when she had just closed the door. She tapped the green button. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on here, P, because I’m kind of freaking out,” Laurel said, laughing nervously. “You don’t tell a girl what to expect, she starts assuming the worst.”

Pierre let out a heavy breath. She could imagine him running a hand through his hair on the other end. “I know, and I’m sorry if I worried you. I just needed to tell you before it breaks.”

“Before what breaks, Pierre?” Laurel’s anxiety was coming to a head. 

“I’m coming home.”

Laurel screwed her eyes shut, even more confused than she was before. “Yeah, Pierre, I know you’re playing here next week. Why would that be news?” 

“When’s the trade deadline, Laurel?”

“Last Monday in February, but I don’t see what that has…” She pulled the phone away from her ear, looking down at the screen, eyes locking on the date. “You got traded?” 

She could imagine him sitting down on the edge of his couch, one hand dangling off the side, Georgia trying to jump up and goad him into giving her a pet or two. “They’re breaking it right before the noon deadline, but you deserved to know before everyone else did. You needed to know.”

Laurel leaned up against her locker, hand over her mouth. “You’re coming to Montréal?” She had seen it mentioned offhand on a few Twitter accounts she followed the handful of times she had logged on in the past week, but nobody thought it would actually happen. Even the concept of trading him seemed so far-fetched with the type of season he was having in Columbus. He was sitting near 30 goals and 40 assists, with one of the best plus-minus scores on the team. It just didn’t make sense. 

“As of twenty minutes ago, I’m officially a Montréal Canadien,” Pierre answered. 

“Oh God,” Laurel said, sympathy lacing her voice. She couldn’t let herself be excited, wouldn’t let herself be excited, until she knew exactly how Pierre felt about it. He had just been uprooted from the team that drafted him, where he’d played for four seasons and made friends and where everyone saw him as the future of the franchise. 

Pierre let out a single laugh. “They let me know what the deal was, apparently Montréal really wanted me. First round pick next year, a second-year defenseman, some prospect from Laval.”

Laurel settled on the bench, tucking the phone under her chin. “Of course they really wanted you, P. You’re an incredible player, you’d be an asset to any team and you’re going to do great things in Montréal.” She paused. “But how are you feeling about the move? I know it’s not what you were expecting. Or what anyone was expecting, really.”

“It’s weird,” Pierre said after a moment. “Obviously yeah, I won’t lie, it’s a shock. But almost every player, even the really good ones, get traded at one point or another. Gretzky was traded to L.A.”

“Are you comparing yourself to Gretzky?” Laurel asked playfully. 

“No,” Pierre chuckled. “But just trying to remind myself that it was almost inevitable. I’m allowed to be sad about it — and I am, it’s going to fucking suck leaving the boys — but I’m not as torn up as I thought I’d be if this ever happened.” He felt more than a little bad about it, but his first thought when his agent called and broke the news wasn’t sadness, it wasn’t despair at having to leave the team he had been brought up in and the men he considered his brothers. It was relief. Relief that he could be closer to his family, relief that he’d be back with Laurel, relief that he was going home. “And hey,” he said, catching Laurel’s attention. “You know what?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “What?”

“I don’t even have to marry someone to move.”

---

Pierre’s flight got in late Tuesday night, just after Laurel’s shift at the hospital had ended. He had said he wouldn’t mind taking an Uber home so she didn’t have to rush over and stress about traffic, but Laurel didn’t care. She wanted to be at the airport to pick up her husband, even if it meant she’d still be in her scrubs doing it. 

She saw him exiting the sliding doors of the international terminal before she even turned the corner, practically slamming her car into park as soon as she hit the curb. Pierre dropped his bags when her car door opened, paying no attention to the thump of the suitcases as they hit the ground or the wandering eyes of passersby. Airports hadn’t always been his favorite place. They meant leaving the people he loved, going away from what was warm and familiar and safe. They usually meant uncertainty. But that had changed, Pierre thought, as his wife jumped into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as their lips met. Airports might just have become one of his favorite places. He pulled back from the kiss, their foreheads just barely touching. “Hi,” he said. 

Laurel smiled, the kind of smile that lit up rooms and made crying babies giggle and that Pierre was pretty sure was his favorite thing he’d ever seen in the world. “Welcome home.”

[amyonrails]

Traveling to Sweden by train

Things are slowly calming down again so I decided to spend a one week vacation in the Swedish city of Gothenburg. I want to share this journey with people as I promised friends to take lots of pictures anyway and because it personally means quite a lot to me to finally get out there again. Not only is this finally a proper vacation after a year and a half of sitting at home a lot with the coronavirus pandemic making it unfeasible to travel anywhere farther than where the S-Bahn could carry me. But this is also my first international journey in just over 10 years. Finally I feel comfortable taking on such a trek and because I am apparently a bit silly and like trains I decided to do this journey (nearly) all by train.

Planned route

Now how does one get from Berlin to Gothenburg by train? The route I will be taking starts in Berlin from which I will first board an ICE (InterCity Express; the German high speed train class of DB) to Hamburg to change to an IC (InterCity; a high-ish speed service) which is a joint operation by DB and the Danish national train service taking me all the way to the Danish capital of Copenhagen. From there I can take the Öresundtåg (literally Öresundtrain) over the Öresundbridge across the (can you guess it?) Öresund between Denmark and Sweden. The Öresundtåg stops in the city of Malmö, where I get a high speed train by the Swedish operator SJ that will get me to my destination.

This is quite a trip with a few changes and because I planned this with change times of at least 30 minutes in case there are delays the whole journey will take about 13 hours. The straight distance between the two cities is about 580 kilometres but due to the detour over Jutland the distance actually traveled is closer to 1000 kilometres.

(the route vaguely traced in Google Maps)

I booked the tickets online a few weeks ahead and paid for all second class tickets about 70 € in total (and again about 70 € for the return trip). This was actually quite pleasant. The whole first part of the journey up to Malmö I was able to plan with the website of DB, which cooperates nicely with services of neighboring countries. The booking website of SJ was also easy to use, very user friendly and has a good English translation.

The paperwork

So because this is an international journey we have to consider paperwork of course. You can’t just travel to another country, surely there is a bunch of hoops you have to jump through, right? Well, because of the circumstances, kinda but not really.

First off: no visa required. I am a German citizen and am thus allowed to travel freely within the Schengen-area and the only required document is my ID card. And that is only in case I actually get carded. On train connections that is only done occasionally, but of course I will have my ID with me, so that will not be an issue.

Due to the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic it is also necessary to bring either a negative test result when crossing borders or a certificate of vaccination against the virus. Which I got. You can have it in paper or digitally and two weeks after your second shot you are free to travel again. No quarantining or anything. I got vaccinated anyway, so this was no issue at all.

Over all this got sorted pretty easily and I quickly had everything I need.

As a slight hint for anyone traveling to Sweden for the first time: paying in cash is incredibly uncommon especially in the cities there so I very much advise getting a credit card. I used a simple card I could charge with a bit of money, which I got from my bank with no additional cost and due to the limited money on it, losing it would not have been that bad as well.

Potential obstacles

But of course, stuff happened. Or rather, would maybe happen. I am writing this portion slightly ahead and at the end of reading this you will know, how it actually played out. As will I know, because by then I hopefully will have arrived.

Over the summer of 2021 the train drivers union GDL started talks with DB about raises and compensation over the additional hours drivers had done during the pandemic. Talks broke down though and thus they started striking.

There are more internal factors at play here as well but I am not in the know enough to properly judge or even explain the whole picture. But in the end it also does not really matter because I can’t really change it that quickly. So I have to live with the potential of the trains in Germany being canceled due to strikes. Only in Germany though. As soon as I reach Denmark I will be fine.

The strikes are not full time. They usually go on for two or three days and then normal service resumes within a few hours. And they tend to stick to work days. Which might mean I get lucky as I will depart on a Saturday. But I will watch the news closely and may have to rapidly come up with a backup plan.

Additionally and a bit hilariously I will have to switch onto a rail replacement bus on my journey to Gothenburg. Just on the weekend where I will travel they are doing some bridgework between Malmö and the town of Lund. This is certainly an inconvenience, but I just hope it will work out okay, as it is not that far to Lund. If this was not the case, I would have been able to make this journey exclusively with electric trains.

The strike

And of course it had to happen. On Monday the 30th of August the union announced a strike that would cover a whole week and with that, cover the weekend I wanted to travel on.

But no reason to panic yet. This gave me a few days to figure out how to navigate around this. By Tuesday afternoon DB had figured out which services would still be running.

I got pretty unlucky though. During this strike no DB service would run from Hamburg to Copenhagen. So it became necessary to find another way.

Thankfully I remembered the provider Snälltåget. They run a night train from Berlin all the way to Stockholm with stops in larger cities. Like for example Malmö.

And so for an additional price of just 10€ in total I got my DB ticket refunded, bought a ticket for the Snälltåget service from Saturday 7 in the evening to arrive on Sunday at around 8 in the morning and shifted the ticket I had bought with SJ to a train on Sunday.

Overall that was not nearly as bad as I initially feared and by Tuesday afternoon I had rescheduled.

The journey

Saturday came and in the evening it got time to head out. Due to the strike the S-Bahn service in Berlin was also pretty dodgy so I opted for a route with U-Bahn and bus. Which worked pretty well. The bus was a bit crowded but the whole trip was only a few minutes slower than any S-Bahn connection available to me.

Berlin central station is a very modern steel and glass construction that is very vertical with platforms going east-west above ground and platforms going north-south below ground. Due to the strike there were only few trains around but there were still some passengers taking the few trains in service.

(a view along the upper platforms at Berlin central station with the low sun shining through the glass roof)

About 20 minutes before departure my train pulled onto the platform. Four carriages pulled by an electric loco. Very quickly I had found my seat and was happy to see us depart perfectly on time at 19:02. But then had to stop for twenty minutes just after leaving the city behind, because unauthorized people were on the track.

For this section with Snälltåget I had booked the most basic seat. Fortunately the person who boarded the train in Hamburg at around 22:00 seated next to me found another free seat, so neither of us had to be crammed in our seats and attempt to sleep.

Ah yes, sleep. As this was a night train a reasonable thing to do is to sleep. Unfortunately a few things got in the way of that. Firstly, the cabin light in the open saloon was never turned off. It was comparatively low, but still bright enough to disrupt sleep.

And then came the stop just behind the Danish border. In the small town Padborg, the loco that had hauled us all the way from Berlin got replaced by a Danish locomotive. This is due to a difference in voltage between the countries’ catenary equipment. That alone would have been fine, but unfortunately the Danish border guards deem it necessary to check every single train. And if that means disrupting 200 peoples sleep each night at 2 in the morning then they will do it. Which is what they did.

(empty platforms at Padborg, only some bright lamps break the darkness in the dead of night while the border guards board the train)

(the sun is just barely rising over the flat and still dark Danish countryside)

During the next few hours I managed to catch a bit of uneasy sleep until the early dawn. Because I realized, that we were nearing Copenhagen I decided to just stay awake and watch the landscape zip by as the sun crept up. And it was worth it.

(banks of mist over fields)

Fields covered in mist like ghostly apparitions. And right as the sun really rose and made it easy to see, we crossed the Öresundbridge. A wonderful view.

(the metal frame of the Öresundbridge with the sea visible in the background, the sun is shining just out of frame to the right)

After the bridge it was not far to the city of Malmö. Unfortunately we were delayed slightly again. Slowly I felt like fate was trying to keep me from reaching my destination.

But because I was cautious this delay was not enough to mess with my plans. The train arrived slightly delayed at around 08:30.

(the loco that had pulled me through the bit of Sweden I had crossed this far sitting at a platform in Malmö)

I did not take time to look at Malmö central station, but from what I saw it is a nice station with the older platforms being complemented by a modern building housing some shops. But I had a bus to catch, so I headed for one of the exits.

Some helpful staff was able to point me to the replacement bus I now had to take to get to Lund. The bus trip, while a bit inconvenient was actually a nice change. And I got dropped off right in front of the train station an hour before my train was due to depart.

And that last leg of the journey was very pleasant. The X55 even in second class was wonderful to ride. Good leg space, large windows, pleasant decor and a comfortable ride paired with sunny views of the Swedish countryside. This train made it immediately clear to me, that Swedish rail has a wider loading gauge than most other countries and the cars are built accordingly with lots of room. Zooming through hills and past fields at not very high speeds was just a delight.

(a bit of Swedish countryside with fields and farm buildings under a blue sky, in the distance one can just about see the coastline)

And after about 2 and a half hours my final train for that day pulled into Gothenburg central station. Which is a wonderful old station that has been maintained very well. The main concourse still has it’s original dark wood framing and large murals show different old railway lines all under an iron and glass ceiling, which makes it feel large but still cozy. Even tired as I was, I was surprised by how nice this station is.

(the main concourse in Gothenburg central station)

(the front of Gothenburg central station in broad daylight)

From the central station one can easily get anywhere in the city with the many trams or a bus which stop just a hundred meters from the station entrance.

In conclusion

This whole trip is now about two weeks in the past and I had some time to think about it. In general I still think this is a good way to get to Sweden, especially if you are on a budget. Next time I want to try out a proper cabin with a berth on the night train, because I am just too tall to sleep in any way comfortably in a seat.

[royaltee98]

The worst sickle cell crisis

September 25-October 3.2021

Saturday September 25.2021

This was Sunday 2:00 in the morning mom just finished changing my foot and I was watching the golden girls.I fell asleep for a few minutes feeling this awful pain in my lower back I called my dad to tell him that I was having pain and to tell mom but instead I called her. She came over and laid with me rubbing my back and gave me some Motrin, until the next morning…. to be continued

Sunday September 26.2021

This was Saturday afternoon I told my dad I was going to shower while in the shower I wasn’t feeling so good I had to rush and wrap myself in a towel and go sat under the ac because I was feeling very tired and shaking. My mom came in my room and said I didn’t so good, still in awful pain I had a nail appointment that I made last week so I went with mom feeling ok, it took like 30 minutes to do. I got back in the car feeling very tired again, I walked into my house put my stuff down I crawled into bed and continued to watched golden girls I fell asleep again and mom was still rubbing my back. I just couldn’t get comfortable I was moving all my bed.

My mom said do you want to go hospital I immediately said yes it was so hard to get dress my mom helped me while getting the hospital bag ready. I was in so pain it was very difficult to walk so my dad swung me over his shoulders and put me in my mom cars. While driving to the hospital I felt every single stop, bump, and turn in the road. I was crying”. I need relief, I need fast” for me to say that means the pain was sky high. Couldn’t get comfortable always turning and sitting still was so hard in the car.

I got to the emergency room at this point the pain was beyond a 10 more like 10,000 I felt like drawing out of my skin and curling up into a ball until the pain was 100% gone. Once I got in the back and the nurses started an IV for fluids I got strong *pain medication. I would sleep for 10 minutes and right back up balling crying, turning, asking for more relief.

I was being transferred to the 3 floor which was orthopedic floor with a clean hospital bed. I was going in and out of pain in between trying to sleep to the prior medication I was given back at home. My mom was always rubbing my back, hips, and legs. Getting up to use the restroom felt like my legs were set on fire and about to break at any moment. I spent that night and half the that next morning in so much pain and agony.

Monday September 27. 2021

It was the next morning still in was much pain. I did a chest X-ray and take and *nebulizer breathing treatment. This sweet nurse told my mom and I, I needed to be *I.C.U because my oxygen level was at a 45 and had pneumonia, no one on this planet earth should be at a 45. SIDE-NOTE: I cried but I remember when my auntie I wasn’t allowed in the ICU to say my goodbyes because I was to young I was 14 when she pass away from cancer. My body was asking for help and I was transferred to the I.C.U. Once I got into the ICU the nurses put me on the this *high flow oxygen machine. It felt like I was growing in my air the oxygen was going so fast up my nose and the taste was horrible.

I really didn’t have an appetite but I knew I eat something so I won’t have another on my hands. I took a few bites for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Still coughing, in an *active sickle cell crisis , pain was going on. I was in misery I just wanted home to see my sister.

Tuesday September 28. 2021

This morning I did so much such as go get a *CAT scan, do a *echocardiography and I need to use the restroom today. The nurse get a wheelchair for me, it felt so good to come out of ICU. I did a CAT scan before so I was use to it. I got to my room I made a thumbs up gesture to my mom. A few hours went then the echocardiogram technician came to my room, I was pretty nosey she allowed me to look. I asked questions because I was curious the way my heart sounded when she put on the audio gave me more power to fight my way out of the ICU.

The pain management doctor came to ask how is my pain and have went yet. I said my pain is ok and no I haven’t went he said ok and said that he would make a medical mixture for me. I was ok with that.

For rest of the day doctors and different labs techincan came in my room.

Wednesday September 29. 2021

I sat up the chair cause the bed was staring to get uncomfortable and by this time I haven’t went to bathroom and it was kind of getting painful by I still needed eat still taking a few bites of breakfast and I said to my mom that my stomach was hurting. In the ICU there is a little separator dividing the room in the corner was a toilet. ⚠️ TMI ⚠️ Ever since I was born I suffered and still suffer from constipation. That morning I took the mixture pill with my other medication. Let me tell you when I sat on that toilet it was like WW3 I could destroy the whole of Afghanistan the smell that came out my body could have taken me out. It went on for some time back to back ever for the next few days.

After I went I was so hungry any time a nurse came in and ask me if I wanted anything I said yes I usually got ginger ale and chocolate pudding, I love me some snack pack chocolate pudding.

I want to shoutout to my mom because I had so many wires on me, she did everything for me if you know what I mean 😉

Every hour my nurse came to check on me and my mom and ever 4 hours to me my iv medication and if I needed any pain medication. I started to wean off the pain medication because I didn’t want to get addicted to them but if I needed I would ask politely.

I had to sleep on my left side because I had the pneumonia was in my right lung. So I facing the door to my room I prayed to God basically saying: Dear God, please heal my lung so I can get out of ICU and to be able to see my sister and dad. I know that you can do it I believe in you.

Thursday September 30. 2021

Still in the ICU feeling much still can’t take a deep breath but I was working on the *breathing spirometer that is mess felt like hell. More doctors came in to update me and my mom, they said I looked perfectly fine but my CAT scan and X-ray was showing that I had fluid overload, a small amount of fluid around of heart, and pneumonia.

In my head I was like I need to get out of here. Still working on the breathing barometer trying to cleat my lung coughing like a maniac and sitting up off my lungs.

That night the new season of station 19 and grey anatomy came on so my mom and I watched while I ate my hospital dinner and mom had her dinner. After that I FaceTime my sister as I did ever night in hospital saying goodnight and making jokes I say goodnight and can’t wait to get home to her.

Ever other night my mom changes my wound I had of 10 years now; she was coming to the end of wrapping the rolled gauze around my foot. Around the same time the I got a new night shift nurse she would so sweet and her charge nurse pass her a piece of paper. She read it and wrote on my room board 2258 and said that I was switching floors. At that moment I knew God heard my prayer for the night before I was so excited that I was moving rooms.

My mom stared to packed our belongs and checking the room to see if we had left anything in the cabinet.

Friday October 1 2021

It was barley 1:00 in the morning on our way to the new floor. This floor was called *PCU entering our new room 2258 where we spent the next three days in. I told my mom one day closer to seeing my sister; the nurses slid me over to my new bed which was super uncomfortable. Now on this new floor between 12 and 4 they you sleep which was very comforting to hear.

I really didn’t sleep cause cause there was lab technicians taking my blood and nurses taking vitals sign. Once the sun came up my mom and I started to get up. I had such an appetite I ate all of my breakfast and was still hungry but my mom kept a sash of little snack from previous breakfast, Lunch, and dinner trays that I didn’t eat prior to being backed up so I had my favorite combo ginger ale and snack pack chocolate pudding.

The same doctor from the ICU came up was updated my mom and I still looked fine on the outside but the inside was still acting up. After they left I did so research why are keeping it is because I had a low grade fever due to pneumonia that’s all.

The physical therapist came in to work with me and my limp due to the wound I had and still have for 10 years. I walked the entire PCU floor, basic excise like in and out kicks, stepping in place, hip opener, and muscle resistance.

The more I felt better the more food was on my hospital food tray that night for dinner I had pasta and meatball with ice tea, and chocolate pudding. For the rest of night my mom and I watched tv and was heading to bed.

Saturday October 2. 2021

That morning my mom and I had a mission I was to freshen up, take my meds, let the nurses give me my Iv antibiotic and we were going for a walk on the PCU floor. After all that I decided to sit up in the chair again. The doctors came in and still I was feeling better but the x-rays were getting clearer still had pneumonia but I since couching and using my breathing barometer is was getting better. They wanted to still keep me over night to watch me for any fever spikes.

The fever spikes will only happened at 12:00 in the night so they still concerned about that. Physical therapist came to walked me and this time I didn’t even realized that I walked the over floor I was going my speed like yesterday but it seemed faster.

My dad stopped by to give me some really pretty flowers and to relieve my mom so she can go home and freshen up and checked on to my sister. My dad and I went for a walk and by the time we finished she was on her back to the hospital. She brought Popeyes and we watched the movie Selena I almost cried because I heard how she died by never got to watch it, it was the older one with Jennifer Lopez.

We continue to watch tv as we went to bed.

Sunday October 3 .2021

This was the morning I felt that I was going to be discharged form the hospital and on our way home. For breakfast I had some pancakes and sausage to drink I had some orange juice and the nurse gave me my medication and I was just chilling. The doctors came in by now it was just the fever spikes at night was reason they kept me an extra night. The nurse I had was trying to discharge me I really appreciated that.

Lunch time had just begun at the same time the nurse had came into my room to tell me I had been discharged in mid bite of my pasta and meatball I just felt it I was so happy to see my sister and dad. She said do you want to finish your lunch or just want to be discharge I said I wanted to be discharged so she was took off my heart monitor, pulse oximeter, and the IV I had.

She read me my discharge papers that I had to sign after that she went to go get a wheelchair and my mom went ahead down to get the car. For a moment I was left in the room by myself I turned on some gospel music and was praising God and thanking him for bringing me out of this one.

I told my mom to not to tell my dad I was being discharged cause I wanted to surprise him. He even called me I said the I using the bathroom the truth was I was sitting sign my discharge papers. While being rolled down to the lobby I kept thanking God for all his had done.

Pulling up to my house I got out of the car rang the doorbell and my dad opened the door and was so surprised and my sister was still sleeping so I waited until she had gotten up to tell her that I was in the ICU she just was surprised.

Now it has been four days I been home feeling much better still keeping up on my water intake and taking my temperature, oxygen levels and working on my breathing spirometer. God has and will forever been by my family and I side in times of needs he is just so good, caring, loving, merciful. Thank you God.

*pain medication: Dilaudid: treat moderate to severe pain

*nebulizer: A device for producing a fine spray of liquid, used for example for inhaling a medicinal drug

*I.C.U: a unit in a hospital providing intensive care for critically ill or injured patients that is staffed by specially trained medical personnel and has equipment that allows for continuous monitoring and life support

*high flow oxygen machine: Only offered if traditional oxygen therapy isn't helping, high flow oxygen therapy helps reduce the effort your body needs to put into breathing. By decreasing the effort of breathing and creating a small amount of positive pressure in the upper airways, this therapy helps improve oxygen delivery.

*active sickle cell crisis (in my opinion): is the pain the starts you feel it as the bad cells dies off

*CAT scan: n X-ray image made using a form of tomography in which a computer controls the motion of the X-ray source and detectors, processes the data, and produces the image.

*echocardiogram:a test of the action of the heart using ultrasound waves to produce a visual display, used for the diagnosis or monitoring of heart disease.

*breathing Spirometer:a common office test used to assess how well your lungs work by measuring how much air you inhale, how much you exhale and how quickly you exhale.

*PCU: The Progressive Care Unit or PCU is a telemetry (vital signs) monitored unit that provides care for adult patients requiring continuous cardiac monitoring

Love T.B.❤️

[goldenraeofsun]

‘cause right now you're mine

set in this verse

THURSDAY, APRIL 2nd

Dean 12:01 You didn’t tell me you led Carver Prep’s quiz bowl team???

Castiel 12:15 It’s in the middle of the school day and you’re texting. What kind of example are you setting for your students?

Castiel 12:16 I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t relevant.

Dean 12:17 Haha smartass I’m having lunch in my office Youre texting me back so i see right through you And of course it’s freaking relevant

Castiel 12:20 How?

Dean 12:21 Because I got tapped to coach Edlund High's quiz bowl team this morning!

Castiel 12:21 Oh no.

Dean 12:30 Oh no is right buddy

Castiel 12:37 I thought you coached the softball team.

Dean 12:37 I can do both You’re dating a very talented man

Castiel 12:49 I know that. I just didn’t know it extended to quiz bowls and softball in addition to blow jobs and breaking and entering places to give blow jobs.

Dean 12:52 What the fuck is wrong with you I’m in school! My lunch hour is almost over I’ll have to get up from my desk very soon This is all your fault

Castiel 12:59 :)

Dean 1:00 Just for that No blow jobs for you tonight

Castiel 1:07 :(

 MONDAY, APRIL 6th

Dean 11:55 I bet I can grade more midterms than you today

Castiel 11:58 I know better than to make bets with you, Dean Winchester.

Dean 12:03 It was just a kiss I bet you’re just pissed you lost

Castiel 12:04 I can’t engage in PDA in front of my niece and one of my students at a school event!

Dean 12:04 Youre such a prude

Castiel 12:06 Unlike some teachers, I maintain boundaries between my personal and professional life.

Dean 12:07 Prude.

Castiel 12:09 Did you text me on a Monday afternoon just to harass me about my reluctance to kiss my boyfriend in front of minors?

Dean 12:11 Huh Boyfriend

Castiel 12:20 Dean?

Dean 12:21 What?

Castiel 12:22 Is everything okay?

Dean 12:23 Other than *my boyfriend* refusing to even entertain the idea of a friendly wager?

Castiel 12:23 Yes, other than that.

Dean 12:23 No

Castiel 12:25 That’s good. You scared me for a second.

Dean 12:26 I did?

Castiel 12:26 Are you okay with being my boyfriend? The long gap between our messages made me realize we haven’t talked about it before.

Dean 12:27 I mean it’s a little weird My 16 year old students have boyfriends “boyfriend” seems a little I don’t know Juvenile We’re not 16 anymore, Cas Thank god.

Castiel 12:30 Would you prefer “partner”?

Castiel 12:31 It’s just whenever I hear someone call their significant other “partner” I can never tell if they are talking about their life partner, same-sex partner, police partner, or if they are cowboys. That was a joke! Ignore this. I remember how much you like Westerns. “Partners” is off the table.

Dean 12:31 HOWDY YALL THIS IS MY PARTNER CAS

Castiel 12:31 Please never introduce me to someone like this.

Dean 12:32 Only if you watch Tombstone with me tonight

Castiel 12:33 Can I still grade my midterms?

Dean 12:35 You’re killing me here Cas Yes

Castiel 12:40 I’m your huckleberry

 SUNDAY, APRIL 12th

Castiel 2:19 Good luck with the softball game today!

Dean 2:21 You’d better make it up for me for missing this one Its the semifinals

Castiel 2:22 I will. Say “hi” to Claire for me.

Dean 2:27 What the hell? Why is she here? We’re not even playing Carver

Castiel 2:29 She has a crush on Kaia Nieves

Dean 2:30 Ohhhhh That explains a lot

Castiel 2:30 She thinks she’s being subtle.

Dean 2:37 I see that runs in the family Subtle as a brick wall. All of you.

Castiel 2:38 Excuse me, you had no idea about my feelings for you back in high school.

Dean 2:49 So? Charlie said you were obvious as fuck But it didn’t matter since I was a dumbass

Castiel 2:50 I prefer oblivious Less dumb Less ass

Dean 2:57 How dare you My ass is a goddamn gift. You take that back right now

Castiel 2:59 Of course. Don’t you have a game to coach?

Dean 3:01 Shit you’re right

 TUESDAY, APRIL 14th

Castiel 11:18 I know how I can make up for missing that last softball game last weekend

Dean 12:01 Sorry The kids called me out for texting you 5 mins before the bell last time How the hell did i get stuck with a class full of narcs

Castiel 12:03 It’s probably karma For all the rule breaking you did in school

Dean 12:05 Hey I wasn’t that bad

Castiel 12:05 You frequently defaced school desks and returned library books after their due date.

Dean 12:06 I’m dating a narc too???

Castiel 12:07 You didn’t ask what I have planned.

Dean 12:07 OK i’ll bite What do you have planned babe? Please tell me it’s not another documentary on bees That was depressing The grand canyon one was cool though

Castiel 12:10 Speaking of narcs

Dean 12:10 This doesn’t sound good

Castiel 12:11 When I had to get my extra copy of Camus from my car, I stumbled on Miriam at the edge of the parking lot with a few more students. They were skipping class and smoking marijuana. Naturally, I reported them to the administration.

Dean 12:13 Not helping your not-a-narc case

Castiel 12:13 They received detention for skipping class.

Dean 12:13 And the drugs?

Castiel 12:13 I may have neglected to report the drug use.

Dean 12:14 Seriously?

Castiel 12:14 I still confiscated it. Research evidence shows marijuana has negative effects on the developing brain.

Dean 12:14 I guess that’s fair

Dean 12:15 Hang on Do you still have it? OUR brains are old as balls Seriously, are you telling me you have weed now?

Castiel 12:15 Surprise?  I can throw it out if you’d prefer to do something else tonight.

Dean 12:15 Dont you dare!!! I’m going to get a six pack on the way home, download the last Star Wars, and we’re gonna do this right Your place or mine?

Castiel 12:16 I have been neglecting laundry lately. Yours?

Dean 12:16 You’re on This is going to be so awesome

 WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15th

Dean 12:06 Did you really mean to invite me to dinner with your brother?

Castiel 12:09 I didn’t mean to bring it up when we were high, but the invitation still stands. Claire told him we were together. He wants to meet you.

Dean 12:11 Oh

Castiel 12:11 You do not have to say yes.

Dean 12:13 I’ll go It just took me by surprise

Castiel 12:13 I don’t want to pressure you.

Dean 12:14 Youre not pressuring me

Castiel 12:14 Are you sure?

Dean 12:16 Look, I just know your relationship with your brother is complicated And I don’t want to stick my foot in it By accident or some other way

Castiel 12:20 We’re in a better place than I’d like to admit. I spent a long time resenting Jimmy for the time he had with Father. But it wasn’t his fault Father was a bastard who had a second family he preferred to be with. Jimmy was barely in middle school when Father started going on his “business trips”

Dean 12:21 Jesus christ You told me bit about it back in high school But I didn’t realize it was a second family situation

Castiel 12:21 Mother kept it from us for years. I still haven’t forgiven her for it.

Dean 12:21 Are you OK?

Castiel 12:22 I’m fine. It was a long time ago.

Dean 12:22 That stuff takes a long time to get over.

Castiel 12:22 I suppose.

Dean 12:23 Is it okay if you stay at mine tonight?

Castiel 12:24 Our next date isn’t until Friday

Dean 12:24 I don’t want to wait until Friday to see you

Castiel 12:27 Can you pick me up at Carver at 4pm?

Dean 12:27 You got it More time with you and my baby Win-win!

 FRIDAY, APRIL 24th

Dean 11:51 Are you sure what I usually wear to school is OK?

Castiel 11:53 You texted me nine minutes early?

Dean 11:53 Shut up I had to bribe my kids For NINE extra minutes Friggin tyrants

Castiel 11:54 What did they extort from you?

Dean 11:54 I promised to throw out their lowest pop quiz grade

Castiel 11:54 That isn’t too bad.

Dean 11:54 I was already planning on doing it

Castiel 11:55 Clever of you.

Dean 11:56 You’re not just dating a pretty face But getting back to dinner with your brother Is a regular button up OK? The tie hides most of the sloppy joe stain

Castiel 11:56 I’m sure you look very handsome

Dean 11:57 I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not

Castiel 11:57 I rarely manage sarcasm in-person. What makes you think I would attempt it over text?

Dean 11:58 Good point

Castiel 11:58 You’re a very good-looking man, Dean. I’ve known this since we were 15.

Dean 11:59 Stop it you’re making me blush

Castiel 12:01 It’s the truth.

Dean 12:04 Alright, alright I’m already sleeping with you No need to butter me up

Dean 12:05 It’s just I remember how you used to talk about him The perfect big brother

Castiel 12:07 More like the perfect student and perfect son. Jimmy was honestly too busy to be much of a brother. The 11 year age difference didn’t help. When I was in high school, he already had the perfect nuclear family on the way.

Dean 12:07 Exactly

Castiel 12:08 Exactly what?

Dean 12:08 You’re lucky I know you And I know you’re not drawing this out on purpose Look, i want to make a good impression, OK? he seems like a hard guy to please.

Castiel 12:09 I That’s very admirable of you, but it’s entirely unnecessary.

Dean 12:10 He’s your family

Castiel 12:11 And I understand family is very important to you, but it isn’t the same with me. It would be very nice if dinner goes well, but if it does not, I will not care in the slightest.

Dean 12:11 Really?

Castiel 12:11 Truly.

 SATURDAY, APRIL 25th

11:16 I’m sorry for my dad.

Dean 11:17 Who is this? 

11:20 Claire Novak

Dean 11:21 How did you get this number?

Claire 11:23 Alex Jones

Dean 11:24 How did Alex get my number???

Claire 11:24 It was on the softball permission forms How did you not know this Didn’t you draft them?

Dean 11:25 It’s been a while I’m a very busy man

Claire 11:25 Sure. Anyway, my dad was a dick.  Totally out of line last night

Dean 11:26 Shouldn’t you be texting Cas about this?

Claire 11:26 I don’t have his number

Dean 11:26 Cas wasn’t kidding when he said you guys weren’t close

Claire 11:27 Nope.

Dean 11:27 Well I am very close with my brother He’s a lawyer out in California

Claire 11:27 Good for you???

Dean 11:29 It doesn’t sit right with me that Cas doesn't have a real relationship with his family

Claire 11:31 That seems like Uncle Castiels business

Dean 11:33 But Jimmy isn’t Cas’s only family SO if you ever need a place to crash, i’m always available

Claire 11:35 Maybe my dad was right And you’re secretly a perv I’m not staying with you you freak

Dean 11:35 Jesus christ, I’m trying to say, if ALEX isn’t the only girl on Edlund's softball team you’re getting buddy-buddy with, it’s fine You should get a chance to explore that part of being a teenager While STAYING SAFE But don’t let your parents stand in the way of that side of your life

Claire 11:41 Dad wouldn’t kick me out

Dean 11:42 Maybe not. But if you are at all uncomfortable, just give cas a call I’ll forward you his contact info now

 “I might have told Claire she’s always welcome at my place if she comes out to her parents,” Dean says as he pockets his phone. He turns his back on the pile of sparkling clean dishes drying on the rack by Cas's sink. Dean adds, “Hopefully she’ll ask you before she goes to me.”

They hadn't really discussed the disaster of a dinner with Jimmy and Claire. A few tense words on the drive back to Cas's house, a tacit acknowledgement in the morning not to mention it until after coffee and breakfast. But then Cas brought out his homework for the weekend, even while last night's argument scratches at the back of his mind like a fly trapped in a windowless room. So Dean did the dishes and texted Claire.

Cas looks up from his juniors’ final exams. “You were talking to Claire?”

“She texted me first,” Dean says defensively.

Cas sighs and caps his pen. It’s blue, because red pen, according to Cas, is too traumatizing a grading implement. “I’m very sorry about last night.”

Dean waves his apology off. “You warned me it could go sideways.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “Still,” he says slowly, “I told my mother and Jimmy I was gay a few years ago. I think it was easy for them to ignore it as long as I didn’t have a boyfriend in the picture.”

Dean fiddles with a dishrag as he hovers by the sink. “Was Jimmy a jackass to your other boyfriends?”

“What others?” Cas asks wryly. “None of them were ever serious enough to pique Jimmy’s interest.”

“Really?”

Cas nods and gestures for Dean to take a seat at the kitchen table next to him. He holds out his hand, which Dean takes, bemused. “I don’t know why Jimmy thought religion was an appropriate introductory dinner topic. I could tell he was trying to genuinely understand our… lifestyle, to use his word, but-”

“I got angry,” Dean says looking down at their clasped hands.

“You didn’t say anything I wasn't thinking,” Cas says simply. “I’m glad you reached out to Claire.”

“It seems like she needed it.”

“She doesn’t have a lot of adults in her life she can rely on to be in her corner,” Cas says diplomatically. “I’ve tried, over the years, but I can’t relate to her at all.”

Dean laughs. “Of course not. Teenage rebellion wasn’t really your style.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Cas says, his voice dry as chalk, “you’d be the perfect person to talk to her. The cool kids speak their own language. How could I forget?”

Dean smirks. “It’s full of references you don’t get.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cas says darkly.

Dean leans in for a kiss. Eyes dancing, as he whispers, “Relax, babe. You were always the coolest kid in school to me."

[nicka-nell]

I'm Kiyoomi Sakusa and I'm a germaphobe - Chapter 27: I don't want this

Words: 1.673 Warning: none

Chapter 26 - I will not fail     | Masterlist

(y/n) = your name | (l/n) = last name | (e/c) = eye colour | (h/c) = hair colour

Before they know it, it is already almost lighter outside, when they decide to go slowly to bed. (y/n) offers Atsumu to sleep on the sofa, and to get some rest before he goes home. He accepts her offer and lies down on the sofa. The next day, (y/n) gets ready and goes to the living room to wake Atsumu. In the time he freshens up, (y/n) prepares a small breakfast and calls Kaede and Atsumu to the dinner table. “When do you have to go to your shift?" Atsumu asks her, when he empties his plate. “In thirty minutes." She answers him briefly and looks at him questioningly. “Okay. I’ll go and change at home. Can I visit Kiyoomi today?" Thoughtful and somewhat worried, he looks at her and hopes for a positive answer. Nodding, she smiles at him. “Of course. I think he’ll be asleep, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to see his friends." Shortly before (y/n) leaves the house with Atsumu and wants to go in a different direction than he does, he calls for her again. Surprised, she turns around and looks at the man in front of her. “Listen, do you feel like going to Osamus' place with us on Saturday at 9:00...? Hinata and Bokuto are also there. If you want, you can take your brother with you." A meal with everyone? Then there’s also the fact that she’s seeing her best friend again? How can she say no? “I need to see what my shift looks like on Saturday. I’ll let you know when you visit Kiyoomi today." she smiles joyfully and says goodbye with a wave of her hand. When she arrives at the hospital, she looks for Kiyoomi after welcoming her colleagues. His eyes are still closed. However, he looks like he’s just sleeping. She quietly leaves the hospital room and goes to work and treats her first patients. Somehow the day is slow. Again and again she looks at the clock and waits for her break to finally begin. Shortly before her break she goes to Kiyoomi again and looks at him sad. Just as she wants to bend forward to give him a kiss on the hairline, she hears the door slowly opened, and shies backwards. As he had promised, Atsumu changed at home and then informed his friends about Kiyoomis accident. Hinata, Bokuto and Komori will also come later. But at the moment only (y/n) and Atsumu are in his hospital room. “Hello, (l/n)-sensei. Please treat me like this. Every time I see you, my heart hurts with love." Atsumu sarcastically greets her and sits down next to Kiyoomi in a chair. “There’s that idiot from the party again. Did I miss this guy." She hisses smiling and gives him a slap on the back of the head. - That annoying voice... the voice sounds so familiar. But that other voice... this tender laughter, it makes his heart beat faster. But why are they so loud? Why does he hear these voices? And why does his whole body hurt? He opens his eyes a tiny gap and sees a white room blurred in front of him. “And do you have time for our secret date on Saturday?" he hears the sarcastic voice of his setter. Atsumu? What is he doing here? Or rather, where is he? He asks himself. “Yeah, that looks good. My shift on Saturday is only till four and I don’t have to work on Sunday. That means we can turn night into day." Now Kiyoomi hears the voice he likes most. But her words do not fit her. Why would she want to meet with Atsumu? What’s going on here? He tries hard to open his eyes one more piece until he sees (y/n) and Atsumu in front of him. They really are and (y/n) wears her doctor’s coat. Nor is the room his. The bed is not as comfortable as his and the clinical scent is in the air. Why is he in the hospital? - When (y/n) sees Kiyoomi’s slightly open eyes, she approaches him and takes his hands in hers. “Kiyoomi! You’re awake!" her worried voice enter to him. “You had an accident. Do you remember that?" she asks him. What kind of accident? He can’t remember anything. All he knows is how he left her house and that her brother told him something. But he doesn’t even remember what her brother said to him. It was about (y/n). But that’s all he knows. Shaking his head, he tries to straighten up, but (y/n) and Atsumu push him down again. “Omi-kun, you look really bad. Get some rest. Bokuto, Hinata and Komori will be here soon. They all want to see you. What the hell are you doing with your life?" Worried again, Atsumu looks at his friend. Why do they want to see him? Are they all really worried about him? “On a scale of one to ten, what is your pain?" (y/n)’s voice is ringing again. He’s in pain, but strangely enough, the area on his chest hurts more than all the wounds or his ribs. His chest started to hurt when he heard (y/n)’s promise to go on a date with Atsumu. “Three...", he answers only narrowly and wants to close his eyes again. “This is a good. That’s really good, Kiyoomi. Maybe you can get out faster than you thought.” Relieved (y/n)'s shoulders lowered, as she staggers through an announcement and looks up at a small device. “(y/n) (l/n) to Treatment Room 207" rings an announcement with Wakami’s voice. Right, she has a few more patients. She hastily bids farewell to the two men and leaves the room. Both men look after her when Atsumu turns around again first. “Man, you’re such an idiot. She’s a sweetie, and eventually someone’s gonna snatch her away. Believe me." Atsumu sighs slowly. “Just like you?" he mumbles to himself so that only he can hear it. Why is he suddenly so mad at his friend? He told (y/n) to leave him alone. So she can date anyone she wants to date. But why did it have to be the dog Atsumu? “Kiyoomi... I’m really sorry. So what happened to you. If you need any help at your house or anywhere else, let me know. I try to help you." Atsumu thoughtfully supports his elbows against his thighs and looks at the black-haired man in front of him. “Thank you..." is the only thing he can answer. Because he has no reason to be mad at his friend. - By now, the week is almost over and (y/n) has actually never managed to visit Kiyoomi in his hospital room. Her days were too stressful and every time she came to his room to see him, to talk to him, he was not there, but he was with one or two sisters. And when she went to visit him yesterday, Wakami told her that he had already left the hospital. Completely surprised that she did not receive any information about this, even though he had been operated on by her, her mood had deteriorated for the rest of the day. But she doesn’t have much time to think about it, because today she has made an appointment with Atsumu and his gang and wants to finally eat the famous Miya Onigiri again with her best friend Osamu. With his hands in his trouser pockets and his typical sweaty grin, Atsumu is already waiting for (y/n) in front of the clinic. “Well, ready to go my pretty?" He still greets her with raised corners. Laughing, she stretches out her tongue and just wants to hug him in greeting when a voice stops her. “Don’t do that!" (y/n) shudders and looks down the stairs at a person so familiar to her. “Kiyoomi?”, she asks in amazement. With an inexplicable facial expression he looks back and forth between her and Atsumu, but then stays with her with his gaze. “Why...why are you dating Atsumu?" he asks, and before she can answer him, he goes up the stairs and stands now only a few centimeters in front of her. “I don’t want this. I don’t want his hands on your body. I don’t want you to date him." It’s coming out of him. Now completely irritated, she looks at him with her mouth open. “Why... Why shouldn’t I meet with him...? Why don’t you want that?" She wants to know from him. Why doesn’t he want it? He doesn’t know exactly. His heart aches in her presence, he only has to think of her, he wants to feel her closeness. Others might call that love? Is it the same with him? Love? “Why Kiyoomi?" she asks again because he gave her no answer. But he still looks at her with his raven-black eyes and does not look at Atsumu for a second. “I just don’t want it." he repeats himself and grabs her by the wrist. He doesn’t care if she disinfected her hands before, he doesn’t care if she touched something that’s full of bacteria. It doesn’t bother him. He just wants to pull her away from Atsumu. “Hey, wait, Kiyoomi!" (y/n) calls after him as he pulls her down the stairs. Apologetically, she looks back at Atsumu, but he only looks at her with a warm smile unknown to her until now. “Next time then.” he calls to her and turns to leave. If he planned all this? “Kiyoomi wait! Where are we going?" He still pulls (y/n) after him when her questioning voice makes him answer her. “To me at home."

Chapter 28 - Other call it love

Taglist: @kara-grayson04​ @suna-allie​ @pleasemelafook-outta-ere​

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [4]: Frustration

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Death and life are the same thing- like the two sides of my hand, the palm and the back. And still the palm and back are not the same . . . They can neither be separated, nor mixed.” —Ursula K. Le Guin

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Lir takes Simon Marson’s statement with a grain of salt. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him—she doesn’t trust lawyers as a whole, but nothing so far has given her a reason to believe he’d outright lie—just that she’s learned firsthand how memories get clouded and fuzzy, particularly about routines. Sure, their victim worked for him. And, yes, she probably did the exact same thing every day, going to her paid internship at her father’s office Monday through Saturday, taking Sunday off, and spending Friday night bar-hopping with her friends. Yet there’s simply too much Marson was unaware of. The questions of who her friends are, what she did when she wasn’t working, her hobbies, any potential lovers, hell even where she lived, are all ones he provided no answer to or understanding of. To him, Sophie truly existed only in the hours between 8:00 am and 6:30 pm. Which isn’t exactly unusual, but it makes her job of following those leads harder, and she ends their interview feeling more irritated than she had when she started.

Dante, too, must be frustrated, because he says nothing at all to her when he leaves the observation room to join her at their desks, merely clacking angrily on his keyboard as he types his report. Lir does the same, transcribing the interview with Marson and her notes to send to Morrison later. A stiff drink is what she needs, maybe a call to Joan for a bit of relaxation, but she settles for chewing aspirin and drinking the bitter coffee unique to precincts. By the time she’s done recounting the events of the last thirty-six hours, her fingers are stiff and the throbbing in her temples has turned into a fierce clawing that makes her eyes water, and she’s keenly aware of the fact that they’re fast closing in on the forty-eight hour mark and how much more difficult this investigation is going to be beyond it.

“You eaten?” Dante asks. Lir shakes her head, and he picks up his phone, dialing quickly. “Me neither. ‘Bout to keel over, if I’m honest. You good with pizza?”

“Sure. Whatever toppings are fine.”

He flashes her a grin before speaking into the receiver, and Lir uses the time to read back over Trish’s findings. They aren’t pretty. While there were no ligature marks, showing that Sophie was neither restrained nor strangled, there were heavy levels of Rohypnol in her blood, meaning she would have been unable to do anything at all. In fact, Trish notes that the dose probably would have been fatal, given the fact that Sophie was well over the legal limit for intoxication, clocking a BA of 0.16%, putting her at the threshold for alcohol poisoning. Did she normally drink so much? Lir runs her fingers over the paper, frowning slightly as she thinks. Joan hadn’t said much more about Sophie’s habits other than her cocktail of choice, and they hadn’t asked for a receipt, a stupid oversight that needs to be corrected. Because if that much liquor was’t common for Sophie, it means either she was drinking a lot more, which could lead them to recent stresses.

Or that the killer was feeding her margaritas all night to make sure she was too weak to fight him.

“There was no phone recovered from the alley, right?” she asks. Dante gives a grunt as he hangs up the phone, and she leans back, stretching to relieve the tension in her shoulders. “We’ve got to find her friends, talk to them.”

“What about the mother?”

“Gone. Parents divorced when Sophie was . . .” Lir checks her notes. “Six. The original custody agreement was for the mom to have supervised visitation, but she went no contact when Sophie was twelve. The last Marson heard from her, she was living with her new husband in Portland.”

Dante whistles. “No contact? Think Marson was abusing her?”

“Maybe. But why would Sophie hang around, if that was the case? You watch your dad beat on your mom for six years and wind up working for him?”

He grunts and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and staring thoughtfully at a spot just over her right shoulder. “Abuse doesn’t always make it to the kids,” he says after a moment. “Sure, maybe pops was an asshole, but he was probably smart enough to keep it behind closed doors. Or maybe there wasn’t anything goin’ on other than two people who didn’t want to be together anymore.” He pauses to take a sip of coffee. “Could have been mom, too.”

“Right.” Lir massages her temples, and the pressure there subsides enough that she no longer feels like her eyes are going to burst. A migraine is the last thing she needs right now, but that’s exactly where she’s headed if she doesn’t get some sort of rest soon. “So, we have a victim whose father knows nothing about her personal life, a killer who was smart enough to make sure we couldn’t trace her beyond the bar, and, after nearly forty hours, no real answers.”

“Sounds about right.” Dante’s grin is bitter.

“Fuck.” She drums her fingers on her desk. “Crime scene still roped off?”

“As far as I know. You plannin’ a visit?”

“Yeah. I need to get some air, and I want to take it in now that it’s quiet.” Lir grabs her coat from the back of her chair as she stands, sliding it on before leaning to open her desk and grab her gun and badge. Fastening them to her belt, she mutters, “Maybe something got missed.”

Dante gets up, stretching with a loud yawn. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t need—”

“I’m not babysittin’ you, Lir.” His eyes are somehow both grave and mocking, and she’s not sure which irritates her more. “There’s a killer. None of us should be goin’ out alone, especially with the statistics about who else might show up there to get their jollies.”

That gives her pause. “Right. Okay. You driving?”

He dangles his keys. Lips twitching, she turns and heads down the stairs and out to the lot, listening to the quiet thumping of Dante’s shoes as he follows her. For someone so big, he doesn’t make a lot of noise when he moves, and she wonders idly if it’s a force of habit or just how he is as she slides into the passenger seat of his car and fastens her seatbelt. Like always, he flicks on the radio and finds a classic rock station before starting the drive, and he ignores her popping two aspirin into her mouth and chewing them dry. 

The ride back to the alley passes in the silence between them. Lir looks out of her window, the rain sliding along the glass turning the world outside to a muted painting of blurred shapes and bright flashes of color on an otherwise dreary background, and thinks. Sophie Marsons had gone to the bar, as was her usual weekend habit, and ordered her preferred drink. Had she gone with friends? Had they danced, and laughed, until a stranger stole into their group, with eyes only for Sophie, eyes full of murder that she might have mistaken for desire? Despite what she had said to Dante about their victim being chosen randomly, Lir has little doubt that she knew her killer. Statistics point to it, the inevitable need for the comfort brought by familiarity that a new killer needs to do his work. Statistics, the voice of her old academy instructor rasps in her mind, are statistically incorrect.

If Sophie wasn’t the first, then there’s another victim out there.

Cold, bitter rain lashes her as soon as she steps out of the car. Huffing, watching her breath condense and twist in the air, Lir pulls her hood up around her face and tucks her hands into her pockets, wishing she had a slicker even if the garish yellow color of it would make her stick out like a sore thumb. Dante joins her, grimacing as he sets a black trilby on his head, water dripping from the brim steadily. “Good thing we already got forensics,” he mutters.

“Mm.” Making a non-committal noise in her throat, she ducks under the crime scene tape and walks into the alley, where she stands and takes it in. Without pedestrian and vehicular traffic on the street, it’s unnervingly quiet; is this how it was at four in the morning? Nothing but silence as the dull oppressiveness of the city while Sophie was carved open like livestock? 

Lir is moving towards the dumpster when something rustles behind it. Pausing, she stares at it, her brow pinched and her hand moving slowly to her gun, waiting. Cat, she thinks, or rat. Something digging for scraps now that humanity has gone away. But the silhouette she can just make out on the other side is too large, and, as she watches, a tanned hand grips the edge before a rain-soaked head pokes cautiously around, the eyes that she sees wide enough that the whites are like spotlights. Behind her, she hears Dante hiss, the faint splash of water as he slowly comes up beside her. Looks like he was right. Someone else had shown up, and now all that’s left to do is figure out whether or not they’re the murderer.

“Police,” Dante barks. “Don’t move!”

The man jumps to his feet and takes off, and Lir lets out a string of curses as she darts after him. They always fucking run, guilty or innocent, because seeing a cop always makes them feel like they’ve done something wrong. Bearers of bad news, thugs with guns, she’s heard it all, and she wonders how this guy thinks of the police even as she chases him down the winding alleys of a city she’s already growing to hate. “Thorne!” Dante shouts, his voice dwindling as the distance between them grows. “Goddamnit, Thorne!”

Up ahead, the black coat swirls as the man rushes through the maze. Sometimes all she has is a glimpse of fabric as he turns a corner, others, on the straight, narrow stretches, she can make out more of him, and her mind catalogues these snapshots. Slender build. Dark jeans. Heavy boots. The glint of a ring. A pair of wild eyes peering over his shoulder. Despite knowing she should draw it, Lir leaves her gun holstered. Don’t you ever, her instructor had said gravely, take that thing out unless you intend to shoot, and she’s got no desire to fire a bullet that would at best embed itself harmlessly into a wall and at worst ricochet and cause more damage.

Her hood falls back, rain plastering her hair to face and neck. In her chest, her heart is a drum, and her blood roars in her ears, equaled only by the low whistle of her breathing as she tries to control it to fight off fatigue. Keep moving, she tells her legs, don’t fucking stop until you know who he is.

At her hip, her radio crackles, only to be ignored. Right now, it is only her and her prey, locked in the chase until one of them is forced to stop. Guilty people run, sure. So do frightened ones. Which is he? Killer or morbid onlooker, dangerous or afraid? 

Lir never gets the chance to find out. They burst into a side-street, the cars around them blaring horns of fear and anger at this sudden intrusion, and a hand clamps onto her shoulder and yanks her back as a truck passes through the space she’d been about to step into. By the time it and its trailer clear out, the man is gone, and a scream bubbles in her throat that she fights to swallow. She knows who grabbed her—the scent of Dante’s cologne, muted by the rain, wafts into her nose, accompanied by the spiced, salty blend of sweat and deodorant—and she allows him to lead her back to the sidewalk, where she doubles over with her hands on her thighs and struggles to slow her breathing from the harsh, jagged pants to something close to normal. At this angle, she can make out the way water has turned the leather of his shoes a dull brown. Never gonna look nice again, she thinks, and closes her eyes against the swell of nausea that comes from exertion on an empty stomach.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Dante growls, his voice rasping and hoarse from chasing her. “You ever stop to think for a damned second that we’d need backup? Or that chasing that idiot could have gotten you killed?”

The scolding makes her angry all over again. “I’m sorry,” she snaps, straightening to glare at him. “Should I have let our only lead so far go?”

“If it meant surviving? Yeah, you should’ve. Or were you hoping to wind up like Marsons?” His eyes are cold with fury, his cheeks flushed with it. “I told you, I fucking told you—”

Lir’s phone rings, cutting off whatever tirade he’d been heading towards. Scowling, she answers it. “Thorne.”

“You with Redgrave?” Morrison asks, crackling with static. 

“Yeah.” Dante makes an impatient motion with his hand, and she holds up a finger in the standard request for a minute of silence.

“Get your asses over to Tellula Park. He’ll know where it is.”

There’s something so foreboding about Morrison’s tone that Lir knows the answer to her question before she even asks it. “What’s there?”

Morrison sighs. “Another body. Looks like our killer didn’t want to wait for us to catch him.”

“We’ll be there.” She hangs up, then looks at Dante, frustration and defeat welling within her to make her voice curiously flat. “There’s another victim in Tellula Park.”

Dante curses. “Our guy?”

“Morrison said it was,” she replies.

He glances around, studying the street sign at the intersection. “C’mon. Car’s about two blocks away. We’ll have to book it if we don’t want Morrison to rip us new assholes for taking our sweet time.”

Lir nods. Dante turns and starts down the sidewalk, and she follows, craving a drink and a good night’s rest and maybe a bit of company, angry to have wasted time on some idiot onlooker when the killer was busy leaving them another corpse, another family to notify, another twisted web. I didn’t know, she thinks, and that just makes her feel worse. Tunnel vision, that’s what she had fallen into, too focused on what was in front of her nose to take a second to really contemplate if a killer who took such care not to be noticed would have been so stupid as to come back to the scene of his crime in the middle of the day with cops still around. 

They’re sweating and miserably damp by the time they reach the car. Dante pulls towels from the backseat for them to sit on—something her father had done, to keep water from damaging the seats—and turns on the heater to fight some of the chill. It’s only once they’re on their way to the new scene that he says anything at all. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Lir’s head snaps towards him at both the words and the sympathy within them. Not that it’s unusual for cops to know how their partner feels, but usually that takes years of working together, not days, so either he’s particularly good and reading the people around him or he’s projecting. “What?”

“The new victim,” he explains. “Wasn’t anything you could have done. We had and have nothing to go on, and you chasin’ that guy didn’t get this one killed. Or,” his mouth twitches, “do you think you’re better than every other cop on the force?”

“Of course not,” she protests hotly. “I just . . .”

Dante cracks the window and lights a cigarette that he pulls from the pack in his door. “Look,” he says, exhaling smoke, “I get it. You’re new, gotta prove yourself, and this guy is a pain in the ass. But you ain’t got any control over him, or what he does. Only thing you can do is learn, be better, so you can catch him.”

It’s spoken in the same tone he might have used to console a weeping toddler, and she bristles. “You don’t know me.”

“No, but I read your file.” He glances at her as he tosses the cigarette, still half-lit, out of the window. “You know what was top and center on the behavior section? Empathetic. You feel things, Thorne, feel ‘em deep, maybe, and that’s great for gettin’ inside the head of whoever’s doin’ this, but it means he can get inside your head, too, if you let him.”

She sinks into her seat, thinking of her dream, and gooseflesh breaks out across her arms despite the warm air blowing from the vents. “So what’s your drive, then? Fame? Promotions?”

Dante snorts. “Nah. Just don’t like bastards who hurt women, that’s all.” He pauses, then exhales slowly. “Look. I’m not gonna rat you out to Morrison. You made a decision that anyone else would’ve made. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a fucking stupid decision, but . . . It stays between us. Right?”

There’s a rush of gratitude that she hates feeling. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay,” he agrees amicably.