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jodilin65 · 24 years ago

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WEDNESDAY, MAY 31, 2000 They’re back to booming again. At 10:30 I heard a slight boom. Not the kind that’s really thunderous that you can feel. This one didn’t vibrate the house. I’m surprised they’d start up again on the last day of the month. I thought they’d start up on the 1st or the 15th.

Dan only gunned his engine a few times, but even so, I’d like it better if he’d get out of here. The fewer people around, the better. If he’s still here this late in the year, I doubt he’s going to be leaving at all.

My allergies are going off starting last night, but fortunately, they’re not constant sneezing fits. Not yet, anyway. I’m just having a few sneezes here and there. Not the kind where I sneeze 20 times in a row and have to jump up to blow my nose. My nose isn’t runny. My eyes were itchy, though. I had to put some eye drops in.

When I got up I got Houdini out of the closet and put him in the tank with the lid, but as is the usual case for two hours after I’ve tanked him, he’s all wound up. I took him out a couple of times and let him run around on the bed till he tried to jump off the corner closest to the closet.

There was a Gophie by the snake hole and I brought out some food. This time she waited till after I’d stepped out the door before diving into the hole. That’s getting brave.

Maria called again today but she didn’t leave a message. Yesterday, there was a fourth call. A private number with no message. Please, God, don’t let it be that Clara got our number! Even if she did, though, I suppose it wouldn’t harm anything. Larry wouldn’t want to talk to me any more than I’d want to talk to him. I don’t think he’d even bother leaving me a fuck you message after the mail I intend to send. If anything, he’d give the number to his mommy and daddy and have them do his dirty work for him. They’d call to bitch about it. Since they probably couldn’t get the number, though, and therefore can’t call, it’ll be interesting to see if they call any other people with my last name about the letters or if they send me a letter to the old address. I just wish we’d hurry up and get that printer! I don’t want to send Larry and his associate’s mail before Doe and Art’s, cuz then Doe and Art may be too afraid to even open any mail from me.

Later…

My allergies are acting up worse, so I popped a Benadryl. However, I’m sure it’ll fail to dry up my nose and stop my sneezing, as usual. Instead, it’ll dry up my mouth and cause me to take a 1-2-hour nap. Oh well. I felt like I had to do something. So much for the cutting down on the mice space experiment. I swear you could put me in a sterile environment and I’ll still have allergy fits for no apparent reason whatsoever.

Later…

My allergies have been making me miserable all day and I wonder – am I going to have this every 2-3 weeks for the rest of my life? And if not, what will the problem be that replaces it? I’ve racked my brains trying to figure out the cause of it, but there’s no pattern. I just can’t see a cause. That leaves only one thing – God. God’s the cause of this and I hate him for it!

I decided to spread my cleaning schedule out from 3 days a week to 6 days a week, so it won’t seem so overwhelming. Here’s my plan:

Mon. - master bath Tues. - liv/my office Wed. - den/his office/guest Thurs. - second bath Fri. - kitchen/utility Sat. - laundry Sun. – bedroom/retreat

TUESDAY, MAY 30, 2000 It turned out to be the quietest Memorial Day weekend I’ve ever experienced out here. The Saturday morning boom car stereo was the only thing I heard. Even Dan’s place was dark and quiet last night. Makes me wonder if he finally fucked off and headed for Indiana.

I can just imagine what must’ve gone on at our old place. Must have been quite a riot, but then again, maybe not. The noise was aimed at me for the most part, so maybe they happened to simmer down once I left, but I’ll never know. I’ll never know how the Hs feel about living next to them, either. I figure there are not too many possibilities. They either don’t mind having their yard trashed and the noise to listen to (if they are up to their same old tricks), or they don’t like it, or they shut up and kept their garbage to themselves. Maybe it’s a combination of things. Meaning, maybe they are quieter, but still noisy by most people’s standards, and the Hs just don’t care.

Again I woke up at 121 pounds. Maybe that dream will turn out to be a premonition, but at the rate I’m going, if I were to be 115 pounds, that won’t be till November. It’s funny how I gained and started losing weight at the exact same time of year as the last time. The first time I gained weight (after quitting smoking), I started gaining in October and didn’t start losing until May. Same with the second time around and I also gained the same amount each time I gained weight. I peaked at a little over 125 pounds. Since I can’t muster up the willpower to eat 1000 calories a day, I upped my workouts and workout every day now. I even worked out twice yesterday.

I have a dress that I don’t need to wear a bra with when I’m around the mid-120s because it’s a snug fit at that weight. Now that I’ve dropped a bit, it’s not as tight around the chest.

Later…

Not only has my body gotten used to shitting at 121 pounds, but I just had to up and take my second dump of the day. What I wonder is – will I go back up to 125 pounds before my period?

I forgot to mention that last week I finally received a newsletter from the doll company I got some of my cheap dolls from. The dolls I got at K-Mart had a card you fill out for their club, but all their club is newsletters about other people’s collections. Like I really care? I don’t want to meet or talk to other collectors. I thought they’d send catalogs or coupons or something like that.

Houdini’s so funny. He was in his usual spot in the closet when I got up. I put him in the tank and didn’t bother to put the lid on it. I knew he could jump out, but I didn’t think he’d bother. Well, he did. He jumped out and right into the big cage.

Later…

And he jumped back out of it too, so now he’s in the tank with the lid on.

I just went out to feed our many outdoor critters. Tom said that when he was out yesterday, he saw one on each side of the house and says there are at least 6 of them around here (I know I should spell out numbers the professional way, but I’m writing a journal, not a book, so I won’t be so formal and proper).

Later…

This phone has rung the most it’s ever rung in the last couple of days. I just got an out-of-area call where the person never spoke, but I know someone was there because I could hear them before they hung up on me. I forgot to block our number when I called Sandy’s parents. I hope to hell they don’t have Caller ID.

Maria and the stupid Mexican Elena called, too. Maria’s this New York-sounding woman who thinks we sell water. Again she called saying she was low on water, and after the 3rd call from the Mexican, they finally left a message. Not much of one, though. They just made this sigh-like sound before hanging up. I could hear a radio or a TV on in the background, too. Getting 3 calls in one day is a lot, till the sales calls come in a dozen a day like they used to. I still don’t understand what it is with these people, though. Maria made it sound like she’s talked to the guy she was looking for before, so why doesn’t she realize that Tom’s voice is different? And what about these Mexicans? Shouldn’t they not recognize Tom’s voice?

It’s funny how Mary and Dave have been in this house 3 times in the 5 months we’ve been here, yet they were never at the Phoenix house in the 6 years we were there.

Later…

Oh, please! Just when I thought Dan was gone for a few months, it starts an engine-gunning spree.

Anyway, Tom’s looking into a really cool program that lets you make your own fonts. I want one that’ll let me write out the letters which I can then scan into the computer. However, having a dead scanner doesn’t help. Something’s really been cursing my computer this last month or two, and one of the many things to get fucked up is the scanner. Tom said he hasn’t figured out what’s wrong with it yet. Well, I hope he figures it out soon, cuz I have a really funny idea. The idea is to forge Andy’s handwriting, something I can do very well, from samples of stuff he’s written in a few journals of mine, and write a letter to his mother. No, I’m not gonna say anything mean, violent or sexual. I’ll just write the kind of letter Andy would really write, and then laugh over knowing how confused he’ll be when he hears about the letter he never sent. Then he’ll really wonder about his pot brain!

MONDAY, MAY 29, 2000 Thank God I’m not in Phoenix! I’m surprised it hasn’t been a bit musical around here yet this weekend, but I’m sure someone will blare their music today. Either Dan will blast off, or that boom car stereo will drive by.

Anyway, Tom’s doing his favorite thing – watching TV. He did do computer stuff, though, too. Since we didn’t screw Saturday or Sunday, I guess that means we’ll have to go through the bullshit motions today. He’ll wait till he’s been up for 10-12 hours, though. He said he got up at 6:00, so I don’t expect him to make a move on me before 4:00.

I changed the animals earlier and realized it was a waste of time putting food and water outside of the cages when all Houdini has to do is go home to eat and drink. If he can get out, then he can surely get back in, and Tom verified this today. When I got up at 10:00 he was home, but Tom said he wasn’t home earlier. So, he can come and go as he pleases when he’s in that cage, but until tonight, I have him tanked.

Later…

Wow! It looks like he may not touch me at all. If he doesn’t, I’ll have mixed emotions about it. A part of me will feel like he doesn’t want me anymore or find me attractive, although who could at this day and age? A bigger part of me will be glad to get out of something so planned and predictable. If we do screw, I’ll have mixed emotions about that, too. I’ll be bored with the same old, same old, but will feel there’s still a little bit of attraction still lingering. He tells me I’m beautiful, but I think that’s just another one of his lies. What’s beautiful about me? The freckle on my shoulder?

I wrote another letter to Mom.

Maria called telling us that the water’s getting really low, so don’t forget to pick some up! Some idiot in this area, who obviously doesn’t have a well, left this message yesterday. How stupid can they be? I mean, didn’t they realize that Tom’s voice wasn’t familiar, or does Tom sound exactly like someone they know?

Later…

He finally brought up the subject of sex. Right now he’s taking the 2-3 hours he likes to digest (it used to be 1) before we screw, and waiting till the very end of his day. Maybe he wants to finish himself off in bed. That’s another thing – the sleeping together hasn’t happened and I doubt it ever will. I put the ball in his court to see what he’d do and he hasn’t said or done anything differently. I don’t think either of us wants to sleep together that bad and I also think we’re so used to the way things have been that it’s all the harder to change.

God, give me the strength to come up with an excuse every weekend! I’d just feel so guilty, although I know I shouldn’t because he wouldn’t miss the sex any more than I would. I’m just so sick of the same old, same old. It’s so damn planned and predictable and boring me to tears. I can see why so many couples cheat, only it’s for different reasons than ours. I’ve got a predictable, dry dick here that’s boring me to tears, and other women have guys that smother them. Also, they bitch about how the man gets it over within a few seconds and doesn’t take the time to do it slowly. Yeah, that’s what I’ve got with this man here, but again, the reasons are different. Other women’s men are in and out because they’re horny and want a hole to squirt in. This man’s in and out because he’s too scared to cum in a place that he doesn’t know whether or not a kid could result in.

Later…

I was right. He didn’t go inside. I asked him if it was due to my being too cramped out last week and told him that I wrote how I suspected this would happen and thought it was quite a coincidence. He swears he wasn’t copycatting me and said he wondered if my subconscious led to his not being able to go inside (meaning, maybe that caused me not to put my heart into it), although he admits he “jumped the gun” the first time around by not having me do him by hand longer. The first time around when I went to warm him up he got fairly hard, but as soon as he went to go inside, he was his usual dry, limp self. The second time around, although I thought I was doing my best, I just couldn’t get him into it and hard, so I stopped and told him I thought it was hopeless and that I was sorry I couldn’t do a better job. He then went on to say that he wanted more variety, I won’t hurt him as long as I stay away from his balls, don’t give up, and he wants me to be happy. As I bluntly told him, he couldn’t make me happy sexually, because he couldn’t and wouldn’t make the changes necessary to make me happy, but that that was OK because his happiness is more important than mine. I want him to be himself and do what makes him happy. I’ll sacrifice sexual happiness to please him because he’s worth it and I love him. But he wouldn’t be happy doing things that’d make me happy. What would make me happy would be to not know what day of the week we’re going to screw, yet I know it’ll be Saturday or Sunday, but probably Sunday at the end of his day. It’d also be nice if I never knew when he’d cum, but instead I always know he won’t. Even so, and like I told him, I know how important it is for him to be himself and do what makes him happiest and most comfortable. It’s still hard to get used to a man needing so much foreplay, I told him, and that I’ve got to keep in mind how different he is. Then he said he’s just him. He’s both. He’s himself and he’s different. We’re talking about a man, who like a woman, needs a lot of foreplay, has a lower appetite, and rarely cums.

SUNDAY, MAY 28, 2000 Tom left an hour ago to meet Mary and Dave at Fry’s. They should be back around 1:30. I have mixed emotions about this arrangement. I’m grateful for the new TV, but I feel a little insulted by her insisting Dave help carry in the TV when I’m perfectly capable of helping my own husband.

Haven’t heard the boom car stereo since yesterday morning, and I doubt Dan ended up blasting off. If he did, it was for a very short time because his lights weren’t on for long at all. I was surprised.

Time to go out and feed the Gophies.

Later…

OK, I just fed them.

Houdini didn’t stick to his usual routine last night. He doesn’t usually escape till after I go to bed, but at 9:30 I caught him running around in the retreat after I had come out of my office. He was hiding under the walker (I’ll store that in the trailer). I put him back in the big cage and later found him in the closet. I put him back again and he stayed in the cage till 9:00 this morning. He probably came out looking for me wondering why I was late. Animals are pretty sensitive to time. I upped the alarm from 9:00 to 10:00 cuz I couldn’t fall asleep till 2:00, and he was probably wondering why the alarm didn’t go off at 9:00. How I know he didn’t escape till 9:00 was because Tom said that’s when he last saw him. When I got up at 10:00, he was under the walker. I had blocked off the retreat by putting a towel across the bottom of the door, but he simply clawed it away, so I made that room safe for him to hang out in. He was wound up, as usual, for a while after I tanked him, and even tried to bite Tom.

Later…

The new 25” TV is here. Sure beats our old dark 19”. It was on sale for $200 and fits in the entertainment center perfectly. Mary and Dave visited for about 20 minutes, then they took off for the casino to win another thousand dollars of money they don’t need.

Later…

Tom’s still watching the new TV. He did take a break to race his car on the computer, though. Good, this, along with his cut toe and cut face, will delay our boring sex. I don’t know how he got the cut on his toe, but he obviously got the cut on his face from shaving. I know Sunday evenings are his favorite time to screw around, but I still say I’ll get to get out of it altogether cuz of I was cramped out last weekend and not in the mood. I just wish he’d make his excuse before we bother to get into bed and go through all the bullshit motions. And I swear he wants to wear my hand out at times, making me do him by hand forfuckingever! Long after he’s hard he still has me doing him by hand, probably to make up the difference for screwing for only a few minutes, and I’m like – come on, buddy! Let’s get this over with. You’ve been hard now for ages.

It’s amazing how many channels they’ve got! Fifty channels alone for music is total overkill. I’m surprised they don’t have a channel just for commercials. A channel for current commercials, one for old commercials, and then one for each type of commercial. A channel for car commercials, one for having babies, etc.

SATURDAY, MAY 27, 2000 When I got up this morning, the first thing I did before getting my coffee was go into the closet to pull Houdini out and put him back in his tank. Again, he didn’t fight me. It’s amazing how he stands still and lets me pick him right up. I don’t put him in the big cage till around 8:00–9:00 and he doesn’t bother trying to escape till after I go to bed because he wants to play with Ratsy during those hours.

Thank God I’m not in Phoenix now! I’ll especially be thankful I’m not there on Monday.

Tom told me that somewhere in the Midwest or the East, a 13-year-old boy was sent home from school for being disruptive. A while later, he returned to school with a gun, said something to his teacher, then shot him in the face. That’s your all-American kid for you. It seems that once we hit the 90s, kids went downhill. That’s because the parents got worse and worse. I asked Tom if the kid was white and he said they didn’t say. Not that white kids aren’t bad enough themselves, but this sounds kind of blackish to me. I think shooting up teachers is a black thing. And the sad thing about it is that this kid’s not gonna be tried as an adult. It’ll be put in a school similar to Valleyhead, although it’ll probably have its windows barred, and it’ll be free by the time it’s 21.

I didn’t bother weighing in this morning or taking measurements like I have been for the last six Saturdays or so, because I know I’m still right about where I usually am. I know I’m 122-124 pounds, and my thighs are 22-23, my hips and tits are about 37, and my waist is 29-30.

Got another doll poster for my office wall yesterday. An Indian girl doll that’s pretty nice. I like having these doll posters. It not only makes for good decoration, but it’s almost like having these extra dolls that I don’t have and I don’t have to dust them or worry about breaking them.

Later…

We haven’t even been here six months and we already have a boom car stereo driving by regularly, just as I predicted. Thanks, God. Thanks a lot. Sure, it’s not nearly as loud as the boom car stereos that’d drive by in Phoenix, and sure, we don’t have to listen to people screaming, balls bouncing, and dogs barking, but the point of the matter still stands – I don’t want to know others exist when I’m in my own home and I don’t want to hear anyone else’s music but my own. This time I saw the car. It was a red car that came up from the front bedroom side of the house and drove up Meadow Green, the bedroom side of the house. As far as I could tell, it passed the renters. Of course the drivers were cocks and of course they just had to be blacks or Mexicans too, from what I could tell. Tom still swears that by the end of June, the stereo will either be broken, or they’ll get sick of driving on these roads if they want to keep it working. But it’s now become rather obvious that they live here. I’ve heard them too many times now for them to be just visitors. They live here and no one who’s into attention-getting stereos like that is going to just give that up, nor can they necessarily just up and move as soon as the thing breaks. Moving takes money and if they just moved into the area, and obviously they did, they’re not going to want to move again so soon, so they’ll just keep fixing the fucking thing. Although, I don’t believe Tom when he says they’re that sensitive. I think they can stand up to these roads just fine and even if they couldn’t and the stereo broke and they didn’t fix it, some other boom car stereo will drive by regularly enough. God will see to it. It’s in my cards. I’m destined to be forever stuck with these stereos and eventually, they’ll get tougher and tougher and louder and louder, so it’ll be as loud as it was in Phoenix without having to drive right up to the house. The good thing about it is that because they have to drive so slow on these bumpy roads (some of them are graded well enough to go 65 MPH on and some aren’t and you have to creep) is that I’ve got a good two minutes or so warning when they’re approaching. I can hear them for a couple of minutes before they get up to the house. Plenty of time to be waiting for them. What’s to say they can’t have a little meeting with me? Hee, hee! I told Tom I wasn’t kissing ass out here and I meant it. I’ll take care of anyone or anything that becomes a problem around here. I lived how others lived in Phoenix, but this time around, we’re gonna do things my way. So, come July 1st, when they’re still banging by like Tom says they won’t be, I’ll arrange a private little get-together with these cocks.

Tomorrow, Tom’s going to meet Mary and Dave at Fry’s Electronics store and pick us out a new TV all the while they get badgered and harassed by salespeople. I opted to stay home since I can’t stand crowds and pesky, pushy sales reps. Mary and Dave are going to waste their time and gas following Tom home to help him carry in the TV. I appreciate their taking the time to be helpful, and I know Mary’s old-fashioned in the sense that she thinks men should do the carrying, but I’m just as capable as any of the guys. I can help my husband myself just fine.

Later…

Our blasting boys haven’t been by again yet. They probably went into the city to do some drug dealing or to get wasted at a friend’s house, but they’ll return at some point today. At least they won’t be in and out every 45 minutes like the Mexicans were. The only thing that makes no sense is that so far I haven’t heard them more than once in a day. Well, wouldn’t I have to hear them at least twice if they went out once; when they left and when they returned? Maybe I was listening to music and missed one of their attention calls.

When I called Tom in to check them out as they were going by the bedroom, he tried to convince me that he couldn’t hear their music, but he had to have heard it. Why does he do these things; try to tell me something is when it really isn’t, or vice versa? He’d have to be deaf not to hear it, even if it wasn’t nearly as loud as in Phoenix. He also tried to tell me a few times he didn’t see or hear the sickos when I knew that couldn’t be.

Later…

I just looked back, and if this is the same car I’ve been hearing, we heard them on April 15th, then again on May 7th, then nearly every day since the 21st. Sounds like someone started visiting someone then moved in with them, or was having a place prepped and now they’re fully moved in. This proves Tom doesn’t know what he’s talking about if it truly is the same stereo, but we’ll see for sure over the next few weeks. I think it’ll be an everyday thing until I put a stop to it, and believe me, I’m only too happy to do so!

Later…

I can’t believe this dryer doesn’t buzz when it stops. It��s a pretty good dryer too, that you’d think would have that, but it doesn’t.

Tom’s dozed off on the couch right now. Let me guess – tomorrow evening we’ll get together for a boring, predictable round of sex, huh? And let me guess some more – he’ll either not want to go inside, or he will, but he won’t cum, right?

Life may be full of surprises, but our sex certainly isn’t!

Later…

Haven’t heard anything else, but the long weekend is still young, and the day is still early. If people are gonna blast music, they’re likely not to start till nighttime when the weather’s cooler and they can open their windows and doors to let the sound out.

I can’t wait to finally send these pictures off to Tammy, Doe and Art and to be done with them. I just want to rub this new house and things like that in their faces, and I can’t wait to send off Larry and his associate’s mail, too. Wish I could be there to see his reaction! The last time I said I was sending shit to people he knows, I bluffed him. So, just when he thinks I wouldn’t do that, here he’ll be getting two phone calls all about the mail they received. I just hope they read it to him or at least tell him the contents of the letter in enough detail. And I hope to hell he hears that tape, too. I wonder if he’ll try to do something about it like look up those with my last name in Phoenix and send them mail. Well, if he does, he’ll have an awful lot of mail to send out, cuz there’s a zillion people with my name. He does what he does, but nothing he can do can get to me the way I can get to him. What can he do? Take me to court? Have me thrown in jail? The funny farm? There’s just nothing he can do. This isn’t mail between non-related people where a white person refers to blacks and Mexicans using nasty words, after being harassed by them with noise. The police are gonna give him the same brush-off they gave me if he goes to them as when I tried to call his local police department and bitch about him making prank calls to me. They’re less hesitant to get involved when it’s family, and all they’ll do is tell him what they told me – she’s on the other side of the country. The cop I spoke to did say he’d call him and tell him to knock it off, but I don’t believe for a minute that he really did. Of course, there’s always the chance that Larry recognizes my handwriting on the envelope, although I tried to disguise it, and ditches it right then and there. Who knows? He may even be afraid to bother opening things with no return address. Whatever happens - the ball’s now in my court and I hold the threat over him. He’s completely powerless against me. There’s nothing he can do to ruin me or hurt me in any way, but there’s plenty I could do to him.

Later…

Not surprisingly, Dan’s place is all lit up. If he’s blaring music, I wouldn’t know it, cuz I have my own on right now.

Thank God I’m not in Phoenix!

Later…

Just added Jenny’s father to my mailing list. Yeah, I went online and looked up her last name and of course Jenny wasn’t listed, but her father was. He’s in the same house they’ve been in for nearly 20 years in West Springfield. Her father has got to be really old now. I know her folks were older than mine. He must be in his 70s. Anyway, the idea is to piss both Jenny and Larry off with my sending the letter to him. I not only hope Jenny will read the letter, but I’m sure she will unless her dad gets so disgusted that he tears it to shreds. Anyway, I bet on the odds of her reading it and wrote at the end of the letter: shame on you for reading your dad’s mail, Jenny! The worst thing that could happen to me for this is that they send me a letter about it to our old address which will get forwarded, of course, and which I’ll have returned to sender. I’ll recognize their handwriting, and of course, they wouldn’t put a return address on the thing. God, on the other hand, is gonna get me good for this, but it’ll be worth it.

FRIDAY, MAY 26, 2000 The Memorial Day weekend is starting early from what I heard. When I got up at 10:00 and turned off the fan I could hear the faint beat of music and I was like – you gotta be kidding me! Thanks, God. Thanks a real lot. I expected music tonight, Saturday night and Sunday night, but Friday morning? Anyway, it only lasted two minutes and again, I’m virtually certain it was that boom car stereo Tom says can’t live out here. Well, it probably doesn’t or else I’d hear it every day, but it sure visits a lot. The reason I’m sure it was a car is because of the way the volume faded in and out and because it only lasted a couple of minutes. Usually, when someone turns on a house stereo or radio, it’s for more than a couple of minutes. Again, I’m pretty sure it was coming from the front, too. I just thank God we’re not in Phoenix, but of course there wasn’t too much of a ruckus from the Mexicans last Memorial Day weekend. That’s because they weren’t there yet. I remembered after my last entry that they didn’t move in till June 1st. So, in less than a week they’ll have been freeloading it for one year. Well, in the house, that is. I’m sure they’ve been on welfare and ripping the state off for years.

I see Gophie now, so I’m gonna go give her a bite to eat.

Later…

Gave her some lettuce this time around. It was last week’s lettuce for the animals that are just starting to wilt and it’s more than she can eat, but maybe the rabbits will eat it, too. It’s biodegradable, so it’s OK. Whatever doesn’t get eaten will dry up and disintegrate like old leaves. She just popped up out of her hole and is attacking the lettuce now. She’s gotten to be more trusting. She used to stay in her hole for about fifteen minutes after I’d return to the house after dumping her some food, but now she’s back out in five minutes. I put the lettuce by her hole, but not too close to it in case there’s a snake that may jump out at me, although I doubt she’d be near where a snake was. Still, I always take precautions. Anyway, it’s cute how she jumps out of her hole, runs and grabs a piece of lettuce, then runs to eat it by her hole so she can hop down into it if something dangerous comes by.

Speaking of a certain indoor pet that just won’t stay home, Houdini is the perfect name for him. Sometimes you’ve got to have a pet for a while to come up with the best name for them. Well, Houdini certainly suits this guy. I put him in the big cage last night, along with Ratsy, figuring that even though he is growing, he could still escape, but probably wouldn’t do so till after I went to bed. This time, though, I put food and water outside the cage for him, lifted Ciara’s outer skirts, and blocked off the retreat and my office. Sure enough, I found him in his favorite spot in the closet when I got up, then I put him back in the big cage. He didn’t fight me, either. He let me pick him right up. Because rats are normally nocturnal, including this one, I figured he’d sleep and not escape again till tonight, but I was wrong about that. I walked by a little later and found him sitting by his cage, and boy did he want to play! He ran around his cage and climbed around and under me. I put him back in the cage and found him out again when I was on my way to pee. I went and peed, which he had to follow me to do, then decided it was time to tank him. He’s still wound up too, running on the wheel. I don’t know what’s got him all hyped up today.

There’s a quail hanging out by the bush the iguanas used to live under. Now they seem to be living under the bush by the bedroom.

They still haven’t updated Carol’s schedule and I don’t know if they’re going to do it later today or if they’re going to do it later this month. The last time they updated it, they did it on the 26th. Maybe they don’t do it the same day every month.

Later…

My God! Today this rat’s as dayturnal as Gophie and gerbils are. I just put him back in the big cage to see what he would do. He escaped instantly and ran under the bed, which I shooed him out of, and into the closet to his favorite spot behind my guitars. Then I made sure he heard my footsteps walking away, then quickly and quietly I tiptoed back and lay on the bed where I could see under the closet door. I wanted to see if he’d stay there and go to sleep, or if he wanted to explore. As I figured he would, he stuck his head out from under the door and saw me right away. Then I went into the closet cuz he had run back to his hiding spot. I sat down on the floor and he walked up to me. Then I picked him up and re-tanked him. He’s still too hyped up to go to sleep anywhere.

I forgot to mention the dream I had earlier. I dreamt I weighed 115 pounds. Is this a sign of weight loss to come? Well if it is, it hasn’t happened yet cuz I’m still 122 pounds. The thing about it is that I dreamt about gaining weight before I gained it the first time around, after quitting smoking. I think I had dreams about losing it too, before I lost it, although I can’t remember for sure. I’m not going to get my hopes up, but we’ll just see what happens. At this point, especially after working out now for nearly 7 weeks, I think I’ll always bounce between 122-125 and that I’ll never lose the 2 inches from my thighs and the 3 inches from my tits and hips and the 6 inches from my waist that I’d like to lose.

Later…

This has been the most erratic period I’ve ever had, with such a slow start and a slow ending. Never have I had such intermittent cramps, bleeding and spotting. It starts and stops, starts and stops. Since when do I spot for a few days after my period? That’s something I usually do before my period. Maybe this is when God has something go wrong so I need a hysterectomy. Or maybe this really is normal for me. Who knows? I still don’t get why it was so important to God that I ended up with a man if he knew he didn’t want me to have kids. Not that I regret meeting and marrying Tom for an instant, but why was my true love fated to be a man? Why couldn’t I have had what I have with Tom with a woman? I’m sure I’ll wonder about this for the rest of my life.

I think I’ll go see if the new schedule is posted yet, but I doubt I’ll be able to get online. Between noon and 9 PM, getting online is impossible.

Later…

Cool! For the first time ever, I see three Gophies out there! Two big ones and a baby one. No wonder all that lettuce got eaten so fast.

It’s a scorcher out there now at 112 degrees. Gonna try again to get online to get the schedule, but I doubt I can get on now.

His mom offered to pay for us to have the trailer moved out here, making it more possible. How generous! That’d be wonderful of her.

Later…

Yes! Office Killer and When a Stranger Calls Back are on this month (got the schedule a couple of hours ago)!

THURSDAY, MAY 25, 2000 Tomorrow I should be able to get Carol Kane’s TV schedule for June. Please be on, Office Killer and When a Stranger Calls Back!

UPS delivered Tom’s award from work. A giant portfolio.

Larry’s not going to be a happy camper. Again, I acknowledge and admit the fact that this was very childish and immature of me, not to mention a waste of time if he doesn’t listen to it, but I couldn’t resist making that tape I mentioned where I told him just what I felt about him. If he does listen to it, he’ll be shocked at some of the things I had to say. I also looked up D online and found two listings in the area. The one in East Longmeadow is Sandy’s parents, which I verified by calling last night. I called and a woman answered. I asked for Clara and she said, “Yeah,” then I mumbled Larry and Sandy’s names and hung up.

I’m sure she called them to see if they were OK. There was an Agawam listing for a James D and I’m pretty sure that’s Sandy’s brother. They’ll both be getting similar letters all about what a fucking asshole Larry is. I know they’ll tell Larry that they got their letters. That’s a done deal. But will they show it to him or read it to him? I hope so! I also hope he’ll want to listen to the tape to see what I might be saying to other people, but with my shit luck, Larry just won’t be that curious and will never read one word of the letters or hear one word of the tape. That doesn’t change the principle of the point – letting him know I’m still out here, still hate his guts, and that I’ll always be a problem for him. Hell, he’s lucky, cuz I’d be more than just an annoyance for him if we lived close to each other. I’d be his worst nightmare! Me sending the letters to these people, even if he’s not exactly close to these people, should piss him the fuck off. As much as I’m anxious to get these letters and the tape off in the mail, I’ll probably wait till I send Dureen, Art and Tammy their pictures. If I send the tape and letters now, it may cause Dureen and Art not to even open my mail if they get that pissed over it, cuz you know Larry’s gonna call them and bitch about it that very day. They may not have the guts at that point to open any mail from me for fear of what may be enclosed. That’s OK. I don’t mind waiting. Good things are worth waiting for.

Later…

Fucking Cybertrails! They’re as bad as AOL was for a while. Most of the time I can’t get online. I’ll try around midnight tonight. Hopefully, I’ll not only be able to get on then, but I’ll be able to get the schedule, too.

It’s 86 degrees outside and 82 degrees inside. It doesn’t feel like it’s that much in here, though. It feels like it’s 75 degrees in here.

I had a craving for fruit so I had Tom get me watermelon, strawberries, blueberries, and kiwi when he stopped at the store. The kiwis are a bitch to peel. No wonder I don’t get them that often.

Thank God we won’t be in Phoenix for this 3-day Memorial Day weekend that’s coming up. Thank God! How I dreaded this particular holiday in Phoenix! Although the Mexicans were quiet for the last Memorial Day weekend they were next to us, and I don’t remember too much of a ruckus from the blacks. Even so, I don’t expect this place to be without music. The only difference is that I’ll hear the beat of the music faintly. It won’t sound like someone’s trying to hammer our walls down. And I won’t be able to hear any people or dogs. Just the beat of Dan’s music. Or someone else’s. Probably Dan’s, though.

Well, I don’t feel like reading, I don’t feel like working on another story, I don’t have anything more to say here, I don’t have any letters to do, there’s nothing on TV at the moment I care to see, so I’ll go row. I may even work out too, although today’s not a workout day. I’m just so glad I’ve finally found something I can stick to. It may not bring me the results I’d like, but it’s still something I can stick to. I got so sick of the floor work after a few weeks or so and just totally lost interest and motivation.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 2000 Oh, that fucking spit doctor! He just doesn’t give up. Like he needs any more money than he’s got? The cock that cleaned my ear out is still trying to bill us for it yet it was supposed to be covered by our insurance. Tom called them once or twice and told them it was an insured appointment, they said they “screwed up their billing,” but they keep billing us. Well, we’re not paying for something we don’t owe money on, that’s for sure. And I don’t believe they “screwed up their billing.” I think they deliberately bill people for stuff they’re insured for to try to make an extra buck, hoping some sucker will get fed up with the bills and collection agency letters and just pay the damn thing, but their scam won’t work on us.

What was weird was that I not only got a letter about it from a collection agency, but I got a certified letter. I never got the letter, though, cuz they sent it back. They try a couple of times to get the letter to you, but when that doesn’t work they give up and send the letter back. I didn’t get it because Tom didn’t go to pick up the mail on the days they tried to get it to me, but that’s OK, I’m not interested. I found it strange that they’d send a certified letter and not just a regular letter. Since when do collection agencies send certified letters? Tom said he’s sure that’s who the letter is from and he pointed out how there was no return on the envelope of the regular letter or the slip for the certified letter. I hope he’s right, cuz those freeloaders have me so paranoid (even though I haven’t done a damn thing to these shitfucks). Especially when they’ve got cops on their side like Mr. Biased who wouldn’t believe a damn thing I told him, anyway. He never wanted to see the truth as to which one of us was really the victim. Tom said not to worry and that if it was anything official, I wouldn’t be getting a certified letter over it.

Evelyn left a message for me to call her, saying Ma wanted to talk to me, and I was like – what could she possibly want to talk to me about? Anyway, I called her (I must’ve had the music blaring when she called) and Evelyn answered. I apologized for getting hysterical on her yesterday and she was like – no problem, and even gave me her home phone number. It’s funny to think that of all the people Evelyn hates, which is almost everyone, she likes me. I can see her liking Tom like she does, but me? When Tom told me what she was like, I expected to be the last person she’d like. Anyway, she handed Ma the phone and she thanked me for the letter and I was like – oh yeah! I forgot about that. Evelyn told Tom that she thought it would be nice if Ma got letters so I typed her one. She thanked me for the letter and told me that she was going to be checking out that adult daycare center. I hope she likes it, but I worry about her. I just get very nervous when I think of hospitals, daycare, nursing homes, schools, etc. There’s always some hotshot on power-play.

I’ve devised a self-help plan regarding my rage over Larry. I’m hoping this will be very therapeutic for me. For some reason, I just can’t seem to get over how furious I am at that sick cock. I just want to kill him! I want to break his and Bill’s neck so fucking bad. They need to be taken down a peg or two by a female and I’m just the bitch to do it. They are so lucky I don’t live there! Anyway, I’m speaking my feelings into a tape just as if I were talking to his face and I plan on mailing this tape to him at some point. I just wish I could know he’d listen to it, but I doubt he’ll have the guts to hear me out. I’m sure that as soon as he hears my voice he’ll ditch the tape. I’m still gonna send it anyway and make sure I don’t put enough postage on the envelope so he has to pay to get the tape, hee, hee! I won’t waste my time praying to God for him to listen to the tape, because just like 99% of my prayers, he’ll only ignore me. He obviously ignored me when I begged for the freeloaders to read my mail. There’s no way those freeloaders would read my mail first, then call the cops. It’d take people like this, who are slower and dumber than your average person, weeks to read through all that shit. They can barely write, so imagine how long it’d take them to read about 200 pages! Anyway, even if the cock doesn’t listen to me tell him what a lying little wimp he is, it’ll still feel good to make the tape and make him pay for it, too.

Later…

We put up this really neat thing that his mom gave us. She used it in her old house, I guess. It’s a digital thermostat that tells you both the inside and outside temperatures. We used the Mexicans’ half-assed ways to our advantage. They didn’t seal up the back door very well, so we were able to run the wire out through the door without crushing it. That wire needs to be outside to sense the outside temp.

I forgot to say that I’m back to 122 pounds, but it’s not encouraging, believe me. I know I’ll be back to 125 pounds soon enough.

TUESDAY, MAY 23, 2000 I’m a bit rundown now. Something just hasn’t wanted me to sleep without interruptions these last couple of nights. The night before last, cramps woke me up. Last night I was up for an hour with cramps too, and then I woke up for a second at 8:00. I would’ve gone right back to sleep if I hadn’t noticed that the power was out. I wasn’t planning to get up till 9:30. The first thing I thought was – oh no! Tom forgot to pay them or couldn’t pay them and now the power will be off all day and I won’t be able to reach him for hours and it’ll get to be a sauna in here! And what if we lose the phone, too? Well, I never did reach him, but fortunately, it wasn’t turned off for lack of payment. It was off all over Maricopa. Since I couldn’t reach Tom or fucking APS, I called Mary’s. I expected to get Mom because Tom told me Evelyn was going to stop staying with Mom during the daytime and that Mom would be going into an adult daycare center, but Evelyn answered. I told her that I couldn’t reach Tom or APS and that I feared they shut us off, but she was the one who got through to APS somehow and found out that they were having problems in the area and that it wasn’t just us. So I was without power for nearly an hour. Then again, a couple of hours later, it went out for about ten minutes. Due to the loss of power, it shot the well, so now I have no water, but I can certainly live without that compared to the AC. Of course I’ve had to piss and shit like hell since I can’t flush the toilets. Hopefully, they won’t back up once the water’s on again. I wish there was an easier way to reach Tom!!! He might be able to tell me how to reset the fucking pump. Anyway, I don’t want to get into too much computer work in case the power fails again.

For now, I’ll just say that I put Fudgie back in the big cage yesterday and let him escape since he doesn’t seem to be harming anything. I really think he goes under the couch. He escaped sometime after I went to bed at 12:30 just like the night before, and Tom and I noticed he was gone at 3:30. He should be getting hungry for lunch soon, or rather a midnight snack, for being the nocturnal creature that he is. Anyway, when I found him gone I put Ratsy in the tank since I don’t want him loose too, cuz he chews more than Fudgie. After putting Ratsy in the tank, I opened the door to the big cage so he can get in when he wants to go home.

Later…

Tom showed me how to record a macro so I could insert the time with just two keystrokes that I hit at once. Ctrl+8 is for the time and ctrl+9 is for the date and time. In the other program, I recorded a macro for the ½ sign, but this program automatically inserts the ½ sign when you type 1-slash-2. It also makes the ‘st’ of 1st smaller and the ‘rd’ of 3rd smaller. Yes, I like this version much better. I just need a new mouse. I miss having the motion wheel.

I took a nap for an hour or two. Hopefully, I’ll still be able to go to bed around midnight and sleep straight through till around 9:00 without interruptions.

Earlier, I heard a boom car stereo go by for the second night in a row, but I never did see the car. Tom still insists they can’t live out here because they can’t take the vibrations of the bumpy dirt roads, but obviously they can, although it may be someone who just visits someone else frequently. Nonetheless, I heard it and I’m sure it was from a car and not from a house. God, what am I going to do when they get more and more frequent?! They may not be able to get as close to me as they used to, but when they progress a little more and get even louder, that’ll make up for the difference. When it comes to these things I wish I was born earlier than the mid-60s. The turn of the century would’ve been nice. Then I could be dead or close to it when the damn things came out. People get worse and worse and pushier and pushier when it comes to doing their thing. They get more and more selfish and more and more desperate for attention. I saw a case on Cops the other night where a baby’s parents took it to a bar. Then the parents had an argument and they ended up outside in an alley. At one point, the mother handed the baby to a homeless bum so she could fight with her husband. My point? My point is that these are the kinds of people that are becoming parents more and more often. Eventually, all parents will be like them. Well, this baby – these are the kinds of kids that grow up to be the selfish losers like what we had to live next to for years. This neglected baby is going to grow up wanting to be heard, to be noticed, to seek the acknowledgment of its existence. It’ll do anything for attention. Just like a religious fanatic wants to spread God’s so-called holy word to as many people as possible, these fucks want to spread their music to as many people as possible. The best way to reach more people with noise is with music. I mean, what else are they gonna do? Stand out on a street corner and yell? That’d get some attention, but not as much as a moving car would with music blasting from it that’s way louder than a person’s voice. Anyway, it’s quiet here 99% of the time. The best thing about the power failure, which makes a house dead quiet, is not having to listen to barking dogs, let alone noisy blacks and Mexicans. You rarely hear dogs in here, thank God. They haven’t even been booming in the sky. It’d be nice if they only did that January 1st – March 15th every year, but fat chance. I’m sure they alternate flying schedules. Maybe they’ll start again on June 1st, which may be a good thing. It may help me stay on schedule till my next appointment.

I finally got a hold of Tom at work around noon and he came home to reset the well, which shuts itself off after a power failure. I tried to do it myself, but the buttons are fucked up thanks to when it shorted out before. Thanks, Dan, you mother-fucking cock! Will there ever be a day when I don’t want to kill Steven and Dan? I doubt it!

He reminded me that I could’ve called his old work number, cuz there’s always someone there that could go get him in an emergency. I did call that number, but it was busy. Maybe I dialed wrong.

Another thing Tom pointed out is that due to this house being so well insulated, it wouldn’t kill me if I had no AC all day. It’d get uncomfortable, but not to the point where I’d roast to death.

Anyway, I learned a lesson from this, which he pointed out – don’t attempt to take a shower after a power failure cuz that’ll just drain all the water from the pressure tank. If I don’t, then I can flush the toilet 20-30 times. Having two toilets helped so I could divvy up my peeing between the two, trying to use as little toilet paper as possible, although if I’d had to do them all in one, it wouldn’t have backed up.

Fudgie, whose nickname is Houdini, after the famous escapist magician, lost his freedom today. I discovered one of his hiding places, which neither of us was too surprised about since it’s close to where I sleep. I still think he may have gone under the couch, but he was definitely hanging out in the corner of the master closet behind the guitars. He chewed the toe up on one of my old ballet slippers, which I thought was no big deal. I simply moved the good shoes up to the shelves. But then the little devil had the nerve to chew holes in the airbed, so that was it. He’s in the tank till he can’t squeeze through the bars. I also think it’s best that he remains in captivity so he doesn’t get too used to being free and less and less wanting to be handled by me and to play with me. I want him to want to hang out with me too, and not just to want to explore.

MONDAY, MAY 22, 2000 Two nights ago I put Ratsy and Fudgie in the big barred cage, but when I got up this morning just before 9:00, I noticed that Fudgie escaped. I should’ve known he was still too skinny! I haven’t seen that little devil, whom I’m guessing is asleep under the couch, but come tonight when he gets hungry and thirsty, I expect I’ll see him. At least he’s not a chewer and hasn’t damaged any wires.

I’m not even stuck and I’m back to 125 pounds. I feel like a giant balloon! I don’t know if it’s water or what, but this period has been super screwy. I woke up with cramps today but never bled a drop. My tits are still a little sore too, so when am I gonna flow out and be done with this shit for the month? I hate having these periods be such long, drawn-out ordeals. Can’t I just get my period? Just simply get it? Better yet, how about a hysterectomy? Why not, God? You and I both know I don’t need my uterus.

Later…

Well, I’m not stuck anymore. Still 125, though. Why is it so natural for me to be 20-25 pounds overweight? Why??? Stupid question, I know. Just about everyone who’s over 30 is overweight. Although I knew it wouldn’t, it still would’ve been nice if I could’ve lost weight and inches with the Bowflex, but if I bounce back and forth between 122-125 it’ll be better than going over 125. Same with the 1-2 inches I bounce between. Better my thighs go bouncing between 22-23 than to wake up one day with 25” or even 30” thighs!

The only way I could lose weight would be to starve it off, but what’s the point? If I were 110 tomorrow, I’d be back to where I am now in a few weeks, so why bother?

I know it’s daytime, but it kind of bothers me that I haven’t seen Fudgie. I’d like to believe he’s under the couch, sleeping happily and comfortably till he gets hungry enough to show himself, but why do I have the feeling I’ll never see him again, and that if I do, he won’t be alive? God, please don’t take this rat! At least not so soon!

Later…

Fudgie’s home! I just got up to head into the kitchen for coffee when I saw him at his bowl eating. I had moved Ratsy into the tank and left the door open to the big cage so he could get food and drinks. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, in light of losing Scuttles so soon, but man is this rat scrawny! I hope it’s nothing bad and that he fattens up soon.

I see Gophie out front playing right now. Now that my inside pets are situated, I think I’ll go out and give her a bite to eat.

Later…

It’s hot out there. I don’t know how hot since as usual, I’m having trouble getting online.

I took down the flag wall I made. Tom climbed the ladder and tacked the top row of flags up, and I only had to climb about three rungs of that shaky ladder, fortunately, and could just yank the flags off the wall. It was just too much. Too tacky looking. The beach scene mural will look a lot nicer.

I guess I’m officially moved over here and done with the 1992 version of this program that had been such a good friend of mine for so long. Another thing I like about this program is that I can use more than eight characters for file names.

Later…

Tom called about a half-hour ago, saying he was leaving work. Last night he told me it’d be a late day for him, but because his boss doesn’t want him working overtime, he gets to leave work early later on in the week.

Oh, how cute. Gophie’s out front running back and forth. I wonder – is this the same animal I’ve been seeing and feeding? Or are there other Gophies? I get the feeling this is the same one because I’ve never seen more than one Gophie at once.

I changed the mice’s cages earlier. I’m trying to change all the animals on Mondays and Thursdays instead of just Mondays. Although I always have the group of six mice in a large tank, I always do a different tube design. This time around I have a tower of straight tubes sticking off of T-tubes at different angles, stemming up from the bass of the tank.

I guess Fudgie could live like a cat if he’s not going to chew and damage anything. Or decide to go pissing and shitting wherever he felt like it. If I left the cage door open, he could come and go as he pleases, using his cage as a litter box and for food and drink. Ratsy, on the other hand, is a chewer, so unless I want to separate them, which I don’t, I better keep the door shut. Maybe I’ll separate them sometimes and let Fudgie run around loose for a while. Maybe tonight, before bed, I’ll stick him in the big cage, and then let him escape for a while.

SUNDAY, MAY 21, 2000 I’m experimenting with and trying to get to like this newer, more modern word processor I’m using. I like how it automatically caps the first letter after a period and the I’s in words like I’m, I’ll, etc. This word processor is three years old and the one I’ve been using all along is eight years old. It has all the functions the other one had, plus some new features that are hard to figure out, but I’m working on it. This is the word processor we’re going to use to send my story to publishers.

Paula definitely had to have lost her phone for her not to have called this long. I’m rather disappointed that she never sent me the letter and picture she said she was going to send. Why does she have to be such a bullshitter? Maybe something happened to her, though. Maybe she punched someone else out and is in jail, or maybe she got killed. In my next letter to her, I’ll say something about stopping my letters in case something happened where she wasn’t getting my mail, and see if that prompts her into writing.

Dan’s got his place lit up and has his music on. This time it’s softer than last Sunday night and I can just ever so barely make it out. This is one lonely, dude. I said to myself – I’ll bet come Sunday evening, after spending the whole weekend alone with no one to talk to, he’s gonna get desperate for attention and play his music when it cools down. Well, I was right. I guess I know a lonely person when I see one. I’m amazed he isn’t engine-gunning. Other than that, it’s been a quiet, peaceful weekend. I finally get to live the way I want to live and the way that should be my right to live if I want to – in peace. I’ll enjoy every second I get of it! It’s so wonderful not knowing next door’s habits and who they have for visitors and when they have them. It ain’t my business and I don’t want to know!

On the wall in my office where I intend to put that beach mural, one of these years, I hung two rows of flags. Two rows of three. I’ve got irises, Tweety, an underwater fish, Bugs Bunny, Snoopy, and musical notes. Personally, I think it looks sort of tacky. Especially with Indian dolls in front of it. I may take it down. We’ll see.

I’m having one of those screwy periods that are slow in starting. I had spots, then a light flow, and now I’m waiting on my full flow. I thought that was coming on early cuz I got all crampy and asked Tom for a raincheck on sex if he had any plans for that today. No problem, he said. He took it so well as usual. I guess this means we’ll have to wait till next weekend since he doesn’t really like sex during the week, even if he won’t admit this. If I’m right, and I’m only going by his actions, cuz actions do speak louder than words – what’s the big deal? Why can’t he just admit he likes sex on the weekend? And at the end of his day? He seems to copycat me, though. Meaning that when I bail out of sex for whatever reason, he does the same thing. So, next weekend, he may bail out. Better yet, my guess is that we’ll get in bed together, but we won’t screw. Something will happen where he’ll conveniently forget how to go inside me, or I’ll be too dry, or he’ll be sore, tired, or curious about what’s going on outside. One or the other will happen for sure, but he’ll bail out. I’d bet my dolls on it.

SATURDAY, MAY 20, 2000 My hair is the healthiest it’s been in over a decade. I certainly don’t have any split ends anymore. Maybe a few, but they’d be hard to find, just like it used to be hard to find any that weren’t.

I couldn’t have been righter when I told Tom in Phoenix that old curses never die, and that we’d be playing leak in no time at all after moving. This is leak number three already! Those mother-fuckers at Palm Harbor! Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrggggghhhh! They’ve got two marks against them. They’re males (mostly) and they’re Mexicans. I love this house, but I totally regret not taking Tom’s suggestion and getting out of Phoenix sooner than we did. I didn’t know, though, that we’d have to go through the four months of bullshit we went through, although I should’ve known, and I didn’t know the house would be made in Mexico! We should’ve cut our freeloader time down, skipped out on the freeloaders altogether, and left Phoenix sooner. We could’ve gotten land and a cheap trailer like what we’re getting from Evelyn and lived in that while we built a house for us and built it right. These fucking Mexicans half-assed so many fucking things with this house, it’s fucking pitiful! The leak we had under the house the first night we were in here, though, was Brian’s fault (always a fucking male), but the half-assed tightening of the pipes under the kitchen and second bath sinks were completely Mexicans-made. Tom just discovered the second bath’s sink leaks and believes this may be the cause of the foul odor we’ve smelled in there. Now why can’t these lazy bastards do something as simple as tightening a valve all the way, huh? Is this really that difficult to do? Pathetic people do pathetic things. Anyway, even Mary was astounded. She was like - you mean you’re fixing leaks on a brand-new house?! Yup. And I’m sure we’ll be fixing something else they’ve fucked up real soon. Anyway, I’d like to know what’s causing the foul odor in the master bath. So far, I amazingly can’t find any leaks in there yet, although this odor is different. The second bath smelled kind of like the smell of hair dye that hits you went you walk into a salon. The one in the master bath smells like seaweed. I’ll keep an eye on it, but it looks like they may have left us one area that actually doesn’t leak. What’s next, though? The toilets? The dishwasher? What?

Household problems aren’t the only unfortunate vibes I have. Right now, I have the feeling we’re not getting a printer in June like we had hoped and talked about. Something does not want me sending pictures to Doe, Art and Tammy. Tom said he’s not ready to give up on it and I told him that I was, so when he sees that I’m right, don’t beat yourself up for it, I said. It’s not your fault. You know whose fault it is.

Steven and Dan, you lucky, lucky mother-fuckers! They’re just as lucky as Bill and Larry and so many others for escaping my fists. How I’d love to scar up Steven’s face so that every time he looked in the mirror, he remembered me!!!

Well, I’ve been working out for six weeks now and where do I stand? Really close to where I started. My starting measurements were 37-29-38 with 22½ thighs. Now they’re 36½-29-37 with 22 thighs. Big deal, huh? Although I suppose it’s better than nothing. I still think I’ll always fluctuate between weighing 122-125 pounds and an inch or so in measurements, but he says that in time, if I stick to working out, I’ll fluctuate between smaller numbers. That’s OK. I can accept maintaining what I’ve got. I mean, at least I can maintain and never have to worry about getting bigger. Carrying 20 extra pounds for the rest of my life won’t kill me. There are worse things than that. Also, I’m glad I finally found something I can enjoy sticking to. I can’t imagine life without the Bowflex! I’m 122 pounds today, but today I can’t shit, so I’m sure I’ll be gaining. Last week I was stuck for four days and ended up going from 122-125. I hope I’m not stuck that long, but if I am, I am. There’s nothing I can do about it.

Tonight’s the night Tom and I agreed we’d sleep together, but I have a feeling that if I don’t mention it, he won’t either, so we’ll see. I’m not going to mention it because I want to see how much it matters to him. I don’t want to push him into doing something he doesn’t want to do. As for me, you know I hate sharing a bed so I can live without us sleeping together. I wake up at the slightest movement, and his snoring is horrendous. What’s important is that we love each other and stay together forever.

We were going to go to where he works together today, but he didn’t need to work, so we visited Mary, Dave and Mom today, stopping at Circle K first.

Her evaporative cooler felt nice. I miss those things. We were there for a little over two hours and made sure not to arrive till Pepper was gone. They brought him to be groomed. It was nice not having him out back barking his ass off. All I had to listen to at times was their obnoxious birds. The hamster and fish are quiet, though.

Before we left I copied a few pictures for them onto a floppy. Pictures of the snake, the iguana, the scorpion, and the outfits we made for Bailey.

We all watched the Preakness horse race on TV (boring) and Mary and Dave went out to get pizza at one point, too. Dave and I teased Tom and Mary for liking pepperoni pizza and they ranked on us for liking mushroom pizza. I had two pieces which fortunately didn’t fuck up my stomach.

While Mary and Dave were getting the pizza, Mom said, “Have you seen the really cute commercial? The one where a woman’s having a baby and out pops a Japanese baby?”

I’m like - oh, please! I’m so sick of commercials, movies and shows with that shit. I’ve seen childbirth on TV more than murder!

Speaking of TV, I guess part of the reason we’re not getting the printer in June is my fault. I mentioned how our TV is a little small and definitely too dark since it’s very old. Well, they took this to mean more than just a casual comment. I guess I came off as not being able to live without a good TV. I said something about the TV a few times and they ended up calling us once we got home offering to buy us a new TV for our anniversary unless we could think of something we wanted more. Well, I want a new printer more than a new TV, but a new TV would certainly be nice. Very nice, and I know Tom would love it because he said he wants a TV more than a printer and because of how much he loves TV. He spends 90% of the time he’s home watching TV, I sometimes feel I have to compete with it and that he doesn’t want to spend time with me. There’s not much we could do together, though. He doesn’t like sex all that much and we can’t go swimming together, that’s for sure. Anyway, I have mixed emotions about them getting us a TV, which is so generous of them to offer. I want Tom to have what he wants, but like he said, I threw a monkey wrench in his plan. He was hoping for more money than usual for our anniversary cuz Ma’s upping the amount of money she’s giving people to avoid us being taxed when she dies, and now we may not get that if we get the TV. If I was smart, I’d drop the idea of sending pictures to people, like I said before. If I’m right about something not wanting me to do it, and it gets more and more obvious that that’s the case, I don’t want to get in trouble over people I can’t stand anyway. I only wanted to rub it in their faces (the new house, etc.), but not that bad. They’re not that worth it, trust me.

Mary’s yard looked great. She’s got those wildflowers at the side of her house, a pretty primrose bush in front, a rose bush, a tall palm tree, etc. We can’t plant things here from seed because of how the wildlife eats them, but hopefully we won’t have any problems planting things we’ll get from a nursery someday.

Mary told us a cute story about a woman she saw playing with a rat in her car at an intersection. She said it was running around her neck and that the woman was picking it up by the tail and tickling its stomach.

I can’t believe how good Mary’s thighs look for being as overweight as she is. I mean, she’s much bigger than me, and she is overweight, but not like Nora and Evie and so many other women are. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she jogged. Her thighs seem skinnier than mine and firmer. Also, she has no craters on the backs of her thighs like I do. How does she pull it off and eat McDonald’s every day and not exercise?

Later…

Looks like I guessed right. Sleeping together once a week isn’t that important to Tom, or else he’d have remembered our plans. Still, I’m not going to make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, and besides, I doubt I would’ve enjoyed it. I like sleeping with people in my imagination.

I totally dread my next dentist appointment. My teeth are a mess and I’m going to have a dozen cavities! My teeth have even been sensitive to hot and cold lately.

Later…

I decided that once Tom mentioned going to bed and heading towards the guest room, I’d ask if he forgot about our plan, or if it just wasn’t worth remembering. He said he forgets to do things he wants to do all the time. Whatever. I asked him what he wanted to do and he said he’d sleep in his room tonight, but that he wanted what we discussed to have time to “sink in.” He said that people usually go to bed around the same time, but not to go to sleep with the hopes of trying not to wake the other person up. He said it’s a shared thing where sometimes you wake each other up, both intentionally and not. Sometimes you just wake each other up by accident, sometimes you deliberately do so to screw, etc. So what do we do from here? I asked him, and he said there were no plans and no steps to take, cuz this is something that just is. Not for us, it isn’t. I think we’d have some work to do in order to make it something that just is if that’s possible, but as I told him, I’ll do what he wants, and whatever’s fated to be will be. I have a feeling, though, that if we try to adapt to new ways, something up in the sky will get awfully mad at us, cuz wouldn’t we have been sleeping together all along if we were meant to in the first place? I told him that the spontaneity of it sounded nice, but if he liked spontaneity, then why does he announce when we’re gonna have sex? He always says something like - let’s get together in ten minutes, or something like that. He said he would prefer to be spontaneous about it and that the reason he announces it is that I’m always saying I’m gonna listen to music, have popcorn, or do something, so he feels that’s the only way to wedge it in. I kind of took that as a lame excuse, though. Yes, I’d like to be left alone when I’m listening to music and yes, I’d like to eat my popcorn in peace, but what about the other things I do? They’re interruptible. I take breaks from the things I do all the time, anyway. If I’m reading in the bedroom, he’s welcome to come in and join me because that book will still be there when we’re done, and I don’t mean just for sex. I mean for anything, be it to chat or whatever. In the end, whatever will be, will be. I still truly believe that. We’ll go where we’re destined to go.

FRIDAY, MAY 19, 2000 Just went out and threw some food out for Gophie. Haven’t seen that snake since I first saw it. I guess it moved on.

Freddie’s gotten to be the fattest mouse I ever had and he’s so lazy, too. I wonder if he doesn’t have tumors.

Anyway, maybe there are still some hard feelings toward Tom. God, all the problems with sex. Sex, sex, sex! Always sex-related! I’m so fucking sick of it! Eliminate all the fights over sex and having a kid and we’d hardly ever fight. At least we don’t fight nearly as much as we used to since I became OK with not having a kid. He’s not only lied about why he doesn’t cum and about wanting a kid, but he also lied about cumming back when I tricked him by playing dumb and commenting on how he came regularly. He was caught red-handed, yet he still had the gall to lie to my face. So, he’s already proven that he’s capable of lying when it’s in his best interest. Aside from his lying about sex and a kid, I appreciate him for a million reasons, but does he fully appreciate me? I’ve done a lot more than just save him time by doing his laundry and cleaning the house. Do you know how many women would’ve left him because of the sex, and mostly because they couldn’t have a child with him? He, right along with God, has taken so much from me, regardless of if I’m OK with it. Not that I desire to leave him or cheat on him, but I’m doomed to a life of shitty sex, when he wants it, how whatever’s up there wants it, with no regard for what I may want, and God help me if I ever want a kid again. Yes, God would see to it that I miscarried as many times as they did an implant in me if I had invitro, but do I really think Tom would ever let me get that far? Right! I’m sure he’d either refuse to cum or tamper with it if he did. If I never mentioned a kid again, neither would he for as long as he lived.

I’m also a little tired of his getting so defensive over simple little comments I may make. Last night I offered to have sex, but he wasn’t in the mood. It wasn’t the weekend. All I said was, “Yeah, I know you’re a weekend kind of guy,” and he was like, “Yeah, well, let me be me.”

Now what did that comment have to do with him being him? All I did was make an observation. Not demand he be somebody else. As far as dominating and controlling the sex, he sure is your average, normal male! Thank God he doesn’t want it just about every day like most males do! That’d really drive me crazy.

Anyway, the reaction to my comment and to a test I ran him through is what upset me most. I said I was thinking of experimenting with calling the gay lines just to see what his reaction would be. Sure enough, he was against it. So, he can do what he wants sexually, but I can’t. It’s amazing he even goes down on me at times. Nonetheless, I would never step out on him and I know it’s a good thing that he objected, and I figured as much, but I just had to see it anyway.

My sex life isn’t over just because of him and his boring bullshit. It’s cuz of me. I just have no interest anymore. The only thing that interests me is to close my eyes and imagine a woman down there while I use the vibrator and this isn’t nearly as often as it used to be, either. It’s just that when you’re dealing with fantasy, and I’ve always felt this way, there are no problems. The vibrator could break, but it doesn’t lie to me and play games. It doesn’t make me feel controlled, manipulated or cheated out of things that should rightfully be mine. So, I guess I was wrong to say I was over my hard feelings towards Tom. Perhaps I never will be and perhaps this is the one thing I can never ever forgive him for. I’m going to try my damnedest, though, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how I feel, even though I’ve told him. I just don’t want to let it show if I can help it. I’ll just go along with him and let him dictate when and how we have sex. I still could do without a kid, and at the same time I have hard feelings, I want him to be happy and do what he wants more than I want him to change to suit me.

I feel this is more than just a case of his not cumming because he doesn’t want the expense and responsibility of a child and because he doesn’t think I could handle a child (even though he denies all this). I think it’s also about arrogance and stubbornness. It’s like a competition to him that he’s determined to stick to and win. It’s almost like he’s been saying to me all these years, “You got your way with this, this and that, and you’re not getting your way with this one.”

Fine Tom. Just remember - the next time you say you’re bothered by how you are - do something about it or don’t mention it at all.

It’s important that I note that for every time he’s lied about sex and a kid, he’s done and said thousands of wonderful things. I love this man dearly, despite his flaws, and I couldn’t imagine life without him. Even if I returned to wanting a kid really bad and knew I could conceive by a man who’d cum regularly and was attracted to men in general, I’d still give that up in the name of love. I love Tom enough to give up anything I may want that I can’t have with him for whatever the reason may be. I only wish that he’d be honest about things. He should’ve told me up front that he was against cumming and a kid. I still would’ve loved him and stayed with him.

Now, after nearly 7 years of this sexual shit, I’m SICK TO DEATH OF IT!!! So, hopefully, you won’t be hearing much about it from me from here on out. I’m fated for the sex to be how it has been for the rest of my life. Period. Why cry over spilled milk?

Later…

This is just too damn weird! I usually get up around 10:00 these days, but I’ve been up since 7:30 today. That’s because I had a dream someone was knocking on the door and got up and checked to be sure and couldn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t see anyone, and I was sure it was just a dream seeing that I’ve had dreams like this before and how early it was, but now I don’t know. Surprisingly enough, it turns out that Tom had that same exact dream at 2:30 in the morning, 6 hours after going to bed, just like me. I can’t find any other common denominators, though. He said he was sure his was a dream because it didn’t sound real and because of the hour, but this sure is a bizarre coincidence, not to mention the footsteps I could’ve sworn I heard inside the house. Although the animals could’ve easily made this sound, shortly after he went to bed, I went and vegged out in bed with coffee. Well, he sometimes shuffles his feet when he walks. Especially if he’s tired. I could’ve sworn I heard him come shuffling out into the kitchen and fumble around with something in there, be it a glass or whatever, but he says it wasn’t him. If our dreams weren’t dreams, then who the hell would be knocking at the door at such odd hours and why? Burglars don’t make any sense because 2:30 in the morning just isn’t the time to go breaking into houses unless you want to risk getting killed. At 7:30, someone could’ve seen that the car was gone, but if they knocked with plans of breaking in if no one answered, why didn’t they? I peeked out the window cuz I can see the stairs from there. I didn’t see anyone, any fresh tracks, or any cars, so who knows if our dreams were just dreams or not? It’s a hell of a coincidence, though.

The first thing I think when I think of knocks on the door is - oh, no. Somebody did something to the blacks or Mexicans and they don’t know who did, so they’re conveniently naming me just to get at me and just to punish somebody for whatever shit happened to them.

These people are sick enough to do something like that, and besides, this world is so black and white, lacking fairness and gray, balanced areas. Meaning that where whites once had more rights than minorities; now it’s the other way around. You think Mr. Biased would jump to defend a white person being harassed by a black or a Mexican? Somehow, I don’t think so.

THURSDAY, MAY 18, 2000 Yesterday was a major breakthrough as far as any resentment I’ve ever had towards Tom for not cumming. Even though I have long since stopped wanting a kid and although I’ve always known I was sterile, even if doctors could never tell me why, I had conflicting emotions, nonetheless, that I feared would never change. I felt controlled by Tom and I resented his not cumming regularly to let me play things out, despite the inevitable outcome of me never conceiving. I was angry with him for taking the chance to do that away from me. Let’s put it this way, I still feel it was always within his control and that he made the choice not to cum, and I always will feel that way despite how much he denies it. I also don’t buy his feeling bad about it, because if that’s how he really felt, and if he really had a problem that was out of his control, he’d have done something about it a long time ago. So obviously my feelings about it never mattered that much to him, and if they did, they didn’t matter as much to him as his being and staying the way he is mattered to him. For his own reasons, it was always more important to him to keep me from conceiving, than it was to deal with my feelings and do things to give that a chance to happen, despite the odds against it. I’ll never believe Tom’s lack of cumming is out of his hands unless a doctor came out and told me - look. It’s not his fault and there’s nothing that can be done about it. If he couldn’t get hard in the first place, that’d be different.

I still have no regrets about how things turned out. I’m glad we never did have that kid or else we wouldn’t be where we are today in life. I just wish I never had to go through the damn pain of wanting one and knowing I could never have one in the first place. This is why I can never shed my hard feelings towards God, no matter what he blesses me with. That, and how he allows so many horrible things to happen throughout this world. Any God that can let a woman suffer the way he let me suffer can never be respected or loved by me. I’ll never forgive him for robbing me of my right to choose, even if it was the best thing he ever did for me. Still, that should’ve been my decision to make.

Anyway, I finally feel any hard feelings I’ve ever had towards Tom dissipating. He doesn’t ever have to cum, I don’t ever have to play out scenes that weren’t meant to be played out, and I don’t ever have to have invitro. And I don’t resent him anymore. His happiness and his being how he wants to be is what’s most important to me and life is good, overall. Why change a good thing? Like I said, I really appreciate those dry sheets and not having to use birth control! He’s happy, I’m happy, and life will go on and be just wonderful, no matter what it holds for us, as long as we’re together forever. I know we’ll still have our bad days. I know things will still break, money will still be an issue (at least for a while), he’ll still get colds, I’ll still have breathing problems, but I’d rather the car have a flat tire every day if it means being with him than to have any of my old life back. Especially the part before I knew him.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 17, 2000 I decided not to do my grand plan of a diet because I know I’ll only end up working so hard for so little if anything at all. As soon as I started eating again, I’d only gain back whatever weight I lost.

I’ve been working out for six weeks now and Tom says I look different overall. Oh, yeah? Then how come I’m the same exact weight since I began and how come my measurements are the same as they were when I began? I’ll tell you why - because I just don’t have the willpower to eat 1000 calories a day and work out for at least three hours a day. I need 1500-2000 calories a day and I can’t bring myself to work out longer than 20-60 minutes a day.

To top it all off, I’m sick of dealing with it. I’m fat and I’m always going to be. Period. Sometimes the best way to deal with a problem that can’t be solved is to just ignore it. Just crumble it up like an unwanted piece of paper and chuck it in the garbage. That’s all I can do. Just forget it and accept the 20 extra pounds I carry as a part of me that just is. Just like my arms and legs are a part of me.

Later…

Tom fixed one of my programs that wouldn’t run in Windows 98 which is what I’ve been using since my mouse and word processor first died.

Evelyn’s serious about giving us her trailer. She sent home a few pictures of it with Tom. It’s recently been painted, so I guess I won’t be painting it any time soon. It’s white with light blue trim. Again, it’s a 40’ single-wide and looks like Dennis’ trailer, only it’s bigger and newer. It may be a while before we get it because it may be a while before she moves. We’ll have to come up with the money to haul it out here and have it set up. As Tom pointed out today, the thing has to be strapped down with the way the wind is ferocious out here, or else something that size (a fourth of the size of this house, barely) will blow over and smash into this house. We want to put it where half is behind the house, and the other half sticks past the master bedroom end of the house, blocking the view of the rentals. You could probably see the rentals from the kitchen and den windows, but not from the retreat, once it’s here.

Just think, I told Tom, a workshop that comes with a ton of storage space, a place to wash up, and a place to pee! Now he won’t have to come all the way to the house just to pee.

I feel so bad for Evelyn. Yes, I know all too well what it’s like to live in a shit neighborhood with shit neighbors that I just can’t wait to escape! Like most trailer parks, hers is loaded with scum freeloaders. I can just imagine all the noise she has to put up with! I’m sure this place has always been bad too, and that she just couldn’t resist wasting her time like I used to by asking the lazies to lower their music and that by now, she’s just asked one freeloader too many, causing their shit to escalate. You don’t do that to them. You just don’t ask blacks and Mexicans to turn their music down. First they’ll ignore your request, then they’ll get pissed over it. There’s no changing the blacks and Mexicans of this world, although Joebitch’s boy toy did quiet down in the end. Why, they didn’t raise holy hell right before they moved, though, still baffles me to this day. What would they have had to lose at that point if they were out from under the city’s wing?

They have a new series on HBO all about the lives of blacks. No thanks. I don’t care to watch blacks stand out on the streets dealing drugs and shooting people any more than I care for the childbirth.

TUESDAY, MAY 16, 2000 I finished proofreading my story and now it’s Tom’s turn.

Not that I want to have sex more often with this guy, but every day I see he’s such a liar about saying he wants more sex. He spends the bulk of his time that he’s home sitting in front of the TV, never making time for sex when the opportunity’s there, except for once during the weekend.

Later…

Tom put the flag up yesterday. I had him put it by the front door. I’m flying a flag of a cactus and coyote. The same one that hung on the wall in the back room over the microwave in Phoenix.

He also evened out my hair.

It’s very windy right now, as it usually is. It’s nice to hear the wind chimes, but this wind gets old. All it does is scatter the shit outside about the land and interfere with us burning trash. Tom said he heard we could be in for some rain today or tomorrow and it could be only in the mid-60s. Yeah, right! Well, it sure as hell isn’t going to rain. I doubt it’ll rain till August when the monsoons set in.

MONDAY, MAY 15, 2000 At 10:30 last night, Dan got a little desperate for attention. He came out and gunned a thunderous engine for about 20 seconds. You could tell he did it just to do it too, and that he didn’t drive off anywhere. Then, a few minutes later, his music started. He had a lot of outside lights on, so it was obvious that he was outside and that the music was either coming from a vehicle of some kind or through an open window/door. I was trying to read so I threw the fan on. When I turned it off a half-hour later, the music was off, so who knows how long it went on? When is this cock leaving? That’s what I want to know. Or is that a thing of the past now that we’re here? At least this thing doesn’t like the heat and at least it’s hot more often than not out here, cuz I’ve been hearing less and less of him as the weather’s warmed up. That’s why he was out so late, or else I’d have heard him in the afternoon. I’ve never heard his music that late before.

Tom said he’s seen one of the owls we have around here that we can sometimes hear hooting at night. They live in the big Palo Verdes that are close to the house. He said the one he saw was huge.

He also said he’s heard buzzing that sounds like that out of a horror movie, but cannot find any hives. He said he thinks the buzzing could be from katydids, but I doubt it. I think it’s bees.

To do a test to see just how much these allergies are related to the mice, I’ve condensed their living space and am going to change them twice a week instead of once a week.

Standing in the mirror, I took pictures of myself with my haircut. God, I have aged! I just don’t look like I did in my 20s. I’m graying, sagging, wrinkling and fat!

We decided we’d sleep together next Saturday night. I’m going to work with him for a few hours on Saturday, so we don’t want to disrupt my sleep the night before.

Tom just called from the cell phone saying he was approaching Circle K and asked if I wanted anything. I told him he could get me my favorite - caramel coffee.

I have a grand plan to lose this extra weight once and for all and if this doesn’t work, nothing will and I’ll just have to accept the 20 extra pounds I’ve got and live with it. I’ll just maintain what I’ve got and keep my weight between 120-125 for the rest of my life by watching what I eat and by working out if this plan fails.

Having 1000 calories a day for several weeks just won’t cut it for me. It’s too long and drawn out a process and I just don’t have the willpower to cut down my food week after week. Also, cutting down food is an awful lot like cutting down cigarettes; it doesn’t last long. You either smoke or don’t smoke at all. Same goes for the food. So, I’ve decided to try crashing my weight off at 5-pound intervals. It shouldn’t take me more than two days to starve off 5 pounds and if I could just lose at least 15 pounds, I would lose inches. Especially since most of my extra weight is fat at this point. If I can shed that outer layer of fat, then it’s OK if I gain the weight back with muscle, as long as my inches stay down. Anyway, I decided to pick Wednesdays and Thursdays as my crash days because on weekends he’s here eating a lot. I didn’t want to pick a Monday because that’s the day I usually go out and I wouldn’t want to go out if I couldn’t stop somewhere for a bite to eat. Anyway, the idea is to crash down to 120 pounds this week, then try to maintain that till next week. Then I’ll try to crash down to 115 and maintain that till next week when I try to crash down to 110. I’ll settle for 110 for now, depending on how it goes. One of three things will happen. I either won’t be able to do it at all, or I’ll be able to do it but won’t be able to maintain it, or I’ll be able to do it and I will maintain it. The last time I struggled to maintain a weight of 110-115, I didn’t have the Bowflex. Maybe this time around it’d be easier to do, but I will admit it is a long shot because I’m fighting nature. It’s not natural to be at an ideal weight when you’re middle-aged.

God, I wish we had money right now! I can’t believe the Gloria things they’re auctioning on eBay! Concert programs, posters, and CDs I’d love to have even though I’m not into her like I was in the late ’80s to early ’90s.

The amount of childbirth on TV never ceases to amaze me. It’s getting more and more, too. It used to be that every other show, movie, and commercial had childbirth in it, but now they’ve got a whole series just about that! There are three different series that I know of that are on every day and it’s nothing but people having babies. I don’t understand the obsession. I can see the murder mysteries, the sex, and the comedies, but the childbirth? I just don’t get it.

Later…

Just took some gorgeous sunset pictures out back. It’s absolutely beautiful out right now and I can’t wait till we have an Arizona room! That way we can be outdoors and not have to worry about bugs.

Last Saturday was the last of The Others.

SATURDAY, MAY 13, 2000 Oh, these fucking goddamn, motherfucking allergies! They just never quit! I never had anything like this back east. Why is it that I always must trade one problem in for another? Why can’t I ever just solve a problem and let it end there? Ever since I stopped wheezing so bad since quitting smoking, my allergies have been a nightmare. I traded in my smoking addiction for a weight problem. Everything in life for me is a tradeoff. I have to be given a problem in order to get rid of one, and I have to be cursed in order to be blessed. Take Evelyn’s house, for example. You think God’s just gonna let her give us that house without making us pay in some way? Ha! We’ll have hell to go through just to get it and sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it, but we really could use the storage and workspace, so if we have to fight for it, we’ll put up our fists and fight.

My allergies got particularly bad when I first got the mice and I wondered if I should just let the ones I have die off and not get more, and if their sterility wasn’t a good thing after all, but Tom said he doesn’t think it’s the mice. He says that if it was, I’d have this every day. Yeah, but will I? It used to be that I’d take a Benadryl, crash for a couple of hours or so, then wake up fine. But now the allergy attack that used to last hours is lasting for days, so what’s to say I won’t end up with this shit every day where I can’t sit and do something for more than five minutes because I have to jump up and blow my runny, sneezy nose? This has been going on now for about 25 hours. I can’t even go a week or two without this shit.

Even though I’m sure I’ll still have this shit every week or two, I condensed the mice’s living quarters. Instead of having 5 or 6 houses set up with a zillion tubes, I’ve got Butter Rum and Oreo in a little cage with just one tube and hideaway, and the others in the big tank with just wheels, their crinkle paper box, and a few tubes.

Having allergies wasn’t the only thing to cause me to wake up on the wrong side of the bed, either. Tom said he screwed up and couldn’t get the groceries early this morning as planned. At first I thought he was saying that he bounced a check, but what he really did was assume that a certain company wouldn’t cash their check till Monday, which is payday anyway. But they did cash the check, so he sold a coin of his for $95 and bought groceries with that. I know he wanted to sell that coin anyway as he said, but all I could think about, once again, was ripping the shit out of Steven and Dan. It’s their fault that we’re in this situation. When are we ever gonna be free of these assholes’ fuck-ups?! They’ve been out of our lives for months now yet they’re still controlling us!

Anyway, I was pissed off cuz I thought our other weekend plans were shot. I said to Tom - so there goes the evening out of my hair, the putting up the flag outside, any sewing we may want to do, and the boring, predictable sex I know would’ve happened tomorrow at the end of your day. I explained that last one by pointing out that while he claims to want spontaneity, I not only know what’s going to happen in bed but lately, I know when it’s going to happen, too. Sunday, late afternoon or early evening, when he’s more tired so he can have an easier time holding back. Anyway, he said we could screw right then, so we did and I only had to know what was going to happen. I could tell it was a struggle for him. He had a hard time holding back, but he managed.

Week five and things are going just as predicted. My weight still bounces between 122-125 pounds, my thighs still bounce between 22-23, my waist still bounces between 29-30, and my tits and hips still bounce between 36-37. It’ll never change. Not without lots of starvation and many hours a day of working out. Neither of which is going to happen because I just don’t have the willpower to do it. Tom, though, insists that little by little it’ll work its way off and areas that haven’t gone down yet will go down in time. Ha! Not a chance. Yes, I went down a little in the lower back, the backs of my thighs, and my upper abs, which is nice, but what about the worst areas, such as my inner thighs, hips, and lower abs? And what about my face, neck, and arms? It’s hopeless. Totally hopeless, just like I’ve been saying week after week. Even if I could weigh 100-110 pounds tomorrow, I’d just have a whole new battle to fight. Maintaining lost weight is almost as hard for me to do as it is to lose it. Like I also said, I’m sick of fighting for the impossible. All I can do is maintain my current weight/inches, which isn’t too hard. Not as hard as it was to maintain 110-115 pounds the last I was there because that’s not natural in this day and age. Middle-aged people are supposed to be 20-50 pounds overweight.

Dan’s still here. Isn’t it a little late to still be here? Makes me wonder if my vibe about his quitting the summer getaways upon our arrival was an accurate one. At least he hasn’t been engine-gunning. All I heard so far this weekend was five seconds of someone’s car stereo. Probably whoever visits the house towards our front. They’d actually be in front of next door. It’s still too bad we couldn’t own all the land within a five-mile radius of this house! But if we did, God would just allow some desperate, attention-seeking asshole to create stereos that could be heard for over five miles, although the stereos that do exist are close to that. Anyway, I’m sure there’ll be stereos that can be heard for 20+ miles away eventually. Eventually, they’ll be too loud for the owners to blast without wearing ear protectors, but they won’t mind. They’re that desperate to put on a show and get noticed.

FRIDAY, MAY 12, 2000 Here we go with the early spotting again. Sometimes I spot a week or two before my period. Why does there have to be such a big deal leading up to my period? Why does it have to start so slowly and be such a long drawn-out process most of the time? Why can’t I just get my period when it’s due? Better yet, why can’t I just have a hysterectomy? I can’t imagine my ever wanting Invitro bad enough. I’m content with life the way it is. We may not have the money we wish we had, but life is good, so why go and change a good thing? Besides, I thought of another way Tom could get his way with it. He’s smart enough to find a way to kill his sperm and have it appear dead when he brought it to the doctor, not that that couldn’t be the case for real. Like I said, a man who can get hard but won’t cum is the way he is for a reason. Not wanting a kid is the only thing I could ever think of. He sure as hell ain’t got no disease he’s trying to protect me from, so what else could it be? All I know is that whether or not I decide I want a kid again in the future, I’ll never have one because God will forbid it and Tom won’t allow it. He’s been manipulating and conning me out of it since day one, save for the few times he came around prime time.

Yesterday we went out to Walgreens and I got that skater Barbie I’ve had my eye on for nearly a year now. She wears a nice outfit with a top, skirt, and stockings mostly in blue. The skirt has a layer of purple trim and one of pink. Her skates are blue too, and there are feathers on her shoulders. She has a USA Olympic gold medal around her neck. She’s perfect for the Barbie stand that came with the Peruvian doll. Regular Barbie feet can’t quite touch the bass of the stand, but one with skates on can. There’s this thing on her back that you wind up to make her spin at the waist that doesn’t work, cuz you know I have to get the broken one. That’s fine, though, because I didn’t buy her to play with her and spin her around. I bought her to decorate with.

I got a couple of doll poster ads from Ashton-Drake. They take notice of what you like/buy. Since I bought Indians and ballerinas, they sent me a poster of an Indian girl and of a baby ballerina which I put on my office wall. My office looks more like a giant dollhouse rather than an office.

I almost broke down and made a doctor’s appointment, but decided against it. I’ve been a little better lately and I still don’t see how they could help me. I just hope it never comes down to where I need medication, for any reason, that my life absolutely depends on because doctors just can’t be depended on. They’re too incompetent and unreliable these days.

I see Gophie out there. It’s nice to know that the snake never got her! In fact, maybe the snake moved on, cuz she’s by its hole right now.

Later…

Oh, my God! We just might be having two houses on our land!! Evelyn’s planning on moving to an apartment in Phoenix because her trailer park is getting bad (I can just imagine!) and she told Tom that if we wanted her trailer, she’d just give it to us. Just give it to us! How great that would be! It’d be the perfect storage/workshop for Tom since we don’t need a guest house. The house is about 40’ long and 20-30 years old. It’s a two-bedroom/one-bath. It only has a living room besides that. No dens or retreats. Tom said he doesn’t remember what color it is, but either way, I’d like to paint it peach. We’ll have to pay a few hundred bucks or so to haul it out here and we’ll have to get permits for it, but it’ll be well worth it. We have different options as far as electricity goes. We have the generator we could use, or we could also use a windmill since it’s windy here most of the time. We have a 2 horsepower well pump that can pump 3 gallons of water per minute, so that’s where its water will come from if we decide to plumb it, and we probably will. It’ll probably go in the back, either just in front or just beyond the second wash, because we’re reserving the land at the master bedroom side of the house for the Arizona room/pool, and the back of the land for horses. Tom again mentioned wanting to get a mare to breed thoroughbred racehorses, and a couple of geldings (castrated males) to use for riding.

We did some research and according to what we could find out, that snake is not a rattlesnake. I didn’t think it was. I never saw any rattles on it and my vibes told me it was harmless. There are two possibilities as to what it could be, and both are anti-venomous. It could be either a coachwhip snake or a king snake. Actually, from what we read, a king snake would be a good thing to have around cuz they eat rattlers.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 10, 2000 Dan’s still here. I see lights on at night and I saw him driving off his property earlier.

We’re going out to Circle K (wish Jennifer still worked there) and to Dairy Queen when he gets in later on.

I figured out what Tom’s doing. At least I’m virtually certain of his motives. You’d think that anyone would be like - what’s he got to lose by cumming when he knows she can’t conceive naturally anyway, so he doesn’t have to worry about having a kid too soon after moving, or whatever, but he doesn’t know I can’t conceive. He may suspect it, but like I always said, he’s not as thoroughly convinced as I am. So after I thought about it for a while, I realized he’s counting on the odds. That’s what he’s doing. He’s decided to himself - I’m not going to cum in case she really can conceive cuz I don’t want a kid. Meanwhile, I’ll count on the odds of her not bothering to have the invitro either, and assume that if I don’t cum and if she doesn’t have the invitro, I won’t ever have to worry about a baby. I still don’t understand why he feels he has to go to such extremes, but like he said, he doesn’t want me to complain and he doesn’t want to feel controlled. He wants to be him. No problem. No problem at all. If I wanted a kid and felt I could conceive, that’d be different. Meanwhile, he’s perfectly welcome to do as he pleases and not cum. I don’t know how he can stand it after getting hard and excited, but obviously he can. He’s been doing it for years and I wasn’t kidding myself when I told myself he was perfectly content to be the way he is and that that’s what he wants. If he didn’t, he’d do something about it, and I don’t believe he needs a doctor to do it for him, either. No doctor can tell him to cum when he gets excited like we know he can/does. Only he can do that, but only when and if he wants to.

Meanwhile, how do I feel? Well, knowing I can’t conceive and that I don’t want a child these days has me OK with how he chooses to be. I’m sorry, but cum is a real pain in the ass. It makes quite a mess. Not only does it mess up the sheets, but it also makes a mess of me, too. I can’t just wash it out of my pussy. I have to put on a liner and let it slowly seep out. How do women with guys who are normal sexually stand it? Most guys don’t just cum, they want to screw/cum just about every day.

Later…

Today turned out to be an exciting day. No, we didn’t go out cuz Tom had a meeting at work and he didn’t get in till 7:30. He would’ve taken me out if I’d insisted, but I didn’t want to. He usually goes to bed at 8:00 and I knew it could be close to 10:00 before we returned if we went out. So, we agreed we’d go out tomorrow and even to the store that has the skater Barbie I want, along with the other stores, but who knows? I get the feeling something doesn’t want me going out this week.

It’s a good thing I wasn’t out at 4:00 today. Gophie hasn’t been using the hole in front that’s about a dozen or so feet away from the house. Instead, she’s been using the hole in the bush further back where the iguanas are. This is where I first saw her, too. Anyway, there were a couple of times I could’ve sworn I saw the tip of a snake sticking out of the hole by the house, but couldn’t be sure. Today, though, proved my theory to be correct about why she hasn’t been using that hole. It sure as hell was a snake! I saw it come up out of the hole while I was working out and this sucker was at least 6’ long! Only 1”-1½” wide, though. It lay sprawled in the middle of the wash and I ran out and got about 8-10 feet up to it and took its picture. I also took one from inside too, to show how close to the house it was. I lost it at one point, but I warned Tom to look out for it when he called to ask if I wanted anything else at the store cuz it might’ve headed down towards where he parks.

I showed Tom the pictures I took of it when he got home, but neither of us is sure if it’s any type of rattlesnake (he’ll investigate online). It didn’t have those diamond markings. It was a grayish-black color with no particular markings, and I don’t remember seeing the rattle at the end of its tail. The tail seemed to get skinnier and skinnier till it tapered off almost as skinny as the tip of a rat’s tail.

Anyway, I guess I’m getting to be quite the wildlife photographer! We’ve got pictures of iguanas, snakes, prairie dogs, and a scorpion, although he took that shot. I need a picture of a jackrabbit and a roadrunner if they’ll stay still long enough. I’d even like a tarantula. Just think of all the people who would think I was absolutely crazy, having rats and mice indoors and snakes just outside my house! Dureen’s gonna cringe when she sees what I live with. Dureen, Tammy and Andy could never stand it out here. Andy would not only hate the long drive to work (when he happened to have a job), and not being able to get to a gay bar in ten minutes or so, but he’d be terrified to be alone out here, whether or not he had a phone and a car. He’d be terrified of homicidal maniacs coming to get him and of the desert creatures out here.

I love this house, living here, not knowing what I’ll see when I look out the window.

As for my animals - yes, this store’s definitely up to something. As Tom suggested, they could be inbreeding too much which will cause early death and sterility. The five mice I just bought are definitely females, which were definitely in with males, which should definitely be pregnant and showing it, but they’re not. This has me really worried about Fudgie and wondering how long he’ll live. I love this rat more than any other pet I’ve ever had in my entire life and it’d be a shame to lose him so soon. He’s so cute, loving, and fun to play with. I lay down on the den floor and he walks a few feet away, then Tom moves and scares him and he comes running back to hide under my neck. He climbs on top of me too, and stands straight up and peers around the room.

In other news, my hair, which was an inch shy of my waist, got cut to about a couple of inches below my shoulders. I’m just sick to death of long hair! Sick of the snarls and having to always braid it to keep it from getting overly knotted. It’d take forever to dry, and I’d have to braid it just to go to bed. If my hair was thin and straight, then yes, I’d let it grow and grow forever, but I just couldn’t deal with it anymore and ran out of patience for it. As I said, I left a little length so I could keep my femininity and gather it into a ponytail to get it off my neck when going out on hot days.

Both of us are pretty proud of what we ended up doing yesterday evening. We each made, from scratch, without any pattern, a dress for Bailey. The one Tom made was just a practice one using this ugly Indian-print pattern that his ma gave me, and the final version, which I traced, cut and sewed, has splotches of lavender, pink, and light blue on a white background. In the end, I sewed a piece of lace around the neck and boy does she look better than ever! It’s short too, so her legs show from the knees down like I always wanted them to cuz she even has such realistic knees, as well as feet. Her body bag has lace trim at the legs, which sticks out a bit under the dress just above the knees and it goes well with the lace up top, making it really look just like a little girl’s dress, rather than a nightgown or a long shirt.

We called to brag to Mary about it and to tell her about the snake. Not surprisingly, she said she’d never have gone outside and a handful of feet away from it.

Tom also told her to think about timing hers and Dave’s vacation with his, so they could go somewhere while Ma was here since we have no desire to go anywhere even if we could afford to. We’ve had enough hotels to last us a lifetime. Of course, Tom doesn’t have to have vacation time while she’s here, but if he did, she could spend more time with him, someone she knows, rather than with me most of the time.

TUESDAY, MAY 9, 2000 Carol looked absolutely terrible in last night’s movie. Just as bad as she did in most of Office Killer. She didn’t look better in that movie till the end when she took her glasses off and let her hair down. In this movie, they had her dressed as a conservative, even geeky school principal with her hair up and thick-rimmed glasses.

Tom said we’d go out today, but then he said we’d go out tomorrow instead so he could milk the gas tank. Just another one of his many delays/procrastination. He felt bad, though, and insisted we could go out today if I really wanted to, but nah, we can wait one more day. Instead, we’re gonna make Bailey a new outfit! At least, we’re gonna try to.

MONDAY, MAY 8, 2000 I set Jade up so she’s standing, leaning against the wall, holding one of the musical dolls. It looks really cool, and Tom thought so, too. I still like to have her hold one of the little teddy bears I got at Game Works, too.

Tom says I don’t look watery or bigger, and that’s what I thought, too. Then why did I gain my weight back? I’ll never be thin. I’ll just never ever be thin. My thin days are long over like I’ve been saying. I’ll always be in the 120s. Period.

I gave Tom a good scare today without even knowing it. He said that on his way home he saw an ambulance turn onto Bitter Root and immediately thought they were headed here. Anyway, it turned out to be going to the house across from Dan’s. Two houses away. The equivalent of twenty houses away in the city.

He brought home a picture that Dennis left him which the selfish opportunist himself took. It was of us standing by the trailer. It wasn’t close up, but even so, you could see my pudgy legs, fat face, and rounded-out arms.

I’m taping another Carol Kane movie right now I haven’t seen yet. This one’s a 1999 movie, and as I said before, I think she got better looking with age. Especially in the face, although I do have a picture of her from the 70s that looks great. I saw her in a 1990 movie the other day and her face didn’t look as good as it did in Office Killer, but her hair sure looked better. It was long, curly, and down to just below her waist. I don’t know if it was all hers or if some of it was hair extensions of any kind.

I had a very strange dream last night about a teacher I had in 5th grade named Joan B. I was about eight the first time I saw her, and in a way, she was my first crush. She was like Norah was at the Harley where no one else liked her or would consider her attractive except for me. She was a toughie, though. All the kids hated her for being so mean and so strict. I would’ve too, if I hadn’t found her attractive. She may have been a bit on the plump side and had brown eyes and long brown hair. She always kept her hair up and I remember how I’d wonder how long it was and what it’d look like down. I remember I looked her up in the phonebook and called her a few times, which she was not happy with. She bitched to my parents about it. She certainly wouldn’t have come out and said so, at least not to me, but I know she had to have despised me. I could just tell.

Anyway, I haven’t seen her in about 25 years and haven’t thought of her in ages. Then last night I had a dream that she was reaching out to me as I was running by her. I woke up with the feeling that she was saying goodbye from the other side. At first I wondered why she’d bother with me, but I had to have stood out in her mind. Any teacher who ever dealt with a loud-mouthed, attention-getting bully like I was could never forget me. I always stood out, and although it wasn’t usually in a good way, I had to have made a lasting impression on her.

If I’ve got my facts straight - she has one son. Her son and her husband’s first name was Richard. Joan lived in Agawam for as long as I could remember. Many years. Anyway, I went online to see if I could find obituaries, but couldn’t. So I looked in the directory and found a Richard B living at a different address in Agawam. Is it the son? The husband? Is Joan really dead? She had to have been in her late 30s to early 40s when I knew her, which means she’s probably around 65-75 years old today. She could be dead, but so could anyone you haven’t seen for 25 years. I told Tom I wanted to call the Richard Bowe I found listed and see if I could find out, but he advised me to wait a month or two. He reminded me of my accuracy rate within the world of the paranormal and said that now wouldn’t be a good time to go calling and asking for someone if they just died. That’s what I’ll do, but I can’t wait to find out if she’s dead or alive in a month. Or at least try to.

SUNDAY, MAY 7, 2000 Jade’s finally done and standing against the wall in my office! Tom stuffed her real good so she’s really rigid. Although she’s a beautiful doll, her head seems a bit big for her 32” body. Her feet and hands are the same sizes as Bailey’s who’s 24”, and her head’s the same size as Ciara’s who’s 38”. She’s wearing Bailey’s sleeper and Bailey’s wearing a dress that came with a big teddy bear of mine. It doesn’t look as good on her, but someday I’ll get new outfits for both Bailey and Jade. 32” dolls are a good size. You can see them well enough without having to walk right up to them, and there’s a lot more wall space to lean them against in here than there is furniture to put them on.

The sex we had at the end of his day, as usual, was very predictable. He was in and out of me in no time at all. It was very obvious that he didn’t want to cum. Especially with how hard he was.

Afterward, I started to get both bummed out and pissed knowing that if I did decide to have Invitro someday I’d have to use someone else’s sperm. Or so I thought. Tom told me something that really made my day. You see, I was always under the impression that a guy had to give sperm right there in the office in a cup just like you do with urine, but that’s not so. He said you can do it at home on your own time, as long as you keep it warm and don’t wait longer than a few days. I didn’t know this, but that’s great! It makes perfect sense too, now that I think about it. Now I can have an easier time letting him be himself and not feel so controlled and manipulated by him like he’s cheating me out of options. It’s nice to know, though, even though I doubt I’ll ever do the invitro, that I have more choices than I thought I did and that I don’t necessarily have to use someone else’s sperm unless his is dead. I don’t have the choices most women do since they can get pregnant for free the natural way, but at least I have more choices than I thought I did, and yes, Tom you can feel very free to be yourself and not cum!

Before he enlightened me on how he’d give his sperm, he said he felt I was controlling him and that he thought I said I wanted him to be him. To me, this is saying he’s admitting he wants to be the way he is and he doesn’t want to be made to feel like he has to change. This is fine, now that I know what I know, but I still don’t get why he’s so determined not to cum when it’s already been established that I can’t conceive naturally, anyway.

Anyway, I’m just so glad to learn what I’ve learned. That still doesn’t mean that I’ll ever want to have Invitro, or that he’d still cooperate and give his sperm, or that God would allow me to have a kid no matter whose sperm it was, but it makes me feel a lot better. Also, every negative has its positive - Tom’s not cumming keeps the sheets nice and dry, and we’ll never need birth control or tubes tied, or vasectomies.

He told me something else, to use as an example, that made no sense to me. He said he didn’t like not sleeping together, but that he just accepts it because he doesn’t want to control me or complain. I get the not liking it part, and I too, wish we could sleep together like any other normal couple, but as I told him, he’s not controlling me or complaining by asking that we try to sleep together at times. As long as he doesn’t make demands, he’s not controlling me. I want him to ask me things because I want to know if there’s ever anything I can do to please him because I love him, so I suggested we try sleeping together on weekends. I said we won’t say that we have to sleep together every night, just try to on weekends. Meanwhile, there’s no control involved. If one of us decides we don’t want to do it, we don’t do it. Period.

No music this weekend. Just the faint beat of a car stereo cruising by somewhere around here for ten seconds last night.

I don’t understand my mice’s behavior. Since when do females and males fight? And since when do mice that have lived together before fight? The mice that lived together in the store that were bought together fight. Out of the five mice I got, three of them are tame, one’s sort of a bully, and one’s a big-time bully. As for the three I had before - Freddie’s tame, Oreo’s sort of a bully, and Butter Rum’s a major bully like Toughie.

SATURDAY, MAY 6, 2000 I finished my story Burned Soul yesterday! Now I’m proofreading it, then Tom’s going to do the same, before sending it off to publishers so it can get rejected. Although it’s easy to say that God won’t allow me to make any money by writing because he’s never allowed me to do things I’ve wanted to do in the past, I also don’t want to be a writer nearly as bad as I once wanted a kid and to be a singer. That still isn’t necessarily a point in my favor, though, since most people rarely get the first thing they submit published, anyway. You usually have to write lots of stories or articles before someone publishes something you’ve written.

Yesterday I woke up at 121 pounds and was still able to shit. I’m back to 122 now. There’s not much of a difference since I began working out four weeks ago, although yes, I am firmer, and yes, I am smaller. But barely. And in some cases, it doesn’t last long. My thighs went down an inch for five minutes, then they were all bloated out again to the usual 23” they are. My chest dropped to 36, my waist is 29½, and my hips are 37.

I can’t be certain, but I might’ve seen a snake sticking out of Gophie’s hole the other day. That may explain why she’s now living in a hole at the other end of the house and why there’s been less lizard activity around.

Today we saw a cute little gray baby jackrabbit sitting out front in the middle of the wash. Tom filmed it, along with Fudgie and Ratsy playing.

This is going to come as a shocker, but I love Fudgie way more than I did Scuttles. He’s a super cool, fun, loving little guy. He’s less of an explorer when I have him out. Instead, he loves to sit and cuddle with me. I lay on the floor and he hides under my neck. Then periodically, he walks a few feet away, then turns around and runs back to hide under my neck. He also climbs on top of me at times, too. He’s a lot mellower than Scuttles was. He’s about as mellow as Mickey was, and he’s not a biter, either. He doesn’t nibble on my toes and fingers like Ratsy loves to.

Although Tom did do a little more work on Jade and play some computer games, he’s spent the whole day in front of the TV, showing no interest in sex. God, he is so unmanly in that way! Again, that’s OK with me. I’m as drained of an appetite as I have been for the last few years now, and when I do get up the urge, I just want to take care of myself, quickly and efficiently. It’s easier to do something yourself than to have to direct someone to go higher, go lower, softer, harder, etc.

THURSDAY, MAY 4, 2000 Wow! I lost a pound. I weigh 122, but the question is - will I ever drop below 120 and stay there? Cuz trying to stay between 110-115 in early 98 to early 99 was a nightmare. Of course, I didn’t have the Bowflex then, either. Well, we’ll see in time where my weight goes, but wherever it goes, it goes. There’s not much I can do about it.

Cybertrails’ service has been absolutely horrid. They’re just like how AOL was for a while where I either can’t get online or when I do, pages won’t load and I get knocked off. Tom says to expect lousy service in a rural area and to just take what I can get from them. Yeah, but it’s never been this bad. This is terrible. It fucking figures, too. Just when I find something I want to do online regularly, I can’t get on. I discovered Carol Kane items being auctioned on eBay that are constantly changing. The web pages, though, stay the same for months, even years, at a time.

Yesterday, I got another garden/floral magazine from Evelyn. I guess Miss Opinionated really likes me. Anyway, there’s nothing I really care about in the magazine, but Tom’s interested in some of their ads. There were also a couple of packets of flower seeds, which we weren’t supposed to get even though they gave them to us. Mary was going to plant them. We offered to give them back, but she said not to bother. Besides, she’s only got so much room for them. Even so, we should never have gotten them because we just can’t grow things here. The animals eat and destroy them. Rabbits, birds, lizards, and probably Gophie too, are eating the seeds and chewing off whatever does start to grow. Tom said we can try planting them indoors till they take off, then put them outside, but I still think they’ll destroy them.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 3, 2000 I don’t believe this. I just don’t believe this! Smokey’s dead. Yesterday evening, just like with Scuttles, he was totally out of it, barely moving, eating or drinking. Then when I got up at 9:00 today, he was gone.

Why are so many of my animals dying lately? Depending on how long Fudgie lives, I may wonder about this store. I got a rat from them that only lived five months, and now a rat that didn’t even live one month. Or maybe it’s a punishment. Meaning, just like I wondered if Scuttle’s death was because of what I did to the Bear, I wonder if Smokey’s death is because I got sick of Butter Rum being such a bully and bopped her upside the head with a nibble stick. I’m just grateful I didn’t get that attached to him so I don’t have to be miserable all over again so soon after I was miserable over losing Scuttles.

I’m really seriously considering quitting singing, although I’ll miss it terribly. I’m just so sick of having to cough and clear my throat just like I did when I smoked. It really takes the fun out of it. Do you know how humiliating that is, having worked so hard for so little?! No, God does not help those who help themselves. It’s even more of a bummer knowing that my lungs will never get better either, even though I’m gonna be stupid and schedule a doctor’s appointment that I know will be a complete waste of time, gas and money. I’m still convinced there’s nothing they can give me that’ll help me. They’ll either give me something that won’t do a damn bit of good (or it’ll at least seem like it’s gonna help at first, then I’ll be like I usually am - tight or congested), or it’ll have bad side effects like that Aerobid did. And as I’ve learned in life - there’s no such thing as “solving a problem.” At least not for me there isn’t. For me, all I can do is trade one problem in for another, so even if I could get something to help my lungs, all I’d be asking for was a brand-new problem to have to deal with year after year. All God gave me for my efforts at quitting smoking was 20 pounds I could never get rid of, and that’s another depressing thing right there.

I’ve pretty much peaked as far as the weight and inches go. After that initial tightening I felt, that’s as far as it’s obviously going to go. I’m never going to have that muscular look I’d like to have. Part of that is because I can’t seem to burn the fat. All I can do is build a little muscle underneath the fat like I did. Also, 123 pounds is as low as I can go from what it looks like, and I can’t lose any more than the inch or so I’ve lost from a couple of select areas. Not unless I start working out for a few hours a day and put myself through lots of starvation. All of which I don’t have the willpower for.

On the bright side - as long as I keep rowing every day and working out a few times a week, I should be able to maintain my weight and inches and keep from ever going above 125 pounds. I’ll also be a little firmer and not feel as energyless or too non-active.

Anyway, I’m not surprised at the results. I mean, I got just what I expected to get - just a few pounds lighter, and an inch smaller, and slightly firmer. I expected to feel the results much more than see them. Especially in my arms and legs. They look just like they always did, but they feel a bit firmer.

I finally got Tom to start working on Jade yesterday, but not without starting to work on her myself. I just get so sick of him saying he’s gonna do things that he doesn’t do. I know he’ll never clean up the property when it gets hot, either. Tom, why do you lie to me so?

Anyway, firming up Jade’s been much quicker and easier than I thought it would be. This is mostly because we cut the body at the sides, arms and legs so we could pack the stuffing in easier. All bodies should come with zippers to these areas if you ask me. Trying to stuff batting down into the legs from the neck is nearly impossible. He got the arms stuffed and stitched up, and part of the body and where the knees are. He’ll work up the legs and down the body till he meets at the sides where her hips are, then we’ll stitch the sides up and take in an inch or so of material at the sides to make it better proportioned. I’m still certain that this body was sewn all wrong. It’s totally disproportionate in the hips. Also, the whole body seems too long for a 32” doll. I really think they gave me a 34” or 36” body. A disproportionate 34” or 36” body.

Later…

Quitting singing is easier said than done. I could never quit. It’s just so much a part of me as my arms and legs are. I’ll just have to sing when my lungs/nose will allow it.

Carol Kane was in a 1984 movie earlier. She only had a little part and looked like a geek. She got better looking with age if you ask me. Well, I’ll be checking out other movies on the 5th, 8th, and 14th of this month. I can’t wait for Office Killer and When a Stranger Calls Back to run again!

TV shows and movies still seem to be riddled with childbirth and I still don’t know what the obsession’s all about.

MONDAY, MAY 1, 2000 I forgot to write about Sunday’s sex. It was predictable in the sense that I knew he wouldn’t cum, but it was otherwise not very predictable. I decided at the last minute to have him go down on me and he not only did, but I got off. It seemed to take forever, though. I thought that because he went down on me he’d bail out of screwing cuz he never really liked doing more than one thing per session, but we screwed afterward. He went faster this time as if he had more strength and energy from working out. He was either putting on a good show or else he really was just out of shape. I think it was always a combination of him being unfit as well as scared.

He knows that I got my period at the end of last month. It wasn’t possible to hide it from him when he saw he had blood on his dick that could only have come from me. So, that means he’s gonna chicken out on me and want to play games around the 10th of this month. Like I could really get pregnant even if he did cum? Yeah, right! Anyway, I’ll probably avoid him myself at that time cuz I won’t be in the mood to play games of any kind and have him conveniently “forget” how to get inside or something like that. As long as he can’t admit his fears on his own, then I’m gonna have to be the responsible one here. I don’t want him put in a position that makes him uncomfortable and I know that although I know I’m sterile and he hates having sex, as cumless as it is, when I’m mid-cycle.

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wordsofapanda · 1 year ago

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I had to work today and it was a struggle. The sterile processing department or the surgical staff basically tore everything apart and I had to do my best to place the instruments in the correct spots. Not only that, not everything was altogether so I had to run around. I had to wear a full jumpsuit to not contaminate anything and it was hot af. Thankfully, the staff was kind about it all. I also got lucky and I was missing one tray and it was expected to be spread apart and separately wrapped. I had to find it and I was dreaded walking and finding a needle in a haystack. I mean the hospital is massive so my chances were slim. I just started walking past all of the equipment that is wrapped (so you can only tell what it is by reading a label) and I felt like stopping at this one shelf. I look up out of my eyesight and BOOM. It was the one tray I needed. I opened it and everything was there. My work wife was chill and was there for it all. I had to call my coworkers over the weekend and they were all sweet (except one person but he’s always an ass). I had to transfer over 100 pounds of equipment. My cart literally gives in as soon as I hit the threshold to the outside Hospital doors. My entire cart and equipment tipped over. I was embarrassed as hell. I was lucky again and two people came to help. One of them was super kind and knew my specialty so he knew they were heavy. Another hospital staff member helped. Some patients were awkward and just hovered over me instead of going through the door since it wasn’t fully blocked but I think they were more concerned. I passed by an old lady and she points out my wheel. I made to get everything in my car and transfer it but I had several complications and someone was kind of a bitch to me in the hospital. Whatever. I got some good food and went home. I smoked a joint and had an amazing nap. This entire weekend has been exhausting but I got through it like a champ.

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papaiyatree · 3 years ago

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tl;dr : marvel sucks, they should do better.

i said this alrdy in my recent post's tags but i decided to make it into an ACTUAL post because why not :

as i said, the fact barnes was confirmed as straight broke me lmao. like i genuinely thought that this would be smth where marvel rights their wrongs and like the thing is i'm not... surprised. no shit, this is the mcu i honestly shouldn't be expecting much of them when it comes to representation they just suck at it. i mean like, from making natasha call herself a moster just because she was sterilized when she's literally an assassin who was trained by the red room? yeah just from that alone i alrdy shouldn't be expecting shit from them.

but sambucky just felt... way too real to me lmao like i saw those bitches in couples' therapy + tumble in a field of flowers and that was enough for me to think maybe marvel has their chance. They Did Not. am i suprised? no.

it was a total wreck for me when i heard of the news because like, bucky is canonically bi in the comics. all you had to do was take a page from the comics (lmao pun unintended) and then BOOM actually really good rep ! just make bucky look at mean with heart eyes and as well with women and as well as the multiple other genders that exist! how. hard. is. that.

like i am so fucking glad i grew up in a time where this home of sexual business have been more normalized. i'm so glad i grew up with rupphire and am growing up with catradora+bubbline+lumity+ more. honestly the way cartoon shows are more progressive than fucking MARVEL is so fucking funny to me but what'd i expect lmao.

i thought they were gonna make a little confirmation of feelings at e6 because for some reason, i trusted them.

the thing is, marvel doesn't actually realize how this feels to lgbtqia+ people. it made me feel so pathetic and so broken when i heard the news, no fucking joke. as of writing this rn i can feel tears trying to escape my eyes lmao. this made me feel so fucking dumb. so fucking pathetic. to state the least.

and what's even worse is that it's ME who felt like the idiot even though the writers put them in so much homoerotic things together. I'M the one feeling like an idiot even when the people in the crew purposefully did all that. and for what? nothing.

ngl it's also bad writing on their part because like? what was the point of all that? like genuinely, if it was useless to ur story, why use it? oh right. money.

mcu? do better. cartoons are evn a fucking head of you for literally everything i've seen cartoons more diverse than ur ENTIRE cinematic universe, marvel. diverse in terms of race, skin color, body type and last but not the least : sexual orientations+genders. work on it/ do better. lgbtqia+ shouldn't feel fucking stupid just because you wanted to get their, our money so you tugged with our heart strings. Stop Doing This.

#this is why i stream ilegally ! 🤩#fuck disney fuck marvel fuck all of them fuck them #i have never felt so stupid in my life in a non-academic thing #i have never felt so fucking pathetic in my life in a non-related-to-my-whole-life thing #and i DON'T wanna feel that shit again #people might say i'm overreacting but the thing is #i'm not lmao #ik my feelings are fucking valid and i KNOW marvel should do better #they should #they Really should.#because i am getting Tired.#tfatws #sambucky #anti mcu #lgbtqia+ representation #like cartoons are literally my lgbtqia+ safespace #like the way most cartoons portray it as normal? fucking hell i LOVE that shit #like yeah it's important to portray lgbtqia+ kids' struggles in media #but it's also important to let them have their escape from the real world #okay now i'm just rambling #anw pretend like i didn't ramble here ily besties 😊✨#long post #sorry for anyone who sees this lmaooo

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minuteminx · 4 years ago

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Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Five: Coast’s Clear

Chapter Summary: Charlie doesn't know many things for certain since she woke up in the future, but one thing she does know is that she will never watch someone she loves die again. Not if there's something she can do about it.

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.”

― Jennifer Donnelly, Revolution

Quincy Ruins, June 2288

Charlie hadn’t lived in Massachusetts for long when the bombs fell. She and Nate moved up from West Virginia in July of 2077, she’d gotten a position as a postdoctoral fellow in neuropsychology at Medford Memorial Hospital, more than a little excited to make use of her shiny new degree. Shaun was born two months later. After spending most of her life moving from place to place for her education, she was ready to settle down. She never made it that far.

Needless to say, she’d also never made it down to Quincy. Though, at the moment, she desperately wished she had.

Preston had this way of looking at her sometimes when he thought she didn’t notice, a lingering glance over his shoulder, a careful observation of her face as if he expected to find some twinkle of pre-war nostalgia in her eyes when entering a new area, memories from a time when the air didn’t reek of sulfur and rotting flesh, and no one had to worry whether or not they’d be run out of their homes and mowed down by mercenary cults. She could offer him no solace. She could barely even look him in the eyes.

In more comfortable times over the past eight months since they had met, he simply asked her if she was familiar with locations or landmarks. Once, he asked her if she had fought in the Battle of Bunker Hill, and she informed him that she was two hundred and thirty-seven years old, not well over five hundred. His smile had wrinkled up his eyes that day as he laughed away the embarrassment. Today, there were no stories to be told, no jokes or laughter, just Preston, Charlie, Amelia, a handful of other Minutemen and a large pile of ashes that used to have names.

“I don’t like this,” Charlie muttered, more to herself than anything.

She jumped when Preston replied, “Me neither. Not one bit.”

She hadn’t expected him to hear her, or even pay attention. She could barely see his eyes from under the shadow cast by his hat, but she didn’t need to see to know that he wasn’t okay. He wasn’t one to wear the overwhelming grief he experienced on his face, anyway. The last time they’d visited a Minutemen graveyard, as the Lexington Super Duper Mart had turned out to be, he had to excuse himself from a barricaded room filled with deceased members of the militia. She found him in the feral-corpse littered hallway, green around the gills and sweating. He didn’t have a weak stomach, but reminders of his loss seemed to impact him viscerally. She wondered how he managed to keep his composure now, standing in the place where it all started.

She was drawn from her thoughts by a thunderous boom that left her ears ringing. She hated that noise. Looking up towards the direction of the blast she saw a small, mushroom-cloud pouring up from a nearby building. A fucking nuke. Hadn’t people learned a damn thing?

Charlie scanned the area for someone holding a Fat Man. She’d been toe-to-toe with wielders of those atrocities enough times to know that she had to act, and fast. Movement on the roof of the nearby church. Just right if the belfry stood a large figure, someone in power armor, with the exact weapon. Without another thought, she charged in his direction. If she got close enough in range she could keep him from firing again. He wouldn’t get another shot. Not if she had anything to do with it.

She tangled with very few Gunners on her way to the church, thankfully. Most of them were distracted by the small militia that accompanied her. A couple of grunts took shots at her once she made it inside, but they missed and she fired back, hitting each of them once. She didn’t stop to make sure they were incapacitated. There wasn’t time. She needed to get to the roof.

The stairs that led to the belfry were worn and rickety. In less of a panic, she probably would have made her way up them gingerly, avoiding the obvious areas of dry rot. Still, she managed to make it to the top without event. She hoped the luck would stay on her side just a little bit longer. She just needed to take out the Gunner with the Fat Man, or at least distract them long enough to protect the Minutemen. Her Minutemen.

“Hey,” Charlie shouted, pointing both of her pistols at the man loading a mini nuke into his gun, “Asshole!”

“What the--” he looked up from what he was doing just in time for her ballistic round to strike him between the eyes.

“Yes,” she said under her breath. How had she gotten to the point where she felt relief at another person’s death? Is this what the Commonwealth made of all its inhabitants?

She moved in closer to examine the man’s corpse, still standing erect in the power armor shell. A whole lot of good that did him. He was a relatively young man, mid-thirties, and she wondered if he had a family. MacCready had been a Gunner once, he’d told her as they sat drinking whiskey in The Third Rail, bloodstained and bathed in red neon light. It was a gig, a way of making money to support his young son when he had no better options. What if this man had been just like him? Charlie didn’t want to think about it.

Noting a fully loaded, modified laser pistol on the ground near the dead Gunner, she picked it up, discarding both of the 10mms in her hands. They’d just been spares, and she was out of ammo anyway. She also looted a stimpak and a good chunk of caps before standing up and adjusting her belt. A loud crash of metal and puffing of hydraulics rose up from the street beneath her and she rushed to the edge of the roof, crouching to keep out of view.

Preston. A more practical person would have noticed the handlebar mustache wearing the T60 first, the actual source of the commotion, but then again she never claimed to be practical. Why was he alone? Why hadn’t he fallen back to the gates with everyone else, where it was safe? She’d run at a man shooting nukes to protect him and there he was out in the wide open, staring down who could only be the notorious traitor Clint, if the militia hat and sheer aura of son-of-a-bitch were any indication. It was out of character for Preston to be so reckless. Maybe he’d forgotten that was her job.

The two men spoke, but she was too far away to make out any of the conversation. She’d never seen Preston look so visibly angry or shaken. She needed to get to him before something bad happened, but she needed to be careful. Frantically, she dug through her various pockets looking for one item in particular. Hoping, praying she still had it.

She smiled and let out a sigh of relief as she pulled the stealth boy from her satchel. That Railroad operative, Deacon, had given it to her as a welcome gift when she’d agreed to help him out. At the time, she’d shrugged it off as a passive aggressive commentary on her lack of discretion. She’d have to thank him next time they crossed paths.

Charlie rushed back inside the church tower, and down the rickety steps as quickly as she could, flipping open the cap of the stealth boy and pressing the button as she did so. By the time she reached the street, she was completely invisible. Later, when she and Preston were safe and sound back at Sanctuary, she’d ask Sturges how it worked.

As she crept her way up behind Clint, the man reared back and punched Preston so forcefully it sent him flying into an old junked out Corvega parked nearby. She brought her invisible hand to her invisible mouth to keep herself from gasping audibly. As far as she knew, stealth boys weren’t sound proof. She took some deep steadying breaths, ignoring the burn of tears in her eyes. Now wasn’t the time to lose her shit.

Moving into position directly behind Clint, she noticed Preston’s eyes on her. He must have noticed the movement in the air. She lowered the stealth field, watching relief wash over his face as she smiled and drew her finger to her lips. Clint would not take him away from her. She wasn’t in a cryochamber this time, and she would not stand helplessly by and watch someone she loved die. Never again.

“What’s so fucking funny,” she heard him ask Preston who was, despite it all, laughing.

“Nothing man,” Preston answered, slurring his words in a way that made Charlie uneasy, “Nothing at all.”

She took that opportunity to fire, aiming her fancy new pistol at the legs of Clint’s power armor. She had noticed that they were damaged as she moved in, knew it wouldn’t take much to disable them. Sure enough, after a half-dozen or so shots, the T60’s leg’s locked up, forcing the man to jump out. He turned in her direction as soon as he did so.

“You little bitch ,” he snapped, and christ, if Charlie didn’t hate being called a bitch.

He tried to raise his weapon and fire at her, but she’d already pulled the trigger, launching a blast of burning red energy into his chest, and filling her nostrils with the sterile scent of ozone. She holstered her weapon and hovered over him for a minute, shaking her head. “I’m not a bitch.”

Charlie then brought her eyes back up to Preston, where he sat leaned up against the car, worry tightening her chest. It wasn’t a good sign that he hadn’t even tried to stand up yet, so unlike him to not make an attempt to brush off his injuries and press forward. She ran over and knelt down in front of him, cupping his face in her hands and turning it to the left, then the right to check for any signs of external bleeding. When she saw nothing more than a couple of superficial scrapes she brought up her pip boy and flashed a bright beam of light into each of his eyes.

Shit , she thought, but hid her worry behind a laugh as he flinched and squirmed away from the light. Only one of his pupils had responded to the flash, which meant that he had a concussion at the very least. She refused to entertain the other possibilities at the moment. The tears she had held back just minutes earlier returned to her eyes, and she didn’t fight them this time.

“You’re okay,” she told him, kissing his forehead reflexively, “Looks like you might have a concussion, but you’re safe. I’m here.”

He blinked up at her a few times, and she wished she could live up to that version of her that reflected in his eyes. She wished desperately that she could be everything he needed her to be, but with Shaun, and the Institute, and--

“You’re really scary sometimes,” he interrupted her snowballing thoughts, a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth, “You know that?”

She knew she shouldn’t take any of his concussed statements seriously, but an embarrassed laugh bubbled up from her chest, and she couldn’t hold his gaze. “I’m sorry, I just… I’d just watched Clint knock you into the car, and he was about to kill you, and I just…”

She trailed off, internally chastising herself for failing to conjure up a coherent response. She wasn’t even the one with the head injury. A gentle tap, and tug at her chin guided her eyes back to Preston. He let his hand linger where it was as his smirk turned into a full-on smile.

“No,” he said, laughing softly, and shaking his head, “It’s kinda hot.”

Heat rose to her face and she snorted gracelessly at his compliment. She didn’t know how or what to feel, couldn’t put her finger on why his affection made her so overwhelmingly sad. She shrugged it off and wiped a tear from her face. “Jesus, you hit your head harder than I thought.”

He didn’t respond, and his eyes fluttered closed instead, hand falling limply from her face. Panic surged up into her chest and she leaned forward to catch him from falling over on his side.

“Preston,” she called out frantically, as she repositioned herself so that she could ease his head down onto her lap, removing his hat and setting it on the ground by her hip. “Preston?”

Again, no response. “God damnit,” she snapped, slamming the side of her fist into the metal of the car door behind her, body finally giving into the sobs she’d been fighting, sobs that weren’t solely in response to present events. She doubled over, knuckles turning white around the fabric of his duster she clenched in her fists.

“I’m sorry, Preston,” she whimpered, knowing he couldn’t hear her, knowing it didn’t matter because she would continue to let him down. “I’m so sorry.”

Charlie stiffened at the sound of footsteps, straightening up to see Amelia, her long brown hair flying out of it’s braid, followed by the others who’d accompanied them. She found herself wishing MacCready was there, Codsworth, Sturges, anyone except the contingent of unfamiliar faces peering down at their commanding officer having a temper tantrum. Amelia glanced between Charlie and Preston, pretty blue eyes filled with concern.

“He’s okay,” Charlie explained, scrubbing tears away from her swollen face, “Just unconscious. He hit his head pretty bad.”

“What happened?”

“Clint-- at least I think that guy over there’s Clint-- hit Preston so hard he sent him flying into this,” Charlie pointed to the car behind her and watched as Amelia approached the body of the man Charlie’d just killed.

The woman frowned, shook her head, and kicked the corpse before returning to Charlie’s side. “That’s Clint alright, the bastard.” She offered Charlie a reassuring smile, and then glanced down at Preston, “You got a stimpak on you, General?”

Charlie recalled the one she picked up from the Gunner she’d taken out. She could have slapped herself for not thinking of it sooner. She reached into one of the pouches on her belt and pulled it out, showing it to the other woman.

“Perfect. Let’s give it to Preston, just in case he’s more banged up than he looks.” She took the syringe from Charlie’s shaking hand gently and removed the cap, and jammed it into Preston’s upper arm. He jerked slightly at the pain, but didn’t stir. Amelia continued speaking, “What do you say we have a couple of the boys move him someplace comfy? There are some abandoned apartments up the street.”

“Yes.” Charlie nodded. “What about the--”

“Coast’s clear. Any of the Gunners we didn’t kill ran off.” Amelia smiled. “Quincy’s ours again.”

#fallout 4 #preston garvey #preston garvey x sole survivor #preston garvey x f!sole survivor #revolutionary #update #my writing

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years ago

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Lethobenthos || Mike Hanlon x Reader

⊳ Ch. 2: The Butcher's Daughter⊲

A/n: on the off chance that y'all know about butcher shops and meat or whatever, im so sorry cause even though i did a bunch of research, I know it's still pretty inaccurate so please don't come for me 😂 EDIT: I am crying cause I have 950 followers 🥺🥺🥺 I love each and every one of you guys, thank you so much babes 💞

Warnings: Alv*n Marsh being Alv*n Marsh. He briefly leers at reader. There's no comment, but it still needs a warning i feel. Also, long ass chapter. I truly don't know how to write short chapters, yall. Brief mention of animal death (natural causes) and signs of a PTSD attack. Marker for PTSD attack will be labeled [●●●]. Safe reading loves

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

- 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟗 -

ℕ𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 of Costello Avenue Market, sandwiched between Terry's Barber Shop and one of the finer footwear retailers in town, was Derry's very own, Quality Meats. A quaint little shop - as quaint as butcher shops come, that is - right smack in the middle of the street, just across the road from the Capitol Theater. It was always a treat for Y/n L/n when the annual fourth of July parade was in full swing, she always had the best seat in the house from her bedroom window. It sat just above the shop, and truly had the best view overlooking the street. But the parade was weeks away, and it couldn't come soon enough.

For now, she was stuck in her daily routine at her father's butchery. Every morning it was her job to prep the shop before it opened, check the stock, and assure that everything was in order. Her father oversaw the shop but most of his time was devoted to preparing and tending to the meat in the back. This also left the task of receiving, inspecting, and storing meat upon delivery to her.

Her favorite part of the week. Because it meant seeing her favorite person, Mike Hanlon. He was the delivery boy who supplied some of their best selections, straight from the famous Hanlon Homestead. But this was not what thrilled her, what thrilled her was the company of the thoughtful boy. They had met the previous year when her father had hired him for deliveries, Mike had just taken up work at his grandparent's farm and the two quickly hit it off.

Mike was her saving grace. She never had the stomach for her father's work, and despite their weekly heated arguments on the matter, she'd get stuck with the tasks. At the very least, he didn't force her to work in the back in the meat locker. Not anymore. He had learned that lesson the hard way when he dragged her in despite her kicking and squirming - he figured she was just being dramatic, throwing a fit. But low and behold, it all ended with him clearing out the locker for sterilization when she got sick.

Now the only times she ever stepped foot inside was to get to the back door, which is something she didn't do - something she couldn't do - without plugging her nose and blocking out her peripheral vision as she slipped through the back door to greet her best friend.

An occasion, she feared, that she faced as she glanced impatiently at the clock on the wall for the fourth time on this hot June day. Mike was usually pulling up outside the store by now, hell, she clocked out at four to spend time with Mike and it was already three forty-five. Well, three forty-eight according to the shop's clock which one could always rely to be just three minutes fast no matter how much you reset it.

From her spot behind the counter, she had a limited view of the sidewalk outside. A variety of people passed, but none of them were Mike, the person she most wanted to see. And it certainly didn't help that a crowd of people were bunching up near the door, blocking her view of the window.

Three sharp notes from the counters bell broke her from her trance, throwing her harshly back to reality. A rather intimidating man stood on the other side of the counter, he was quite tall and everything about him put Y/n on edge.

"Sorry sir," Y/n mumbled, not feeling very sorry at all. "How can I help you, today?"

The man seemed to rethink his anger, though she would have preferred it over the new look on his leathery face. A wry smile stretched his lips and Y/n did not fail to notice his wandering gaze, only proving her first impressions to be correct. She felt her skin crawl and she did not fight the disgusted look cementing on her face.

"Just don't let it happen again, sweetheart. Now listen up, I'm in a hurry," Christ, she thought, even his voice is unnerving. "I need a pound and a half of the ground round beef."

"Right away, sir," she says, through gritted teeth. "One moment,"

Y/n hated when people ordered when her father was in the back, even though it happened often. Not just because she despised such tasks as grinding the meat and preparing it, but talking to the customers was never a favorite of hers. This was a fine example why.

Instead, she slipped into the back where they kept their stock that wasn't on display and began preparing the meat with a wrinkled nose.

"Fucking creep," she mumbled.

She wished she could say this was the first time something like this had happened, but unfortunately, Derry was filled with scummy people. Something did seem familiar about him though, she might have seen him here before. It'd make sense, Quality Meats was the only butchers around for miles.

Deciding she didn't want to dwell on it any longer, her mind began to wander. Anything that wasn't the man waiting out front really, thankfully that was easy enough. Hopefully, the rest of her workday would go by much quicker so she could meet with Mike. He said he had a surprise for her, and she had been wondering about it all day. The very thought fills her stomach with butterflies. Well, Mike did that all on his own, anyway. He always brought out that side of her. A bubbly, giddy side of her that always seemed to lose any sense of time around him.

Just ten more minutes, she thought. Just power through.

With the order all prepared, she returns to the front counter to find the man leaning against the counter in boredom. Great, now I have to redo the counters, too. When he spotted her, he straightened up and gave her a disapproving once over.

"What took you so long? I'm in a hurry. Fixing your hair couldn't wait, or something?"

Oh, a sexist fucking creep, she mentally corrected herself.

A snarl curled its way onto her face, but before she could make a bitter remark her dad's voice boomed across the shop.

"Well, if it ain't Alvin Marsh," The man in question moved his attention to Y/n's father, and remarkably enough, a somewhat friendly smile appeared on his face. "Good to see ya,"

"You too, always a pleasure,"

Y/n watched the exchange with shocked uncertainty. It frankly appalled her that this man was capable of being friendly, and even in such limited time in his presence. More importantly, she wondered, how could her father know this man? Why would her father know this man? Everything about this Alvin Marsh guy set her teeth on edge, and the only word coming to her mind for how to describe him was... slimy.

"So," the butcher asked, gesturing around the shop. "is there anything I might be able to help you with? Or has my daughter taken care of you, already?"

Y/n watched with great disdain as the man returned to her with another pointed look, glancing down at the packaged meat ready to go. He looks as if he's mulling it over, and finally, he clicks his tongue.

"Sure," he nods, looking back to her father, chuckling dryly with one elbow back on the counter. "when she found the time,"

"Ah, I see," He nods, sending a disapproving look to his daughter.

"Y/n," he sighs, nodding in the direction of the back of the shop, still a stern look upon his face. "Go wash up and clock in early, I'll take care of Mr. Marsh, and the rest."

Her mouth parted, ready to argue - not out of disappointment, for there was none, but to defend herself - when her father cut her off with a warning look.

"Now?"

She sighed heavily, her head rolling with her eyes as her arms snaked around to her back to untie her apron. At least she didn't have to pretend to care anymore now that she was technically off the clock. Her feet dragged across the ground subconsciously showing her frustration. As she made her way to the back when she heard that godawful grating voice again.

"Unbelievable, isn't it? There's just no respect anymore."

Y/n rolls her eyes when she hears her father chuckle. She sighs as turns the corner and hangs her apron up.

"Yeah, I got one of my own at home. Gorgeous little one, feisty too. But one hell of a mouth. Real bitch sometimes,"

Wide-eyed, and seeing red, Y/n is unable to take any more and heads farther back, slamming the door behind her, not caring if she took the fall for it later. Hell, she just might take the meat locker over that. She's shaking with rage, and his words echo in her skull still as she washes her hands. Her hands begin to sting and she realizes she had lost herself in thought and was just about to wear her skin down under the water as she scrubbed. Y/n shook her head, killing the water and drying her hands when her mind finally manages to break away from the creep when she thinks of the time.

Fuck, it's already five!

Quickly, she heads for the door to the meat locker, her nose already plugged when she pushes it open. Luckily, these trips were always fairly quick given the back door to the ally was just a few steps away, but what she saw when she stepped inside completely threw her through a loop.

The back door was wide open.

Upon first glance, she figured her father had opened it, and even though that was the most logical explanation, it didn't make sense. He never left it open. Not when he wasn't there. He was a stickler about that. Her head whips around the locker, but she was the only one. Fighting the urge to take an anxious deep breath, she creeps forward and peers around the corner, not knowing what to expect.

Her E/C eyes widen happily and relieved when she realizes it was only Mike. But her happiness vanished just as soon as it had come when she saw the state he was in, nevermind the fact he was laying in the heap of recycling!

"Mike!"

He jumped as she stepped out into the light, the entrance to the meat locker was quite dark from where he sat. And before he knew it was her, all he had seen was something moving in the shadows towards him. Y/n felt her heart tighten at the sight, something clearly must have happened, and it must have been bad for him to be startled by her.

Not unlike herself, though, he seemed to calm significantly when he realized who he was in company with. And yet, he still wasn't speaking. His eyes just bore into the darkness of the entrance, still panting heavily. Thick beads of sweat slid down his face.

"Mike," she knelt beside him, subtly checking for any signs of injury. "what happened?"

"I..." he gulps, finally breaking his gaze away and looking at her. "don't know."

Her eyebrows raise a bit higher in question, and curiously she searches his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite the comfort of her gaze, he breaks himself away from it to look back into the dark abyss, fearing It would come back. Whatever It was. And as he does so, he swears he can still hear the rattling of the chains and the bleating of a goat, and the very very very back of his skull was the chilling sound of a clowns laugh.

"Mike?"

He realizes he hasn't answered her yet, and quickly he shakes his head 'no'.

"Here, let me help you," she rises to her feet, extending her hand.

He gladly takes it, and despite his lingering fear from his encounters, she still manages to send a spark through his skin just with her touch. Little did he know, she felt the same way. Y/n pulls him to his feet, and already, his attention is centering away from the locker and towards her. She's watching him carefully, and only now does he fully process the intensity of the worry held in her eyes.

"I-I think I'm okay," he stammers, chest still heaving with his labored breathing. "really."

Y/n nods after a moment, concluding he must be telling the truth. Over time she had picked up on Mike's body language, including all of his tells. For instance, she could usually tell when he was hiding something. He'd always tug or scratch at his ear. Or when he was lying, the ends of his lips would twitch up. Almost as if subconsciously offering a guilty smile before quickly suppressing it. But Y/n found no such thing, and she felt the muscles in her shoulders relax.

"Good," she sighs with a weak smile, her eyes falling to the ground. "Here,"

Her hand leaves his and immediately, they both miss each other's touch but say nothing of it. She steps around him and begins picking up the many packages of meat that had spilled out of the basket. He joins her, just as soon.

"Oh," he steals a glance at her, a small smile creeping up on him. "thanks."

It goes away just as fast, his heart still aches from how hard it had been beating. Y/n does not fail to notice his darting glances over her shoulder at the meat locker. They both rise to their feet, and Y/n casts a confused glance over her shoulder before turning back to him.

"Are you sure you're good, Mike? You don't seem yourself,"

He sighs, not entirely sure himself. His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, and his lips part to speak but the words die in his throat when he hears the sudden and obnoxious revving of an engine nearby. He flinches, head jerking in the direction of the sound.

A ghostly expression washes over Y/n, and her anger visibly rises in seconds.

"Was it Bowers, again?" She scoffs, just enraged at the thought of him and she even begins to stammer as she grasps for an insult, anger clouding her brain."That-That bigoted fucking... dickhole!"

She stomps her foot and huffs, unable to properly deal with the overwhelming amount of anger and exhaustion building up in her. Mike looks at her with the tiniest hint of a bemused expression. His brow shot up and he almost felt a chuckle come out. Almost.

"Dickhole?"

"I know, I know," She chuckles dryly, the ends of her lips twitching up. "Shut up,"

The chuckle in his chest breaks loose and he feels as if another piece of stress has been chipped away. A long process in the making, but it was better now that she was here. Mike had yet to find out, the same went for Y/n. Mike placed the packages he had collected thus far back into his basket and Y/n popped her head back inside to grab a small bin by the door. She brought the small container over, placing the few packs of meat she carried inside and the two filled it in a matter of seconds. Any trace of a smile has fallen off her face as she looks back up at her best friend, shrugging.

"Well, he is," she defends. "All of them are. They're wrong in the head, Mike,"

"Can't argue with that," He shrugs, sending a grimace down the alleyway where the Bowers gang had just disappeared. "Need any help?"

"Nah, I got it. Thanks though," she grabs the bin, holding it against her frame and sends him a short smile. "Be right back,"

He answers with a curt nod, his sweaty palms unknowingly rubbing against his jeans out of nervous habit. She disappears back into the darkness, and Mike immediately feels the weight her absence leaves. The guard she had coaxed down had returned, plaguing his mind as several scenarios spiral out in his brain.

He couldn't tell her about the clown, he'd sound crazy! Hell, maybe he was. At least that's a what small voice told him in the back of his head, but deep down he knew what he saw was real. Real to him. Shaking that terrifying image from his brain would be harder than he thought.

Don't forget the turtle.

Mike shook his head, bewildered at the intrusive reminder his brain sent him. It was a strange sensation like the thought was not his own. It was a gentle voice speaking directly to his subconscious like a radio with interference. And yet, it didn't frighten Mike. Not at all like the dark, intrusive thoughts that had been occurring lately. This was soothing and gentle. Nonetheless, the message sent his hand flying for his pockets.

Relief swept over him when he felt the small lump in his right pocket where the gift resided. He smiled to himself at the thought of giving it to Y/ n. He had been working on it all year, a small wooden turtle he had carved himself in the many free moments he had stolen on his grandparent's farm. Mike couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment he had decided to make a turtle, or that it would come to be such a big secret he would keep until he could give it to her. He had just sat down one day and started carving as if something had compelled him to do so.

And now here he was, ready to give her the small carved necklace. Mike was quite proud of it, not only was it his first carving but he had managed to secure it nicely in a thin - but sturdy - string of twine. Mike takes the time to spare a glance at the darkened doorway where his best friend disappeared, before his hand descends into his pocket, his heart hammering against his chest. His hand fishes amongst the pocket of denim and lint where his fingers find the cool touch of wood and twine. He pulls out the necklace and it dangles in the air as he carefully inspects it.

Was the twine fastened tight enough? Was the belly of the shell smooth enough where it would rest comfortably on her chest without splintering? Most importantly... Would she like it?

He sure hoped she would, given her connection to the reptile. She spoke often of it, the turtle that visited her dreams. Y/n never thought much of it, it had become merely a topic of conversation meant only for small lulls but she did find it funny the reoccurring figure. She described it as being the same turtle somehow, and it was never a threatening presence but a calm one. Like a guardian almost. It was a small and silly feeling that abandoned her by the time she was up and awake but little did she - or Mike - know just how deep the connection ran.

These were all thoughts that flooded Mike's mind but he quickly has to put them and himself at ease. The hiss of the airlock to the meat locker and the backroom reached his ears and quickly he stuffed the necklace back into his pockets. When Y/n returns, looking far less than relaxed do all of his previous worries evaporate into the humid summer air. His hardened stare never leaves her troubled frown as she locks up the side door, all the while he grabs his bike.

The pair falls into a comfortable silence as they head for the back of the alley where Y/n's bike was hidden. All that hung in the air was her defeated sigh that had accumulated after a long and stressful day, and the buzzing of cars as they passed by on the main road behind them. His worries now gone in the wake of her newfound stress he pulls up a curious brow as he walks his bike alongside her.

"Rough day?"

Y/n laughs dryly, nodding to her best friend as they round the corner and picks up her bike. "You could say that."

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The town of Derry was quaint and rather cozy upon first glance. Quite a charming spot on the map with its snug downtown streets filled with local businesses such as Quality Meats. And one couldn't help but admire the long and beautiful running waters of the Kenduskeag stream that bled out from the Penobscot River, under the town and out into the Barrens stretching past the old train yard. The Barrens were the stretch of woods just outside of town.

And it was precisely these woods that the pair had found solace in the cruel and evil world they called their home. Months after their meeting, they had both explored the Barrens and to their luck, they had stumbled upon the Fort. The Fort was what Y/n and Mike called the large pit they had discovered past the train yard and just over the stream. You had to swing across an old rope swing they had found, but that made journey all the more fun. They almost hadn't seen the Fort behind the fallen trees walled around and piled over the top.

The way the trees had fallen it had created a rather spacious room just below the earth. When inside, one could see through the branches slats and out into the rest of the Barrens without being easily spotted. It made the perfect hideout from those who wished to see them harmed, and it also made a wonderful makeshift amphitheater. It was often they would look up from their conversations and see the wildlife walking around just feet away, still unaware of their presence.

This is where they found themselves now, deep amongst the thickets, far away from their everyday troubles. It wasn't until they had abandoned their bikes at the stream to cross and venture deeper inside did they finally feel the effects of the change in scenery. At long last, the weight that settled on their hearts and troubled minds began to evaporate slowly as they inhaled the fresh and pleasantly overwhelming aroma of pine and fresh dirt. It blended perfectly with the dewy oak that hung in the air after the past week's summer storm, as did the gentle breeze that managed to reach them after a long journey through the trees.

The sight of the Fort puts the last of their darkest thoughts to bed - for now. The crunching of twigs is the only sound that reaches their ears as they approach their haven. It is then that it occurs to Y/n, the birds have stopped singing. Come to think of it, she hadn't heard any birds in weeks. It was quite unusual considering these woods of all places were where their song carried the loudest. It was as if they were all... hiding.

She realized even the atmosphere felt different, and not just in the Barrens. It had been a thought blooming in the back of her mind for the past few months; that the town had been cast into a dark shadow. While Y/n had lived in Derry all her life, it had always felt mysterious to her. But this was different, it was darker. Like a cloudless storm had rolled into Derry, with no intention of leaving.

Mike brought her from her trance, pulling her gaze back down to earth from where it was previously fixed on the treetops.

"I feel it, too."

"What do you think it is?" Y/n asks finally.

Mike's lips crease into a flat shrug, eyes flitting to the ground as his shoulders briefly rise.

"I don't know," he sighs, his gaze trailing up to where hers laid in the treetops as if expecting to see this so-called storm with his very eyes. "But it's nothing good,"

Her hardened frown turns back to the forest floor, blinking several times as she reached for a thought that was fast asleep in the farthest corner of her brain. It almost didn't even feel like a thought so much as a part of her brain itself. But it quickly dissipates as calm washes over her, taking with it any budding anxieties. She could almost laugh, none of this made sense. Y/n had been waiting all day to be here with Mike, and now she was.

Y/n wasn't going to let anything ruin that. Or so she hoped.

A coy smile plays at her lips as she picks up her pace towards the Fort, and swiftly she navigates through their hidden entrance. Her hopeful attitude is just infectious enough that it takes to Mike, and warmth blooms in his stomach as he quickly follows her. His feet bring him to the entrance of the Fort, and through the slats, he can see Y/n settling in.

The sight of her relaxing brought a small smile to Mike's face, and quickly he joined her inside. The welcoming effect of the Fort just as soon touched him as it had her, and never had he been more relieved to see the sight around him.

Soft light from the gas lantern bathed the small dome inside the earth, illuminating the many mossy branches perched above their heads. Several discarded wooden boards lay tucked into the dirt beneath their feet, creating makeshift wooden floors that had long been covered in several spare blankets they had brought. While the dome was just that, it was not a perfect circle. It was a bit uneven but this gave the pair the advantage of a single corner. This is where they kept the single beanbag they had managed to get their hands on.

It was just as they had left it, a warm and cozy corner of the world that belonged just to them. It smelled just as the forest around them, only more intensified in their close courters.

[●●●●]

Y/n stumbled away from the bean bag suddenly with a horrified shriek, her band coming to rest shakily over her mouth as she backed into the dirt wall behind her. Mike jumped to her side, eyes wide and fearful as his mind conjured every horrible possibility. The fear from the alley returned.

"What? What's wrong?"

A heavy sob was building in the far back of her throat, her wide e/c irises were beginning to dilate and her limbs trembled. Mike recognized within moments what had caused her such distress, having recognized an attack of hers like this only twice before. But the pain of seeing her so distraught was burned in his brain so he might never forget. His hand that had come to rest on her shoulder now brought her into his embrace. As she stumbled numbly into his arms he saw her eyelids screw shut, and several heavy tears were squeezed free.

"Hey," he whispered soothingly, his hand rubbing circles in her back. "Hey, it'll be okay. You're not there anymore, you're not there. You're not there..."

Slowly but surely her breathing becomes less ragged, and he can feel her head nodding into the crook of his neck as she takes in his words. Y/n's sniffles are loud in his ear but he couldn't care less. Mike just wanted her to be okay. He only now realizes he was still muttering sweet nothings into her ear as he feels his mouth grow dry.

"We're okay, Y/n. You're safe."

She takes a long and trembling breath that he can feel in the crook of his neck. Her breath brings out goosebumps on his skin but he quickly banishes the thought away in her troubled state. When she speaks, her voice is barely audible, even from beside his ear.

"Thanks, Mike,"

All he can find himself doing is pressing a flat smile to his lips, his eyes glazing over sadly at the limp pigeon in the corner behind the beanbag. The sight brings a strong and forceful wave of sadness that washes over him, but he knows it is not quite the same kind of sadness as she is experiencing. Finally, after almost twenty minutes have passed, she breaks away, sniffling.

Mike feels the weight on his heart triple in size when she pulls away to reveal her puffy eyelids. The whites of her eyes are laced with red veins, and her trembling lips let loose a few shaky breaths. Immediately, she does all she can to wipe away the tears, but the evidence of her sadness remains. She shakes her head, disappointed in letting herself show this side and chuckles bitterly as she clutches her aching chest.

[●●●●]

"I'm sorry,"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "Don't do that, okay? You should never apologize for this. For feeling anything. You have your own baggage, just like everyone else."

She chews the inside of her lip in a nervous habit, heat creeping up in her neck.

"Sor-"

He eyes her warningly, and she bites back a sheepish smile and clears her throat. "Okay."

He studies her for a moment, not aware he is even doing so as her swollen eyes trail sadly across the room where the pigeon lays. He can hear a mournful whine building in her throat before he cleared his own with a somber expression.

"It's okay, I'll take care of 'em."

A weak, thankful smile flickers across her face and she watches thoughtfully as he rises and crosses the fort to the pigeon. He grabs one of the spare towels they kept around - sometimes the old rags they spread across the wooden grates would need a quick replacement, as they discovered the hard way - and knelt before the limp bird. Y/n finally rises to her feet decidedly and slips past Mike and outside the Fort without a word, a rusty trowel now in hand.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The pair now stood before a small lump in the dirt, their heads pulled down with gravity as they stare at their feet. After Y/n had dug a small grave, Mike had buried the old pigeon, and the two had managed a small eulogy. Hosting a small funeral for a pigeon is certainly not what the two had envisioned their day would look like, but oddly enough, it was cathartic for both of them.

Mike was hardly old enough to remember his parent's funeral. The same could be said for Y/n, and like Mike, she hadn't exactly been emotionally or mentally present for her mother's funeral, for when the time came she had still been in quite the state of trauma. Y/n didn't like to talk about it, and in their year of friendship Mike had only recently found out, but she had been the one to find her mother's body as a very young child. So it was no surprise the familiar sight of the limp body brought her such distress.

As her glassy eyes stare numbly at the mound in the dirt she feels a soft yet somehow calloused hand slip into her own, giving her palm a light squeeze. Her head feels heavier than normal in her crestfallen state, she notices, as she picks her stare up off the ground to look at Mike. He wears a small and gentle smile for her and gestures past her head towards the Fort that lies beyond only a few feet.

"C'mon. We should settle in before it gets too much later."

Her thumb flitters across his skin in response, and she nods. The two of them make their way back to their hideaway, the sounds of the earth beneath their feet filling the pensive silence once more. When they enter, her eyes flicker to the seat she was previously ready to occupy. A small shudder passes through her and she instead chooses the pile of blankets across the cramped room.

Mike settles in beside her, his hands flying back to his pockets again to ensure the turtle remained on his person. Sure enough, the small wooden necklace could be felt floating amongst his things inside his pocket. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, one she would have caught had she not distracted herself with the task of fishing out their stored away activities. A deck of cards was pulled from the small and rusty tin lunchbox they kept there for storage, soon to follow was an equally rusty - and rather dusty - silver spoon. Y/n shrugs with the spoon in hand.

"We could play Spoons or something?" Y/n suggested half-heartedly, her eyebrows falling into a curious frown. "Or was there something else you wanted to play?"

He gulps nervously though he doesn't quite understand why he was even nervous in the first place, it was Y/n! Then again, all the more reason for his heart to be aflutter... It was Y/n.

His sweaty palms return to his jeans and he wipes them anxiously hoping to keep his hands dry, and he sends her a weak and nervous smile.

"I um," he cleared his throat, and she emptied her hands, curiously turning all her attention to him. "I uh, wanted to show you something I made?"

"Oh," she says, a bit taken aback. "Yeah, okay. What is it?"

Any and all responses he had gone over previously in his mind vanished into thin air, leaving him speechless. All he could do at that moment was fish into his pockets, his fingers lacing around the string as he pulled out the necklace. It dangles in the air, the soft golden light from the lamp beside them illuminated the many grooves engraved into the wood that created the illusion. It sways back and forth before their eyes, but his gaze is set not on the turtle but her.

Her eyes had widened in reverence, and he could feel his heart swell with pride. She shakes her head in disbelief, the ends of her lips tugging up in a smile.

"This is incredible, Mike!"

He can feel a heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears that could rival the summer sun. His grin widens bashfully.

"Thanks," he says, gesturing towards her with the necklace, inwardly cursing at himself for this moment not going as smoothly as he had hoped. "It's, uh. It's yours. I made it for you. This was the surprise I was telling you about."

Her attention is on him now, and he can feel his heart skip a beat. He notices that the swelling in her eyes has gone down a little, but the smallest of beads pool in her eyes. She was welling up a bit.

"Mike," she breathes. "Thank you. I... Don't know what to say, I feel like "thank you" isn't enough."

He shrugs as she takes the necklace into her hands to examine it more closely, her thumb tracing the shell of the wooden reptile as she gapes fondly at it. Unbeknownst to Mike, her stomach won't stop its series of flips. Finally, she looks back up at him, and he's happy to see the first genuine spark of glee in her eyes he had been longing to see all day. The pride in his chest grows even bigger knowing he had been the one to make her feel better, even if it was only a little.

"I love it." She says finally.

Y/n takes the necklace by the twine, parting it in two as she brings it to her neck. Her eyes are travel across the fort as her tongue pokes out from between her lips thoughtfully as she attempts to secure the necklace in place. She struggles for several moments, muttering a few frustrations to herself as she fumbles to tie the knot properly without it slipping from her fingers first. Seeing this, his own stomach doing a flip, Mike scoots himself closer and gestures to her neck.

"Here, let me," he offers.

A heat rages up from her neck and to her cheeks and ears, not unlike Mike had moments ago but she complies and turns herself so he can reach the back of her neck. He takes the twine from her hands, their fingertips grazing briefly creating a matching storm of butterflies in their stomach. And as Mike sets to work on the knot, neither of them can see the brilliant grins stretching across their faces that they wished to hide from the other.

"There you go," he mutters shakily, praying she can't hear his voice wavering.

She does, but it only sends her heart racing faster. She mumbles a 'thanks' as she turns back around, and sends him another thankful smile as she simpers down at the turtle that now hung from her neck. Already her fingers had snuck up to her neck to fiddle with the turtle, and a warmth washes over her.

Y/n does not know whether it was her nearly intoxicating feelings for Mike, his kindness, the reassuring presence of the turtle, or perhaps all of the above, but she now felt a great deal better. It was as if a great weight had been taken off of her shoulders, the banishing of great unease as she wore the necklace now. Perhaps it was all in her mind, but Y/n rather enjoyed the strength the gesture had brought her.

And maybe, just maybe, Y/n could take on whatever the future might throw at her.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Black Lives Matter m resources, what you can do to help. Link in the comments below, can be accessed on any computer.

Support black owned businesses! There's this great app shared by @lovechlmt on Twitter, which I found on a post from Tumblr but either way I downloaded the app and it is a great way to find black owned businesses in your area! Please download and use if you can! It is called Black Nation

As I've heard, there is a wonderful website that provides therapy specifically for black and other poc, so you can speak to someone who shares your experiences and can truly get you the help you so deserve. Particularly black women. Its a simple url: therapyforblackgirls.com

Here's the description provided from @ madamblack on tumblr for the info:

"This reminds me, if y'all haven’t heard of therapyforblackgirls.com please visit if you need a therapist. You can search by mental health need, location/distance, insurance, etc. I believe there are some that provide a sliding scale payment method for those without insurance.

If you’re not quite ready to make the jump, there is a podcast you can listen to as well as articles and links to help answer some of your questions about mental health and/or therapy.

The purpose, as I understand it, is to provide a place where black women can go to find culturally sensitive therapy. Some specialize in family/couples as well.

Take a look."

[Link]

I'd also like to provide additional resources that were added on to this source, this being a collection of free therapy resources found by @ ntbx on tumblr:

[Link]

As well as Black Minds Matter UK resource from @ girthcobain on the very same post.

[Link]

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Taglist:

@loversclwb @bibliophilesquared

Let me know if you would like to be added!

#lethobenthos #mike hanlon x reader #mike hanlon x you #chapter two the butcher's daughter #mike hanlon rewrite #MH rewrite #it reader insert #it reader rewrite #mike hanlon #chosen jacobs #derry maine #you'll float queue

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iron--spider · 5 years ago

Text

all the world’s a stage (whumptober - stay with me)

Tony takes uneasy steps.

He’s in an auditorium, no—he’s in a theater, and it seems to warp around the edges of his eyes when he tries to look around, hiding its secrets from him, phasing in and out of his vision like a trick. He wishes Strange was here—Strange could portal him to where he wanted to be, stop all the bullshit. He wishes he had a fucking suit.

His mouth tastes like metal, but he’s not bleeding.

He has the inclination to talk to Friday, to demand an outline of the building, signs of life, where the fucking bad guy is—who is he after again?—but he’d just be bitching out into the void, because it’s just him, just flesh and blood, just human weakness. He doesn’t even have a gun.

All he knows is that he has to find them. He has to find them—them, which them, who—Pepper. Pepper, Rhodey, Happy. And Peter. Peter. He’s gotta protect the kid.

(the kid can protect himself, but not now, not right now, something’s wrong, Tony knows it)

Jesus, Tony’s head hurts. He feels like his limbs are locking up, and he’s gotta stay loose, he’s gotta stay alert.

The first one he runs across is Happy. He’s splayed out on the ground in the main lobby, and the place looks like it’s been through an explosion, black burn streaks on the walls and all over the ground. Happy’s got blood on his face, running across his eyebrow. Tony rushes over, kneeling next to him, helping him sit up. They both groan, and Tony feels like his own heartbeat is being played over loudspeakers. Booms like earthquakes.

“Hap,” Tony says, supporting the back of Happy’s head. “What the hell is going on, are you alright? Jesus—”

“Tony,” Happy says, latching onto Tony’s arm, wincing. “You gotta keep going—”

“Keep going?” Tony asks, narrowing his eyes. He feels insane, he’s gotta take care of this—whatever the hell is happening. He wets his lips. “You’re bleeding, big man, where’s everybody else? I can’t—” He shakes his head, and he’s just about done with this shit, because he can’t remember why he’s here, what’s going on, who he’s chasing. And now Happy’s hurt, and the others—he knows the others are here too, he doesn’t know why he knows but he knows, and it feels like alarm bells are going off, like there are hands all over him. Blinking red lights. He gets a flash of whiteness, of brightness, and he feels like he’s sinking. Quicksand. Like he can’t breathe. “Happy,” Tony says, trying to refocus. “Talk to me, talk to me, we gotta get the hell outta here, where’s everybody else?”

“Tony, I’m—I’m okay,” Happy says. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and he looks far from okay. “Shit, he rattled my brain in my head, but I’m—I’m alright. I’m alright.”

Tony remembers when he almost lost him, years back, before whatever year they’re in now—he remembers the sterility of that hospital, how Happy looked lying there, the dark welts and bruises—Tony swallows hard, tightens his grip on him.

“You need to keep looking,” Happy says. “Pep, Rhodey, the kid—they’re all here. They’re trapped.”

That sends some kind of potent horror through Tony’s chest, and he nods, helping Happy to his feet. “Get outside,” Tony says, holding steady eye contact. “Call the others in—Steve, Nat, Clint—get Bruce to Hulk out, I don’t care, just get them here. Whoever you can, whoever answers.”

Happy nods, gives him a long look, and then he goes, heading for the exit.

It’s like time skips, and Tony gets another flash of whiteness, gets another taste of metal, like it’s coating his tongue. Fresh paint. He feels like he’s sinking in acid, his skin eating away, and he looks down at his hands—they’re still there, everything’s still normal. He’s here, he’s here, solid, scared. Fear prickles all over him, and he doesn’t wanna be afraid like this when his people need him.

He’s standing in the middle of the aisle now, inside the theater itself. The ground looks old, the chairs moth-eaten, the once grand lights creaking and swinging, like they’re ready to come crashing down.

The whole place is crumbling.

“What the fuck is going on?” he mutters, trying to get that taste out of his mouth.

“Tony,” Pepper’s voice says.

Tony turns around on the spot, ears pricked up, chills running through him. “Pep?” he calls. “Pep? Pep? Where are you?” He turns around again, and doesn’t see her anywhere, his heart raging and dipping, stuttering—metal, metal in his mouth. An ache at the base of his skull. His arms heavy and useless, chopped and wrenched from his body.

“Pepper!” he yells, voice rough with emotion and the grit of his fear. Then he sees her—he takes a few harried steps towards the stage—and he’s horrified.

She’s supporting Rhodey, who’s barely walking on his own two feet, and it looks like she’s—it looks like she’s burned, her clothes ripped in a few places, her skin charred and blistering.

“Baby,” he breathes, out of his own accord, and he stumbles over to her and Rhodey, unsure who to touch first. He’s useless, he’s fucking useless, and he needs backup, he needs backup yesterday. He grabs Pepper’s arm, somewhere there isn’t a wound, and Rhodey’s shoulder, quickly lowering them to the ground.

“What happened?” Tony whispers, too afraid to raise his voice, though he wants to, he wants to start wailing—for help, in pain, and his stomach is pangs of panic. “Pep, what—”

She leans her forehead on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around her, still holding onto Rhodey with his other hand. “There was a fire,” she says, breathing deeply, like she’s still recovering from it. “He fell, he fell so far, and I could barely get out of it—”

“Rhodey,” Tony says, and he reaches over, tips Rhodey’s chin up with his hand. “Look at me, c’mon—”

“We were in the rafters,” Pepper says, and she shoves herself closer to him, wincing. “He was everywhere, Tony, he’s—I don’t know about this guy—”

“Rhodes, eyes up,” Tony says, a little more assertive, his heart in his throat now.

“Tones, I’m—I’m okay—”

Tony wilts a little bit, dizzy and swaying, and he glances over the two of them, trying to take it all in, and the more he looks, the sicker he feels. He’s gotta get them out of here, how the fuck can this be happening, he’s gotta get them safe, he’s gotta get them safe—

“You two gotta go,” Tony says, looking up and around, trying to make sure they aren’t gonna get ambushed. “Is the building still on fire?”

“No,” Pepper says, still nuzzling into his neck, and he doesn’t wanna let go of her, of either of them. Rhodey, falling—shit, that can’t happen again, that cannot happen—and a fucking fire, Pepper hurt—Tony can’t think, he can’t, he needs his damn suit—

“Okay, Pep, can you get him out of here?” Tony asks, leaning away a bit so he can look at her. Jesus, she’s got so many burns, some covering her arms like a charcoal sheet, and Tony feels like he’s gonna throw up. “You got a straight shot, honey, go right up the aisle and into the lobby, out the door, get as far away from this place as possible. I sent Happy the same way.”

“Did you call for backup?” Rhodey asks, looking up and meeting his eyes. He doesn’t look good. His eyes are bloodshot, unfocused, and Tony is this close to dissolving into hysterics. Everyone here, everyone that’s hurt, missing, are the closest people to him. The most important people in his life. He can’t picture the fucking bad guy’s face, though he knows he’s seen him. He’s stepped in shadow. He’s threatening everything Tony holds dear, and Tony can’t fucking stand for that shit.

“I did,” Tony says, grabbing onto both of them and straining to get them back to their feet. “Or, I told Happy to, which is just as good.”

“I don’t like you in here on your own,” Pepper says. “I don’t wanna leave you—”

“You gotta,” Tony says, and he leans in, presses a long kiss to the corner of her mouth. She’s still hot all over, and he’s terrified. “I gotta go find the kid. Go straight out, I’ll be right behind once I have him—”

“Tony,” Rhodey says, clearly trying not to put all of his weight on Pepper as Tony urges them forward, towards the door. “This guy, he’s—”

Tony hears white noise over the next few words out of Rhodey’s mouth, a high pitched tone going off in his ears. He steps closer to them, trying to listen, but he only hears thrashing, sees the flashes of white again. He thinks he hears voices coming from the walls. His own body trembling, even though he’s not, even though he’s—standing here. Still.

He tastes the metal. He wants to watch them go, wants to make sure they’re safe, but his head throbs like something hard hit him, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight. The world is all darkness, the kind of darkness that ate at him before he woke up and found a hole in his chest, the kind that shakes like electrocution, and he needs a suit, he needs a suit, this asshole, whoever he is, he did something to this place, did something to Tony—

He opens his eyes when he hears Peter’s voice.

He’s backstage now, and this looks worse—water stained walls, moldy curtains falling, wires tangled up like spider webs. But there’s—there’s a massive glass tank in front of him, full of water, and he sees Peter himself standing at the top of a moldering ladder behind it. His hands are cuffed in front of him, and he’s breathing hard, fear in his eyes.

There’s someone shadowy behind him, a hand on his shoulder.

“Let him go, asshole,” Tony says, tremors in his voice. All the others are out. They’re safe, but Peter—Peter’s in danger, and Tony doesn’t have a suit. This is all on a hair trigger. He could fuck it up. He could fuck it up, and Peter could—no, Tony can’t think about that. It can’t happen. Not again. “Let him go, take me.”

“No, Tony—” Peter starts, but then the shadowy dickhead yanks him backwards by his hair.

Tony takes a step forward without thinking about it, in pure rage.

Then he sees the man’s face.

It’s—it’s him. It’s himself. It’s him, Tony fucking Stark, and the doppelgänger grins when he sees confusion pass over Tony’s face. The double looks at Peter menacingly. He doesn’t say anything, nothing at all. The silence is thick and stifling.

“What the hell is this?” Tony yells, his mind jumping to all kinds of conclusions, his heart skipping beats. His doppelgänger has a Cheshire grin, and it unnerves Tony, especially with him so close to Peter.

And then he dumps Peter into the water, slamming the top closed.

“No!” Tony yells, watching the water fill with bubbles as Peter thrashes around. Tony weaves around the tank, tries to chase after the doppelgänger, but he’s nowhere to be found, lost in the shadows like he was before. Tony curses to himself, freaking the fuck out, and he rushes up the ladder, one of the rungs breaking under his feet. He keeps going. “Hold on, kid, hold on,” Tony yells, wondering if Peter can even hear him—

The top is locked. Tony tries and he tries and he tries to peel it up, but he fucking can’t because he’s not strong enough—

Metal, blood in his mouth—

He jumps down, moving back around to the front of the tank, and he sees Peter slamming his wrists into the glass, trying to break it. Tony nods, not watching the way Peter is holding his breath, like a child at a swimming pool—and he glances around, finds a crowbar on the ground, covered in a fine sheen of dust. Tony grabs it, rushes back, starts hitting the same point on the glass that Peter’s working on.

A flash of white walls. Talking. Static.

“Stay with me, Pete,” Tony says, slamming the end of the crowbar into the glass, over and over and over. “Stay with me, stay with me.”

Peter keeps hitting it too, with the hardness of the handcuffs, but then a line of bubbles comes out of his mouth. His eyes go wide, his brows furrowed, his blows getting a little less forceful. But he’s still trying. Over and over and over.

“No, no, no,” Tony says, hitting harder, harder. That tone goes off in his ears again, just loud enough that he can still hear himself pleading. “Fucking no, no, no way. Stay with me, Peter, c’mon, kid, c’mon.”

Peter’s body convulses once, and he paws at the glass with both hands.

The world shakes at the edges of Tony’s vision, darkening. He can only see Peter.

“Come on, goddamnit, break,” Tony says, slamming into the glass harder, harder, watching it splinter under the crowbar’s hits.

Peter’s eyes are full of fear, and Tony feels like his heart is gonna explode. This can’t happen it can’t happen, and the kid shudders again, one hand reaching for his own throat, the other straining against the handcuffs, still trying to reach for Tony. He trembles, wincing. He convulses again, his mouth gaping open.

Tony knows what drowning feels like. He’s been water boarded. And this is so much fucking worse. Peter is in pain. He’s dying. Right in front of him.

There are tears in Tony’s eyes but he keeps working, keeps working, because it can’t happen, it can’t, he can’t lose Peter, he can’t lose him—

Static. Agony. Buzzing. Darkness, in and out.

Peter just floats there, unmoving, eyes open wide.

Tony’s soul shatters. He knows. He knows. But it can’t be, it can’t. It can’t be. Not him, not again. “No, no,” Tony breathes, gasping. “No, no, no, please.”

He keeps working and working until the glass breaks and the water floods out in a wave, Peter along with it. He’s limp as a ragdoll, and Tony falls to his knees, gathering him up in his arms.

“Stay with me, Pete, c’mon, you can’t—you can’t—” Tony’s trembling fingers try and find Peter’s pulse, but there’s nothing, no heartbeat, no hope, none at all. Peter’s face is slack, eyes unmoving, unfocused.

“No,” Tony sobs, touching his cheek. His kid, his Peter. He’s gone, he’s gone, and Tony can’t do shit. He never could. He did this to him.

“Kid, stay with me, please.”

Metal in his mouth. A wave of darkness. The world collapsing in on itself.

It’s all too fast.

“Stay with me, Pete,” Tony whispers, his head lolling back and forth on the pillow.

Everyone is still rushing around, especially Bruce and Helen, but Peter moves in closer to Tony’s side, listening hard.

“Did you hear him?” Peter asks, glancing up at Pepper, who’s sitting across the bed, trying to stay out of the way.

“What?” Pepper asks, concern in her eyes. “Did he say something?”

Helen walks over, injecting something into Tony’s IV. She quickly moves away, her flats clicking on the tile floor. She and Bruce meet in the middle, going over something on Bruce’s tablet.

“Stay with me, kid, c’mon,” Tony whispers, clearer this time.

“He’s calling for you,” Pepper says, brows drawn taut. “Go over there—Bruce, Peter’s gonna hold his hand.”

“Okay,” Bruce says, fast.

Peter rolls his chair over, and quickly picks Tony’s hand up, placing it in his own. He’s been so afraid, since this all started, but this is the first time Tony’s said anything. And it’s about him.

“Kid,” Tony whispers.

Peter’s heart does something between soaring and sinking, and he doesn’t know what the hell to do.

“We’re about to give him oxygen,” Bruce says. “What we just gave him should start to counteract the poison, but it’s gonna take a while to get him back.”

“Why do you think he’s worried about me?” Peter asks, looking up at Pepper. “I was—I was nowhere near the contamination zone, he made sure of that.”

“He’s always worried about you, Peter,” Pepper says, softly.

Peter sighs. It had just been a regular bullshit mission. Heavily armed guys busting into some weird containment center. But then there was poison. Then Tony got injected, and Peter felt like the world was ending. Tony’s been out of it since, Bruce and Helen rushing around trying to figure out an antiserum, and Peter hasn’t left his side since they got here. Rhodey is out with Steve and Nat trying to cover cleanup, and every time the door opens, Peter sees Happy sitting outside. As if he’s standing guard.

“Pete, wake up,” Tony breathes, his eyebrows furrowing. “Please. Please, stay—stay with me.”

Peter scoots closer, his throat getting tight. “Tony, I’m right here,” he says, his voice breaking. “I’m right here, I’m okay. Just—just—you’re the one that needs to be okay, okay?” He shifts his mouth to the side, squeezing his hand. He hates seeing Tony like this. He doesn’t like for Pepper to see Tony like this.

He tries to stop himself from crying, and he leans down, resting his forehead on Tony’s arm.

“He’ll be alright, sweetheart,” Pepper says. “Helen and Bruce are gonna take care of it.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. He squeezes his hand again, and hates that this happens to them so often. It feels like he’s constantly living in fear of losing Tony. And vice versa.

He just wants him to wake up.

Tony groans, scrunching his eyes shut tight. He feels like he’s been fucking steamrolled—he’s mush, he’s pulp, he’s not anything resembling a human being.

He remembers watching Peter drown. In that tank. Right in front of him.

The whole thing felt so strange, so...off, but that pain, that—agony, of holding Peter’s dead body in his arms—Tony remembers that. He remembers every excruciating detail, and it makes him feel like he’s sinking. Rushing pressure crushing him.

He’s in a bed now, he knows that much. He turns his head to the right, feeling the tears already starting to gather, and he wipes at his eyes as he opens them. The first thing he sees is Pepper. And she’s—she’s fine. No burns, no wounds, no—no nothing.

“Tony,” she says, reaching out, smiling at him softly, tilting her head to look at him. She rubs his arm up and down. “Hey, babe.”

“You’re not burned,” Tony whispers, narrowing his eyes.

She looks at him strangely, shaking her head. “Burned?” she asks.

“You were,” he almost slurs, the pain in his head and everywhere else too much to bear. “You, and—and Rhodey—and Happy was—he was—Jesus, it was such a clusterfuck—”

“Honey, you were poisoned on the Halliston Inc. mission,” she says, her gaze intent. “You were—you were unconscious, delirious, I think you were having some kind of fever dream. You were out for a good six hours. We’re all okay. Everyone’s fine. Rhodey’s doing cleanup detail, with the press now, but he should be back soon. He’s checked in about a hundred times. And Happy’s right outside. He keeps thinking the whole thing was an excuse to get at you, so he’s standing out there ready to attack anybody that looks the wrong way.”

Tony stares at her. It feels too good to be true. “Peter,” he says. “I—I watched him die, I couldn’t—I couldn’t save him—” His breath catches when he remembers his own face, on the person holding Peter captive. Menacing and macabre. Like someone was parading around in his corpse.

Pepper shakes her head, fast.

Then Tony hears a voice.

“I’m right here,” Peter says, softly.

Tony turns, slowly, to the other side of his bed. Peter is sitting right there, with that look on his face like he’s afraid, his brows knitted together, breathing through his mouth. He manages a small little smile, his eyes getting wider when Tony really focuses on him.

It feels like the world is rebuilding itself. Like the sun is shining again, like everything he saw is falling down and disappearing into a thin mist. It felt so real and those feelings are still clinging to him, wrapping around his aching heart, but Peter is right here. He’s right here, he’s alive. Jesus, he’s alive.

“Kid, can you...can you c’mere?” Tony stammers, his eyes filling with tears again. “I’m—in desperate need of a hug from you right now.”

Peter smiles, bright and genuine, and he doesn’t waste any time closing the distance between them. Tony pushes himself up a little bit and then he’s got an armful of Peter, burying his face in Tony’s shoulder. Tony clutches at him, squeezing his eyes shut tight, and he cradles the back of Peter’s head, carding his fingers through his hair. The amount of relief he feels is enough to flood a desert, and he loves Peter, he loves him, this is his kid, his son, for all intents and purposes. He lost him once, it felt like he had lost him again, and like that—like that—

“It’s okay,” Peter says, squeezing Tony’s shoulder, rubbing his back. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Tony croaks. “You better be, Pete.”

Tony knows the dream, the nightmare, whatever the hell it was, it had to have meant something, the way it was set up, all the goddamn layers—feels like something Pepper told him about poetry once, a long time ago. But it also feels like something he shouldn’t feel anymore. The poison drawing up his own doubts inside of him. A Tony Stark Production.

They’re all okay. And Peter’s alive. He’s right here. Tony’s got him.

“Don’t worry,” Peter whispers. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”

Tony closes his eyes, and tries to remember how to breathe. Peter pulls back after a couple long moments, and Tony looks him up and down, to make sure this isn’t some sort of trick. Peter grabs his hand, holding it between both of his own.

“What was it?” Peter asks. “The—the dream, what—what happened to me?”

Tony doesn’t even wanna say it out loud. “Let’s just say, I’d like you to avoid any beach or pool trips for the near future.”

#tony stark #peter parker #whumptober #whumptober 2019 #my fics #iron dad #iron man #spider-man #TW drowning #pepper potts #happy hogan #james rhodes

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littlemisskookie · 6 years ago

Text

Hermes

Greek Gods Series Prologue Poseidon Aphrodite Ares Artemis Interlude Hades Hermes Zeus Ship: CrimeBoss!Taehyung | Assistant!Reader Description: Despite the circumstances you’re under, you’re offered the job of a lifetime to escape your dim life. Warnings: Triggering, Toxic Relationship, Domestic Abuse, Death, Mentioned Suicide, Drug Use, Violence, Dom!Tae, Intercourse, Orgasm Denial, Oral, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Overstimulation, Severe Angst, Cum Eating/Play? Word Count: 16,648 A/N: Finally, a long-awaited piece revealed!

Your boyfriend unrolled the sheet, showing only a syringe and a small tube of fluids. He placed the needle inside, pulling it up as the fluid entered the syringe's cylinder. You glared at the action, stopping your folding of his laundry as he aligned it with his inner elbow, aiming towards a vein.

"Do you really have to do that right here?" you grimaced, your lips in a tight line.

Kyungsoo glared at you, his stare deathly. "Why don't you just hop off my dick? You're lucky I don't stick you with this in your sleep- then you'd understand."

That was one of your fears, which was one of the many reasons you waited for him to sleep before you did. You could only stare silently as he injected the heroin into his arm, letting out a sigh as he closed his eyes in bliss. You wondered to yourself exactly how you got here.

You had a good family. You went to a public school and did well enough in school. Then came in Kyungsoo, residential bad boy. You were the only person he got close to, and you learned about how his aunt sexually abused him and his father beat him. You had gotten caught up in the fantasy of wanting to fix the bad boy, and you fell for his sweet caresses and gentle kisses, and how he'd tell you how he could only be himself around you. How you were the only one who knew the real him and didn't judge him for his hard exterior. How you were the only one who understood.

Your parents forbid the two of you from dating, but once you graduated you ran away with him, subsequently being disowned by your family. Now you stayed in a crummy apartment, not allowed to even go out to find a job, as your drug addicted boyfriend would go out selling drugs to pay for rent, though the two of you were so far in debt that it didn't matter anymore.

Drugs were the last thing you were willing to do with him. You had only smoked weed with him once when he snuck you into some underground club in your teenage years, but it wasn't your thing. Though Kyungsoo would only roll his eyes at your judgemental one. First, it was weed. Then it was cigs. Then it got to ecstasy. And then cocaine. Now he was on heroin, and you guessed the next thing he'd be on was bath salts. It was as though once the first drug didn't get him high enough, he'd move onto the next one. And then the process would repeat.

And there was nothing you could do to get out of the situation. Kyungsoo was all you had left. Your family would shun you if you came crawling back to them, and you couldn't live on the streets. You'd be homeless and have to resort to selling your body.

So you'd have to deal with your abusive, shit boyfriend until he choked on his own puke or overdosed. You hoped it was soon.

Kyungsoo placed the syringe and heroin back onto the sheet, rolling it back up, not even bothering to sterilize the needle. "I'll be heading out for the night, babe," he informed you.

Your eyes were wide. "What? It's the middle of the night, you've got to be kidding. You could be killed. There's nothing but gangsters and muggers out there."

Kyungsoo was quick to his feet, and soon you had his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing as though he were squeezing the trigger of a gun. He glared at you, eyes narrow as he gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw as he stared at you as though you were the scum of the earth. "What was that, bitch?" he asked. "Got something to say?"

He slid his hand up to your chin, allowing the air to flood back into your lungs. Your face was red, and you could do nothing but subvert your stare under his piercing gaze. You had a lot to say. You wanted to scream how you could've had a future if you hadn't met him. But you were too stupid and believed his lies and soft interior. You had gotten swept up in a fantasy, and now your adulthood had crushed you with a cruel reality. "No sir," you managed to squeak out.

He let go of you, but you could still feel his hands on the column of your throat, digging in sharply with his nails. You knew bruises would form over the faded ones, fresh and dark. The worst Kyungsoo had gotten was when he threw a chair at you, which resulted in you getting a black eye. You were only grateful it wasn't anything worse.

"You're lucky," Kyungsoo grunted, massaging his wrists. "Other boyfriends would pimp out their girlfriends to these bastards on the streets. But no, I treat you like a queen, and this is how you repay me. You should be grateful."

"Yes sir," you automatically echo, returning to your folding of garments.

You were frozen with fear, hands shaking despite the fact you should be used to this treatment. You heard the sound of his boots walking across the floor, and the door slammed behind him. Your shoulders stopped tensing, and you let out a breath of relief you didn't even know you were holding. You were shaking like a leaf, your eyes brimming with tears, and wondering to yourself if life was even worth living at all.

Your eyes were beginning to droop, but you were so pent up on cheap, bitter coffee that you couldn't sleep. You had practically trained your body to never fall asleep until Kyungsoo was asleep by your side. There were days he wouldn't even show up, and you were left half-crazed, unable to even behave normally from how sleep deprived you were. He was probably wasting money on some hooker or tripping on acid with some of his buddies. You didn't worry about him getting beaten up. He always carried a gun on him. But if he did get killed, you'd be doomed. He was your only form of stability.

You heard the rattle of the doorknob, and you bolted up. "Kyungsoo?" you called out.

The doorknob still rattled, and you wondered if he had lost his key again. You're about to get up to let him in when you hear booming thuds against the door. The wooden piece shakes, and you hear a crack as it gives out.

You panic, shrieking, running to your bedroom as you yank out drawers. You yank out a handheld gun, your arms shaky as you hold it out in front of you. Adrenaline courses through your veins and your vision gets blurry. You let out a shriek as you hear the unmistakable sound of the door slamming open, and several footsteps scurry into the room.

You're shaking so badly, and you had never been more afraid. Hopefully, they're just robbers- you had nothing of worth to steal anyway. You feared they were rapists or murderers, however, and all of the worst case scenarios start running through your head.

Your lips tremble as one of the men- whose face is concealed by a mask, walks towards you, the bedroom door open. He's wearing all black but looks like a blur from your fading vision. You let out shots, firing at the man, but because of all the adrenaline, your shaky hands, and bad vision, you miss badly.

He takes the gun from you, kneeing you in the stomach. You crumple to the ground, wincing as he grabs you by the foot, dragging you out and back to the living room- back to the others. You're kicking and shrieking the entire time, sobbing for help as the man finally dropped you in front of two others, also dressed similarly in black.

One of them gets a rag and a bottle, unscrewing the top of it as he dips the rag inside. You attempt to scramble back up, but one of the men grabs your arm, pinning it behind your back, pressing his weight into you. You're unable to do much more than sob as the man brings the rag to your head. You turn your head the other way, screaming at the top of your lungs in hopes that someone would hear you from across the paper thin walls.

You're kicking your feet so much that you manage to kick one of them in the balls- specifically the one pinning you down. He yowls, automatically letting you go, and you scramble for the front door.

One of the men grabs you, arms circling around your waist as he drags you back, ignoring your kicks at his legs and clawing at his arms.

The man with the chloroform soaked rag walks closer to you. "Just stay still-"

You respond by kicking him in the face, right dab in the center of his nose. He yelps, cursing to himself as he hunches over. You thank yourself for taking those gymnastic classes when you were younger, glad you were still flexible enough to do things like that.

The man holding you tightens his hold, so tight that you feel like you're about to pop like a balloon. You're crushing under his grip, and you're unable to breathe. The man presses the rag against your nose and mouth, and you try your best to resist, fighting and fighting until the darkness overcomes, resulting in your eyes rolling back as you collapse into the man's arms.

You feel drowsy, and a headache overtakes your senses. Your vision is black despite the fact your eyes are wide open. You see little dots of light, and you feel a rope around your hands and shoulders, strapping you to a chair. You squirmed, kicking your feet.

You feel the burlap sack being yanked over your head, and you squint your eyes, adjusting to the light. Three men in black stand before you, most likely the same ones who kidnapped you in the first place. Your lids are droopy, adjusting as you try to make out their forms.

You try to resist your restraints, and the men watch your struggle calmly, their arms crossed before their chests.

You grit your teeth, giving up, knowing the ropes were too tight and strong for you to break through. "What do you want with me?" you ask. "I haven't done anything. I literally just stay home 24/7. I'm not anyone important- this must be a mistake."

One of the men crouches before you. "Where is Kyungsoo?"

You freeze, eyes wide. "Wait- hold up, you want to know where my boyfriend is?"

He furrowed his brows. "What'd you think we wanted? You said yourself you weren't important and just stayed home."

"I don't know- rape me? Sex trafficking?" you guessed. "I don't know where my boyfriend is. He left the apartment after shooting up some heroin."

"Can you guess where he is?" one of the other men questions.

"Uh, probably out getting high with friends or at some brothel- what do you even want with him?" you ask.

"Your little boyfriend owes our company hundreds of thousands of dollars," the third man speaks up. "It's time for him to pay up- but it seems like he's gone off the grid since he found out we were coming for him."

"Wait- you guys are like loan sharks?" you ask.

"We're many things," the first man shrugs. "But it seems like he left you in the apartment because he was too cowardly to see us himself."

"Sounds like him," you admit, narrowing your eyes. "Why am I still here? I don't know anything, ok? I told you all I could about my boyfriend. Please, just don't hurt me and I'll leave without telling a word about this."

"No can do," the man said gruffly. "The boss wants to see you."

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding," you say, clenching your jaw.

They tossed the burlap sack back over your head, and the rope around your arms was untied. However, your hands were still bound together, and you could only walk aimlessly as strong hands gripped tightly onto your elbows. You heard the sound of metal sliding, and you were brought forward, walking around something until they sat you down on something surprisingly plush.

The bag was yanked off your head once again, and you found yourself seated in an office. A ridiculously handsome man sat before you, a desk between the two of you. He was in a nicely fitted, tailored suit. The room screamed extravagance, from the crystal chandelier that hung overhead to the carvings of wings in the woodworks. The only thing that seemed out of place was the pigeon that was kept in a cage to the side. And you of course. You stuck out like a sore thumb, in your shabby clothes and roughed up exterior. You looked worse for wear, and it was painstakingly clear how much you didn't belong.

You squinted at the man, your eyes having to adjust. He had honey gold skin and silky hair, and his eyes were miraculously captivating. He looked too perfect to be real. More than that, he looked too pretty to be in an environment such as this one, with kidnappers and shark loans and such. A man like this should be in modeling or movies, not in crime.

"So," he began, his voice surprisingly deep. For some reason, you didn't expect a voice as sultry as his from a face like that. "You're the girlfriend."

"Apparently so," you say, your tongue poking at your inner cheek. "But clearly I'm not who you want."

"You're not what we expected, more accurately," he spoke, standing up, his fingertips pressing against the desk. He looked up to the men, "Leave us."

"Sir, are you sure-"

"Did I not just give you an order?" he asked, his lips tight. The men bowed, flustered as they shuffled out of the room, sliding the metal door shut.

You looked up to the mysterious man, gritting your teeth. "You're hot- but if you put your dick anywhere near me I'll bite it off."

"Relax, I have no means of assaulting you," he assured you, leaning back on the desk, his fingers tapping gently against the wood.

"Oh, that's comforting," you say, your smile as painted on as dicks were to the Sistine Chapel.

He reached out, and you immediately recoiled from his outstretched fingers. "I'm not going to hurt you," he spoke, voice soft.

You looked up into his eyes, and they seemed so, so sincere. But seeing who you were living with, you really couldn't decipher sincerity. "Bullshit," you say, voice cracking unintentionally.

"It's alright," he said, murmuring the words. You squeeze your eyes shut, leaning back into the chair as though it'd swallow you hole. You feel his fingertips graze along the side of your neck, brushing along your jawline. You trembled, shivering under his touch. Goosebumps formed along your arms, and you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"This is beneath any man," the stranger mumbled, removing his touch. "I don't think I could send you back to him with a good heart."

You furrowed your brows, staring back up at him. "What?"

"Why do you stay with a man that clearly abuses you?" He stood up tall, towering over you, and you felt your cheeks burn- as though you were ashamed.

"I love him," you insist, eyes downcast.

"Are you sure?" He leaned over you, hands on the arms of your chair, caging you in. "Or are you just afraid?"

"At least he's not some sort of mafia ringleader," you grit your teeth, glaring up at him.

The man smirked, and he looked devilishly handsome doing so. "We're no mafia. We aren't Italian. But whatever we are, we aren't nearly as bad as your boyfriend. Not only does he abuse his girlfriend, but he's a drug dealer. Which isn't as bad as it could be if he weren't selling it to underage kids. And it's been reported that he's even injected heroin and other drugs into the victims against their will."

Your eyes widened, and you were unaware of that fact. You remember back in the day how he sold weed and ecstasy to other kids in school. But this was severely wrong.

"Do you have a family to go home to?"

You pursed your lips. "They're not exactly an option for me."

"Dead?" The man presumed, leaning back.

"No," you admitted. "Disowned. They left me once I ran away with him. They wouldn't take me back even if I begged."

"So, Kyungsoo's your only option?" the man guessed.

You tightened your lips, pressing them into a thin line, not wanting to admit the truth.

"That must be it." The corner of his mouth twitched as he said that. "Because if you left him he'd get violent. And even if you escaped the situation you'd be resorted to living on the streets- and lord knows what else. Considering the fact you lived in a rather unsavory section of the city, I wouldn't say you'd last long. Girls like you, no matter how tough, wouldn't last a week on their own."

Tears started pricking the corners of your eyes, and you reached your bound hands up to your face, catching a hot, fat tear as it rolled down your cheek. "So what? He was all I had left. And you guys chased him off, leaving me by myself. You made everything worse, scumbags. And now I'm being held hostage."

"We won't keep you hostage," he spoke. Your eyes tailed him as he went back behind the desk, opening a drawer. He pulled out a small switchblade, striding back to you with ease. He pulled your hands forward, gently tugging on the ropes. You winced, cringing away as he brought the knife close to your hands, breaking away the ropes.

They left a burn on your skin, inflamed and red. You could feel the harsh ache as the ropes fell to your feet. The man stepped back, sitting back behind his desk, hands folded neatly on the surface. "You're free to leave. I can have one of my men escort you back to your apartment. You can trust we'll never bother you again. It's just Kyungsoo that we have business with."

You stared up at him with wide eyes, unbelieving and skeptical of the thought that he'd let you go willingly. You're immobile, doubt as to whether or not you should really leave. He had been nothing but polite and kind to you so far. Surprisingly charming for someone who's henchmen manhandled you. Though you supposed that it was expected that you were holding a gun to them.

But you were afraid. You were deathly afraid. You were afraid of coming back to the apartment, Kyungsoo not being there. You wouldn't be able to provide for yourself and get killed on the streets as a hooker. You'd be raped within your first night on the cold pavement- you knew your neighborhood well. But more than that, you were afraid of coming back to the apartment and having Kyungsoo waiting for you.

What was better, coming here, where anything, good or bad, could happen? Where things would change undoubtedly, let it be for better or worse? Or going to someplace you were familiar with, though you knew you'd be miserable.

The man quirked a brow. "I thought you wanted to leave?"

You catch yourself mid-thought, and your cheeks flush. You massage your wrists, standing up. "I... yeah..."

"Miss," he interrupts as your about to turn. It occurs to you that he still doesn't know so much as your name, and you don't even know his. And yet he knew things about you that your own parents didn't. What a strange situation you had with this complete and utter stranger. "There's a reason you're hesitant. There's a part of you that knows you don't want to go back."

You gulp, feeling practically naked before his knowing stare. It was as though he could read you like an open book. You had never felt so vulnerable. Maybe it was because no one had put so much interest in you. "I don't exactly have any better option though, do I?"

"What if I could interest you in a deal?" he spoke. "Sit down, please."

You look to him warily, hesitantly lowering yourself back into the seat. "I don't know what kind of deal I could make. I have nothing of value."

"I could offer you a home. You'd have bedding, food, money. You'd be able to provide for yourself and live comfortably. In return you'd work for me," he suggested.

Your eyes widened. "You're offering me a job?"

"That's what working for someone is, isn't it?" he chuckled.

"I don't think I could be like your... henchmen. Considering the fact they succeeded in kidnapping me, I wouldn't say I'm exactly the best at physical fights," you say.

"We do more than just violence. Besides, it was three men to one- it wasn't a fair fight in the slightest. Even your boyfriend, no matter how skilled I doubt he is, would've been reduced to rubble. And besides, we could interest you in training and such with others if physical combat interests you- hell, you'd probably have to learn it anyway. The job is dangerous no matter what area you do. That includes financial business," he said. "Though you should probably keep that in mind. It's dangerous- there won't be a moment where you should consider yourself out of harm's way. If you agree to this, the minute you do so you'll have a target on your back. Hopefully, the training will prepare you for any threats, but it'd be understandable if you didn't want to agree to this."

"What would I even do?" you question.

"Well, what were you good at back during school?" he asks you in response.

"Business, mainly," you admitted. "I was a wiz when it came to it and even read some old college textbooks about it. I dreamt of becoming a CEO or something of the sort, but then..."

He nodded, knowing what you meant without you even having to finish the sentence. "That'd work out perfectly, actually. I'll have you work as my assistant."

"Assistant?" Your eyes widen. "I don't know the first thing-"

"You simply have to assist me in tasks and meetings of the sort, perhaps carry a laptop around to jot notes about my schedule. I won't ask you to get me coffee- mainly because I hate it. Perhaps you could even be an apprentice of a sort, and I could teach you a thing or two to help you along the way here. But it'd serve as a good opportunity for you to learn a bit more pertaining business, and I'll admit I don't know much about it and just picked up as I went along, you'd be able to assist me in that area. This is mainly a business, after all."

"What do you guys even do?" you questioned.

His face went sour. "A lot of things I'm sure you wouldn't like."

"I think I can handle it," you said truthfully. "I've... I've seen shit. As long as it's not human trafficking or ransom I think I'll be ok."

"We don't do that," he clarified. "We do crime- organized crime. But we aren't scum like that. In fact, I'd say it's closer to fighting against those. We kidnap or assassinate those who have caused a great disruption against our moral values. Steal from a greedy politician's bank account, assassinate a sex trafficker, things like that. We help pull strings against corrupt businesses. Most of the people who work for us are the common class and are tired of the benefits towards the one percent when they could be helping those in need. Like insurance companies, and such. It's only for those particularly difficult that we end up getting our hands particularly messy- but in our ideals, it is for the greater good."

"What'd Kyungsoo do that had you target him specifically? I wouldn't suspect his crimes to be under your radar," you questioned.

His face soured. "It just so happens that he injected a friend of mine's son. The young man was just fourteen and ended up getting addicted. He asked your boyfriend for more drugs, craving it. Kyungsoo had already put him on such a high dosage to get him hooked quickly- as he always does. That night the man gave a thousand dollars of his father's money to your boyfriend, took the heroin, and overdosed in his bedroom."

You couldn't help but have your hand over your mouth in shock. "Oh, that's awful."

"It gets worse," the man sighed. "Upon learning the news, the mother killed herself. I won't go into details, but the father was completely broken. I allowed him to retire, and he asked me for one favor. To find the man responsible for his family's undoing and bring him to justice- specifically to bring Kyungsoo to him. We now pay for his residency in a new apartment with his lone daughter, and fund her schooling and therapy."

You gulped, a lump in your throat. "I... I had no idea."

"You seem surprised," he stated, noting your shocked expression.

"I guess I just never envisioned someone being so... cruel," you admitted. "To be responsible for such a tragedy. Someone I knew."

"I think that's something that would make you very useful to us," he stated. "You'd be our insight."

"I suppose," you mumbled. You still felt a twinge conflicted.

"Do you have any further questions?" he prodded, leaning forward.

Your eyes met his, and you could feel yourself drown in them. "No, that's all," you automatically answer, as though you were on autopilot.

The man grinned. "Great. So, you'll do it?"

You nodded. "Yes. Thank you for... everything," you said quietly, unsure if he could even hear your gratitude.

"Considering the fact you've gone through so much and our men assaulted you, we owe you this much," he says. He looks over at the phone by his side, pressing a button, a buzz following.

"Miss Jieun, would you please send one of the men over to wait outside my office door? We have an employee who's going to start working here, and she'll be in need of lodgings. Have him escort her across our premises and to her new living space."

"Will do, sir." The voice clicked off.

The man grinned at you. "I look forward to working with you. Press your palms against the metal wall, and it'll begin to slide to the side for you."

You nodded, bowing to him as you turn to the door. You're about to press your palm against it, but catch yourself, freezing.

"Is something the matter?" the man questioned.

You turned back to him, offering a weak and bashful smile. "I... I just realized I didn't even know your name, even though you're going to be my new boss and... And everything."

He smiled warmly. "Taehyung," he spoke. "My name is Taehyung."

"Mena," you responded, feeling your cheeks grow hot, and anxiety make your heart drum in your chest. "Thank you for everything, Taehyung."

"This is where you'll stay."

Your eyes widened as the man swung open the door to the room. It was bigger than your apartment with Kyungsoo. In far better condition, too. The walls were clean and blank save for a few frames of quotes or paintings, while in your apartment you had holes in the wall that were accompanied with bloody knuckles.

It had a kitchen, a living room, two separate bathrooms, and two bedrooms from what you were informed. That was definitely far more than you had in the apartment you could barely afford back home.

You slowly stepped inside, feet shuffling as you took in the room.

When you were younger, living in a standard suburban home, you probably wouldn't think much of this. You'd think it was an ordinary, bland apartment.

But adult-you knew just how significant this was, and your eyes brimmed with tears. You covered your nose and your mouth, your legs trembling as you walked around the room, staring in awe at everything. You still couldn't believe this was yours, though you were told you'd have a roommate. That was fine by you.

"Uh- are you alright?" the man asked, stepping beside you. "If you don't like it, we can-"

"No, no, it's great," you said, wiping away tears hastily. "I'm just... in shock."

"Who is it?" a voice rang out. A woman walked into the room, her eyes scanning your face. "Oh my God, are you alright?" She rushed to your side, combing your hair as she cradled her face in your hands. "I swear to God, Kris, what the fuck did you do-"

"No, no, I'm fine," you insist, removing her hands. "I'm your new roommate, Mena."

She smiled, though looked puzzled. "Oh! I didn't know I was going to get a roommate. That's fine, I've got plenty of room and I'm easy to live with. I stay here because it's more comfortable than most apartments in the city- and close to work because, duh, it's at work." She looked back to Kris. "Where's her stuff? We need to move her in."

"I don't have anything," you inform her. "I just... got hired today."

"She's Kyungsoo's girlfriend," Kris informed her. "We... took her from her apartment. But it seems like the boss is having her work here. I'm not surprised by the bruises she already had and the things her boyfriend's done."

You feel self-conscious of the bruises on your face, neck, and other revealed areas. You touch the bruise on your jaw gingerly and note to yourself that once you could afford it you'd buy concealer to cover up the black and blue splotches that reminded you of your worst memories.

The woman's eyes widened. "You're dating Kyungsoo? How could you live with such a monster?"

"I... I'm not dating him anymore," you say. "At least I don't think."

"Good, because that guy is the devil incarnate. He's scum- which is a lot, coming from me. I've seen shit," she narrowed her eyes. She brightened up instantly with a sigh and a smile, hugging you tightly. You couldn't even remember the last time someone had genuinely embraced you. "I'm Shuhua."

You stiffen as she lets you go, and you turn to Kris. "Wait... so you're one of the guys who kidnapped me in the dead of night?"

Kris gave a weak smile. "I'm sorry about that- I was doing my job. But I'm sincerely sorry for any distress I may have caused-"

You didn't listen to the rest of the apology, marching forward to kick him solely in the balls, causing him to squeeze his thighs together as he crouched over, letting out a groan of pain.

"Oh my God, finally someone did that," Shuhua laughed. "Didn't think you already had that in you. Judging from your ex-boyfriend, I think you've got a lot of pent-up aggression just waiting to be released after being suppressed for so long."

You breathed in heavily, feeling the fire and excitement burn in your lungs as you took in a deep breath. You squeezed your eyes shut, and it felt so good to finally let something out without being afraid. "I guess so."

Shuhua yanked Kris back up to a proper standing position as she turned back to you. "Well, you definitely picked the right place. And Kris here is gonna teach you everything- since he is the trainer for inductees and all that jazz."

Your eyes widen at that, but Kris gives you a light-hearted smile. "I'm so gonna get you back for that."

Your eyes widen, and you gulp. Shuhua laughs by your side, as does Kris, and you let the first genuine smile spread across your face in a long, long time.

"You need to keep your footing firm. It's not just from the arm, you've got to press your whole body into the punch, and if you do that without being stable you'll just topple over," Kris said, sighing. "You've got your kicks down and dodging. You've improved. But you're having problems with footing."

"I can't help it. I've still got adrenaline coursing through me," you huff, trying again, your fist landing inside his mitt.

"Don't worry- the more you practice the more level-headed you'll be by the time you actually have to fight. Adrenaline kicks in your survival instincts, but in the long run, you don't want it to take effect in a fight. Then you'll have your vision get blurry and you'll be more amped up. It's best to remain cool and level-headed so that you can quickly analyze the situation and react. Adrenaline just kicks in your fight or flight, not letting you really even think of what move to do. It's one of the reasons you were so shaky and missed when you tried to shoot us."

"Please don't remind me of that day," you said, landing a firmer punch.

"There you go!" Kris whipped. "As I was saying, it's kind of like when you can't focus on something because you're too excited or angry."

"Got it," you said, landing two firm punches, your hands starting to ache. "Anything else?"

"Always keep your opponent close. Never push them far away or create distance. At least not until they're defeated- either dead or knocked out cold. Distance creates complications- unless, of course, they've got a gun. Then distance is good."

"Mhm," you murmur, landing a particularly hard punch. You almost topple over in the process, stumbling a bit.

"You're losing footing again," Kris sighed.

"Let me try again and-"

"How's the newbie doing?" a deep voice rumbled from behind you.

Kris's face was one of surprise as he stared up at the man in question. "Oh, boss, I didn't know you were going to be visiting here."

"I don't come down here often, do I?" Taehyung murmured, looking around at the people who were beating punching bags or mannequins, or slamming each other down onto the mattresses. "But I decided I'd check up on our newest trainee."

You were surprised as well, turning to Taehyung, your cheeks turning rosy out of pure habit. It had been a week since you started training here, and you were getting accustomed to having to wear Shuhua's clothes and getting bruises on your body for different reasons.

"So, Miss Mena, how's training coming along? Kris has informed me so far that you're a fast learner," Taehyung said. "Apparently even defeated one of the other trainees already."

"It wasn't much I just... aimed for what would hurt most," you supposed, feeling bashful.

Kris wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and you did your best to suppress the urge to wince out of habit. "She's doing fine- just needs to work more on balance. If she keeps up at this rate I'll reckon we could get her started on knives in two weeks, and perhaps guns in a month."

"That'd be great," Taehyung smiled. "Oh, but I will need you to attend a meeting with me later on today."

"What? I'm starting as your assistant already?" you asked, perplexed.

"I doubt you'll have to do any combat with these business partners. I've worked with them before," he assured you. "I'll simply have you by my side and write down some notes and such. Mainly studying the situation."

"Alright, I can do that," you nodded.

"Meet me outside my office at 4 PM. Dress in appropriate work attire," he said, and you realized that you were still in very sweaty gym clothes. You shouldn't feel self-conscious though- most of the girls in here were in sports bras, and you wore an oversized shirt to hide the bruises that still remained. You watched as Taehyung left the room, nodding to other training employees.

"So, what's going on between you and the boss?" Kris asked you.

"Huh?" You furrowed your brows at that.

"He never comes down here- or hires someone so fast. I'm surprised he's taken an interest in you so quickly," Kris notes. "You must be pretty important."

"I'm not," you bashfully say. "I think he's just concerned about me because he knows..." You trail off, not wanting to say the words out loud.

"Because you were abused?" Kris guessed.

You were quiet.

"I get it," Kris said. "I don't think everyone here knows, but I noticed within five minutes, just from how you flinch when someone just reaches out to you."

You look up at him. "Do you mean you were in that situation?"

"With my father, yes," Kris admitted. "I ended up running away when I was 15. Ended up coming here one way or another."

"I'm sorry to hear about that," you murmur.

"Don't be. I'm better off here than I think I would be even if I lived in a normal household," Kris assured you. "I'm sure you will be too."

"I don't really want to talk about it," you say, raising your fists again. "Now- let's get back to work."

Kris accepted your need to stay quiet about your situation, raising his mitts again, but you couldn't help but think about his words regarding Taehyung. What did the man find so interesting about you?

You went up to Taehyung's secretary, Jieun, waiting patiently. You had to borrow Shuhua's clothes, though they were a bit tighter than you were used to. You had begun wearing looser clothes after Kyungsoo complained you were starting to let yourself go, and you weren't really able to go out often to places where tighter clothes were expected.

It was a simple button down, floral blouse with a pencil skirt, and your hair was tight in a slicked-back ponytail. Yet you hadn't felt this dolled up in quite a while.

"I'm here to see Taehyung," you say. Jieun's eyes widened, and you quickly correct yourself, realizing the name wasn't appropriate for a work environment, and you should be more formal. "I mean- Mr. Kim. I'm waiting for Mr. Kim."

Jieun nodded and pressed the buzzer. "Mr. Kim, Miss..."

"Mena," you curtly inform her.

"Miss Mena is here to see you," Jieun said.

"Let her in," was the reply.

Jieun nodded to you, and you pressed your hands against the metal wall, sliding it to your left, hoping you were doing it right. It worked, and it slid before you. You saw Taehyung sitting at his desk, and you slid back the door. You walked before him, bowing slightly out of courtesy. "I hope I'm in time, Mr. Kim. What is it you'd like for me to do?"

Taehyung raised a brow. "What's with the formalities all of the sudden? You didn't mind calling me a scumbag when you first met me."

Your cheeks turned hot. "I just figured since you're my boss now, it'd be important."

Taehyung shrugged. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together, helping each other out. I think of you as an equal, Miss Mena. We don't need to be so formal with each other."

You scratched the back of your neck. "Funny how you say that when you still call me 'miss'."

Taehyung smiled. "Ah, I did, didn't I? Would Mena be fine then?"

"I'm alright with whatever you call me," you tell truthfully.

"And are you alright with calling me Taehyung?" he questioned.

"If that's what you want. You are the boss," you remind him.

"Well, it is," he grinned smugly. He gestured for you to sit down, and you did so. He reached behind the desk, pulling out a small backpack. He unzipped it, revealing to you a laptop. "You'll need something to write notes in- whatever I tell you to jot down. I'd rather you do it with a laptop than just a pen and notepad like you've got there." You glanced down at the notepad and pen you had, and you feel silly. "I trust you can type?"

"Very well," you tell him. "I don't need to look at the keys."

"Excellent," Taehyung grinned, pushing the laptop towards you. You held it, setting it down on your lap as you opened it, looking through. There was a Google Docs at the bottom that you figured you could use, and overall it was fine. "This will be your work computer. I'm sure once you gathered enough money you'll want to get your own private one, but this is will have to do."

"No, it's great. Thank you very much," you tell him.

"Great," he smiled. "Now, should we get going?"

It felt weird, sitting at a table. One wall of the conference room was pure glass, giving you a spectacular view of the city, the grey clouds overhead, giving the structures a blue, hazy hue. You were set on sitting in a corner, listening in, or sitting at the corner nearest to Taehyung. Instead, he dragged one of the chairs at one of the heads of the table, telling you to sit. The other businessmen seemed to notice it, too, giving you wary looks as they seated themselves.

Taehyung thankfully acknowledged your presence before the men once everyone was settled. "Everyone, this is Mena. She has agreed to help me with the meeting today."

They grumbled to themselves, still perturbed by your being there, but nonetheless began to conduct business. You paid particular attention to Taehyung, and every time he turned to you, you tapped away the previous and following words on your laptop. Occasionally you would get sidetracked, your eyes lingering on his slender fingers, admiring how long and pretty they were. Especially how they'd tap against the desk when he was listening to negotiations, and how after a few minutes the veins in his hand would begin to slowly pop, sticking out from under the skin. You couldn't help but let yourself fantasize for the briefest of moments, your mouth watering slightly until you force yourself to get back to work.

They were negotiating the terms of their contract renewal, and some of the information had you frown. You click on another tab, looking over the business in question's practices and what charities they go to.

"What is it?" Taehyung asked you, noting your puzzled expression.

"Well, according to what I have here, if you do this you'd gain about 10% of profit in comparison to the previous contract," you say, opening up a tab for the calculator to show the map. It was actually 9.7%, but it was close enough. "But that's not what concerns me. It specifically shows how if you were to agree to redistribute the products to these specific countries, the supplies would be cut to the other countries that are far more in need. Meanwhile, their profits would jump up at least a..." You did more math on the calculator, putting in the digits. "7%."

Taehyung hummed. "Huh, well what do you think of that?" Taehyung quirked a brow to the men.

One of the men tugged on the collar of his shirt. "We started to realize that we could profit a lot more if we were to cut those countries from the distribution and focus more on the countries with bigger markets."

"Yes, but these countries are most definitely in need of our business," Taehyung noted. "You know of the damage that happened just a few months ago, from that earthquake? Over in-"

"We're aware," another man cut in. "But it'd be better-"

"It'd be better if you keep in mind those who are in need," Taehyung interrupted. "Or perhaps I should have the media pay more attention to your son, Mr. Lee. What's he running for this time, hm? A powerful office position from what I heard. I'll vote for him of course... unless some information was to leak to the press."

The man stiffened, and you tensed at his words, aware that some blackmail was happening. The man in question happened to be sitting at the opposite head of the table, so you assumed he was the CEO of this business. You stared up at him, and you swore his forehead began to glisten in the light, as though he were sweating. You assumed these other men didn't know what information Taehyung had on this man's political son.

"Mr. Kim, this would help us both significantly in profits," he said, keeping his ground.

"I'm well aware," Taehyung assured him. "But I'm also well aware of the fact that both of us are prospering fine enough and aren't anywhere near bankruptcy. And I'm also aware of who's in need of this business- are you?"

The men murmured amongst themselves, unsure. The CEO looked wary, coughing loudly as he cleared his voice. "We'll meet with you again soon to discuss a new revision for the contract," he said, surprising even the men beside him.

"Perfect, I'll have my secretary schedule you in as a reminder. Mena will figure out the rest," Taehyung grinned. "Oh- and you'll also have to donate 2% of your company's earnings to a charity of my choice. For wasting my time, after all."

The man didn't protest, raising himself up and signaling to the others to do the same. They followed suit and he bowed before Taehyung. "Hope you and your wife have a lovely day, sir."

You blush hotly at his mistake, your eyes trailing after him as he exited the room.

"You know- even I didn't catch that bit, it was so glossed over," Taehyung admitted, grinning to you. "I think you'll be a fine addition to this place."

6 Months.

That's how long you had been working at his corporation. An underground business that focused on pulling the strings of the businesses above. Let it be men with political sons who happen to smoke weed and say raunchy things when they think no one's listening, or telling their spouse of their affair, to threatening someone else's life. You had gotten used to the tame and the morbid.

That was just the business division. There were other 'branches' as you liked to call them, though they never benefitted financially. That was the business's job, as though it were the brain of the monster that was the company. Let it be moles sent into various governments, let it be your own or another country's, to many breaking into human trafficking centers. A lot didn't come back- so they'd have to use more peaceful tactics for the more dangerous parts, where they bought the people and released them. That's where Shuhua worked in, and there were weeks where you wouldn't see her and worry about if she would ever come back.

Kris was part of the more personalized team, specializing in kidnapping and combat. More precisely, assassination. You came to learn that if Taehyung made a threat and the other person didn't comply, he was more than willing to go through with his plans.

That was typically the last resort, however, and only for the worst of the worst. Never for a second did you fail to see how the murder was justified. But you did have to sit quietly in a cafe or shop, listening to the TV as it reported a politician dying of 'old age' or 'natural causes'. It was only when Taehyung wanted to make a statement that they were very clearly murdered. You didn't want to know how they managed to pull it off, but it wouldn't surprise you if another subcategory of the division was dedicated to chemicals used in that sort of thing.

You, on the other hand, essentially became second in command. It started out small, from providing business advice and sending emails to some friend named "Kim Namjoon" who he was planning to meet with despite the fact he wasn't a business partner. Then it turned to running the company in his absence while he visited either Park Jimin or Min Yoongi- though you had never heard of other in your life, and wondered what importance they held for Taehyung to have to meet them so urgently. You weren't so much of an assistant as you were the right-hand man, as no information went to Taehyung before it went through you, and Taehyung consoled you in every decision. You studied rigorously in your free time, the minute you had enough money buying books on business to learn as much as you could to help the business sustain itself according to Taehyung's morals. It was tricky, but it could be done if you pulled the strings right. And now that Taehyung had you, it was more easy to point out. It was as though you pointed out the options and recommended, and Taehyung pulled the strings.

You had gotten surprisingly close to the man. He still touched you like you were made of porcelain, with the hand on the small of your back or a stroke of your hair behind your ear. You couldn't help but have your heart flutter at the sensations, but you were so, so scared that you'd be wrong again. Your feelings had betrayed you once before, and you weren't going to let them again.

Even after the bruises of your past faded, he still treated you with the utmost attention and care, careful not to say something overly sensitive or to touch you in a way that made you uncomfortable. You found it slightly charming that he treated you so fragilely, despite the fact you were trained to the point you could body slam a veteran if you deemed it necessary. But you yearned for the further emotional attachment, and for a more intimate touch, despite the fact he was your boss. And though you knew of your affections, of how attracted you were to him and how you knew you'd trade your life for his in a millisecond, you didn't want to admit it. Admitting it would have you fall off the deep end to no return.

You should know Taehyung was a good guy. He was gentle, he was sweet, and his dangerous side didn't come without reason. But you had thought the same about Kyungsoo, and you still hyperventilated when you thought of how wrong you were.

You found it hard to trust anyone. You didn't know if Taehyung felt the same for you, or if he would do the same things you would for him. You didn't know if anyone would. You weren't sure if the smile was simply to draw you in closer to the point of no escape. Every action seemed to mean something else in your mind, and you grew paranoid.

But there was something about Taehyung where, no matter how wary you were, you came back. Maybe it was because he felt like home. He smelled slightly like honey, and his golden skin you wanted to melt in. From his soft locks to his warm eyes, all of it made you want to look at him with droopy lids and sink into the feeling. You wanted so badly to open up to him, and it came to the point that you realized it wasn't because you couldn't trust him; you couldn't trust yourself.

You couldn't trust your judgment. You couldn't trust that every word you said would be used against you. You were second-guessing your every action and it drove you crazy. One of the things that bothered you most was that after half a year, your ex-boyfriend still had such an effect on your day to day life.

He had gone off the grid, and there were people looking for him. You yourself gave all the information you could, listing friends and hobbies and anything you thought would help. You wondered where he was now, and how he managed to escape Tae's men. You assumed he had fled to some other country or something of the sort. The constant thoughts of his whereabouts were like an itch at the back of your head that you couldn't scratch.

You were at a dinner with Taehyung, the two of you disguised as husband and wife for the power duo, co-CEOs of a small business that was very interested in becoming affiliated with your company.

The research you had done had shown that the couple had been fairly new- but had already donated a large portion of their profits to charities. Apparently, the couple had invented a brand new toy that was all the rage, and a corporation picked it up and helped advertise for it. You assumed what they wanted from Taehyung's business was to get more funding, as well as distribution to many of the countries Taehyung's business was known to help with. Made sense, considering their profiles showed they were rather generous- but at this rate, they'd run their company in the ground.

"It's so nice to see another couple associated with these businesses," the woman said, a brilliant smile almost as shiny as her ring. "You don't see many lovely couples such as yourselves in such a successful practice. Tell me, how long have you been married?"

"A year and a half," you smiled gracefully, the lie slipping between your teeth with ease. You had to play this charade on multiple times, and you were more than compliant with it. Though some of your shyness would show when people complimented you two as a couple or congratulated Taehyung on finding such a lovely wife. Your cheeks would especially burn on the occasions when Taehyung would reach for your hand, squeezing it in a way that made your stomach flip. You admired the slender fingers, how perfect they looked, and the faint hint of his veins hidden beneath the skin.

You knew Taehyung like the back of your hand, like how whenever he twitched his pinky it meant he wanted you to write notes, to when his ear would move it meant he was annoyed. But at moments like these, you had no clue what he was thinking.

"I'm surprised your relationship isn't revealed to the public. Mr. Kim is still listed as one of the country's most eligible bachelors, no?" the man chuckled playfully.

"You must get awfully jealous- I know I would be," she laughed.

You smiled, and you felt Taehyung's hand curl into yours over the table, your fingers interlocked. You rubbed your thumb over the golden ring on his thumb, a habit of yours. You didn't care much for the fake wedding rings- you liked this one. It was far more genuine in a sense.

"We wanted to keep our relationship private. Held a secret ceremony. She helps me with business, but not with press conferences and the such. She's not a fan of the pesky paparazzi," Taehyung explained, looking to you as you nodded accordingly.

"Well, that explains a lot," the man chuckled. "She's your gem, isn't she? Wives are supposed to be the most important one to you, you know."

"Of course," Taehyung said, squeezing your hand fondly. "She's my one and only."

"Perfect," the woman said. You heard an all too familiar click, and you instinctively knocked Taehyung out of his chair, body slamming him to the ground as the woman shot into the back of your chair.

You rolled over, covering Taehyung as you reached into his pocket, pulling out the small switchblade that he had introduced you to the very first night you met. You slice at her ankles, so deep that you see a flash of bone. She hops and you roll beneath the table, spying the man reaching for his own gun. You quickly dug the switchblade into his hand, stabbing him and pinning it against his thigh. The gun fell out of his grip, and you grabbed for it, shooting him in the foot, seeing him hobble over as he trips over his chair. You peak under the table, lifting the cloth as you aim for the woman's hand, her own gun falling out. She reaches for it, but you're quicker than she is, grabbing it and shuffling out from beneath the table, both guns aimed at them.

Assassins. They must've been sent by one of the men that Taehyung blackmailed. They must've been hired to act as CEO's while the fake company was given a disguise, all as an excuse to have even ten minutes with Taehyung.

But you noticed that who they were intending to shoot at was you, not him. So that meant they didn't want blood- they wanted revenge.

Taehyung gripped your wrist, yanking you to your feet. "Mena, come on!" he urged, making you follow. Your eyes are trained on his hand, the slender fingers wrapped securely around your wrist, the veins popping out from the back of his hand in the way that drove you crazy.

It's in the blink of an eye when it happens. One minute you're running away from a table, the people around you wreaking havoc from the shots that fired throughout the restaurant, and another moment you were across the street of Taehyung's building.

"What the fuck?" you shrieked. "We were just in the restaurant- how'd we run here so fast?"

"What?" Taehyung looked at you, confused. "We were running for fifty minutes, Mena. I had to call some employees to delay anyone following us."

"No, I'm serious, we just got here-"

"You were kind of in a daze the entire time, Mena. It's not surprising you're confused now that you snapped into your senses," Taehyung explained.

"I..." You began to doubt yourself. Did you really disassociate that hard? Blanking out and going on autopilot when you were running from assassins and possibly the police. You looked down, the guns still in your hand, and you put the safety mode back on. "I must be losing it today."

"That's the second time in three months that we've gotten attacked by spies," Taehyung murmured. "I have no doubt it's that CEO who's son I exposed. I made him lose the election."

"Sounds like he's overreacting if he's trying to kill your fake wife," you huffed. "He still believes we're married."

"Makes sense with the whole couple's trope. He must be wanting to take away something important to me," Taehyung groaned. "Ugh- you're a target now."

"I'm a target no matter what," you remind him. "I work for you, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," Taehyung says. He looks to you, his eyes filled with worry. "I just don't like seeing you get hurt. I'm still surprised you protected me back there."

You grin despite yourself, playfully smacking his arm. "What? A girl can't do it? I'm basically your bodyguard, buddy."

Taehyung laughed at that, and a comfortable air settled around you. Sometimes it felt less like he was your boss, but something more. A tension between you two from how friendly- and sometimes borderline flirty, you were. Taehyung was easy going- but when it came to business he wanted things strictly his way. But it was as though around you he could let go the scary-boss trope, joking around or bringing up whatever political issue was at hand that deeply bothered him.

"Do you want me to walk you to your apartment, or would you like to come up to my office for a drink or something?" Taehyung asked you.

That surprised you. He had never offered something like that, but you didn't want to say no. Sure, his office was only a few floors above your apartment, and it wasn't a far distance.

Taehyung seemed to catch your surprise. "I understand if you think it's inappropriate because I'm your boss-"

"No, no, I'd love to," you smiled. "I think I really need a drink."

"Great," he murmured. You swore if it weren't for the dark lights you would've suspected his golden cheeks to darken.

You stare at your glass, swirling around the red wine. You were sitting on top of Taehyung's glass, finished with your first glass and onto your second. The man was outside on the balcony, though close enough where the two of you could have a normal conversation.

You look up at the pigeon in its cage, though it seems to be asleep. It was hard to tell since the only light that you had was what seeped through the windows. "I always wondered why you kept a pigeon in your office."

"Pigeons were used as messengers back in the old days. People could tie notes to their feet and let them soar, knowing the letter would arrive. I guess I suppose they should get more respect as a species- other birds are far more pawned over than this common one. I like to feed them in the park when I have free time- which is less these days."

"Oh," you say, noting his explanation. There's a pause, and you can hear the sounds of cars below and the city noises.

"How come you never ask?" you question, your mind already under the influence, droopy lids gazing over to the man.

"Ask what?" he asks. His hands are stretched out over the railing as he admires the night view of the city, where small dots light up the streets, and the stars are hidden, though the city fails to conceal the bright moon that looms over it.

You slide off the desk, your date dress brushing along your legs. Sauntering over to him you smile, leaning against the railing as you feel the warm night air. "About my past. About Kyungsoo. The most you asked was that first night."

"I assumed you didn't want to talk about it- it's a sensitive topic. It didn't even happen that long ago, and it didn't seem like my business to pry into," Taehyung told you. "I knew you needed time."

You nod slowly. "I did. I've been letting it consume me. I've become paranoid."

"That's what relationships like that do to you, I suppose," Taehyung guessed. "It makes you scared even after it's over."

"You know, sometimes he threatened to inject me with heroin when I slept," you murmur, leaning over the railing. You set down the glass, your fingertip circling the rim. "I was so surprised to find out he actually did it to kids- I can't believe I loved a man like that."

"Well, you fell in love with a different man, I guess. The man he was pretending to be," Taehyung mumbled. "Maybe even the man he- or you, wanted him to be."

"Makes sense for why it's the good memories I cry over," you hum. "But I've learned my lesson."

"And what lesson is that?" he asks you, amused as he takes a sip of his own wine.

"When you have to pick between what your mind or your heart says- go with the mind. Your heart will do nothing but betray you and cloud your judgment," you sigh, tapping along the glass.

Taehyung frowned. "In all my years, I never once thought that was the answer. People who ignore the heart's desires end up being the unhappiest of all."

You smile, as though you were listening to a child talk about Santa Claus. "You're only in your twenties, Tae. You have a lot more to see and experience before you can determine the way of life."

"I think you just need to be shown what the heart can lead to," Taehyung persisted.

You look at him, and the alcohol coursing through your veins has questions bubble up to the surface. "Why did you hire me, Taehyung? I knew nothing. Was... Was I just some charity case to you?"

"What? No! Of course, I pitied you, but that wasn't the case at all," Taehyung persisted.

"Then what was it?" you question further, prodding. "Is... Is there someone else?" You had never heard of him having a spouse- after all, you had to pretend to be his. But it wouldn't be unlikely, considering how handsome and wealthy the man was, plus his impeccable charm.

"No," he clarified. "There's no one else. There's only you."

You wracked your mind for some other explanation. "What made you even want to have me as your assistant? I could've screwed things up and you wouldn't have been able to know."

"I knew you wouldn't. I saw something in you," Taehyung insisted.

You roll your eyes at that. "There's nothing-"

Taehyung cradles your face, and your eyes blow out, wide as he presses his lips against yours. You feel woozy, and your heart races at the feeling of his hands on the side of your face and his lips moving against yours, soft but hesitant. He pulls back, staring at you, and this time you lean in, just as hesitant as he is as you mold your lips against his. You let yourself sink into the feeling, closing your eyes as you press into him, your mouth firm against his.

He moves back, lips barely grazing your own as he stares into your eyes. "You have no idea how long I wanted to do that," he whispers, feeling your fingertips graze along his wrists.

"Me too," you admit, your voice soft and quiet at your confession.

He lets go of your face, the digits sliding off hesitantly as you try to chase after his embrace. He steps back, however. "But I shouldn't have done that."

You furrow your brows. "What? Taehyung, is this about you being my boss or something?"

"That but there's a lot more," Taehyung admits.

"Well what is it?" you insist, reaching up to cradle his face this time, forcing him to look at you. "Taehyung- you need to tell me."

"I..." He reaches for your hands, removing them from around his face as he stares down at you. "I don't want to rush you into anything. After your last relationship I know you wouldn't be comfortable and I just... I don't want to lose you."

"Tae, how do you know what I want?" you question.

"That's the thing," he sighed. "I don't. I really don't. And all this time I've been wanting to act on my feelings but I knew how you were still so... so traumatized. I thought if I showed even the slightest sign of wanting a relationship with you you'd walk out. I wanted to be selfish and keep you by my side as long as I could."

"Taehyung, what happened between me and Kyungsoo doesn't have to do with my feelings for you," you tell him. "He's long gone. And... And I'm afraid, ok? I'm really fucking afraid. I'm scared of what could happen, and I'm scared of if I'm wrong. I'm scared of trusting- but that's not just from people who went through traumatic relationships. That's... Being scared it just part of falling for someone. And I can't live in fear for the rest of my life, can I? I... If I'm going to trust anyone, Tae, it'll be you. You're the first person I'd go to."

"Mena, you're drunk, you don't know what you're saying," Taehyung sighs. "You don't mean any of this."

"I do," you tell him firmly. "I'm not drunk- I swear. And I'd say the same thing if I were drunk or if I were sober. Taehyung, you want to know what I want? I want you. And I have for a long, long time. I think I was just too scared to admit it."

"Mena..." Taehyung sighs, trying to step away from you, almost as though he knew it'd be for the best.

You gripped his hand, yanking it over your racing heart, pressing his palm against it. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me, too, Taehyung," you said, staring him in the eye.

You see his Adam's apple bob along the column of his throat as he gulps. "I can't," he admits, voice soft.

"Then, by all means, take what you want."

He leans in, smashing his lips to yours. Instead of the soft and gentle kiss, full of hesitancy and unsureness, this was firm and hard. His hands gripped your chin tightly forcing your lips against his. You mewled into his touch, feeling his tongue swipe against your bottom lip, and you open it far too willingly, feeling the pink muscle search every inch of your hot cavern. He walks forward, and you're only able to walk backward, putting your trust in him until he had you leaning against the desk in his office.

You felt his arms sweep under you, moving the objects on the desk off, knocking them onto the floor without a care in the world. You feel your fingers tangle in his hair, intertwined in his soft locks. His tongue feels like magic against your own, and his hands run over the sides of your waist, and your evening dress starts riding up, bunching over your hips. You rub your black, lacy cloth covered core over his slacks, and you feel his erection.

He breaks up the kiss, breathy as he presses his forehead against yours. "Are you sure?" he asks warily.

Your lips chase after his as he raises himself, his arms straight as he hovers above you. "Yes," you insist. "I'm sure, Taehyung. I've never been more sure in my life."

You try to kiss him again, but he resists, a cocky smirk on his lips as he admires your desperation. You hiss to yourself, taking matters into your own hands as you reached down to cup his erection, your palm squeezing his balls as he let out a delicious hiss. He nuzzles the side of your neck, traveling up in a straight line with his nose until he reaches your earlobe, tugging at it between his teeth. "So, you like to tease, huh?"

"Only because you do," you say, licking your lips as you began to unbuckle his belt. You swept his slacks down along with his boxers, his erection springing up. You feel your mouth water at the sight, but before you can get a taste Taehyung is off of the desk, pulling you to the edge. Your lacy panties were being skimmed down your legs.

Taehyung held up the fabric, smiling mischievously. "Were you hoping for this to happen, you little minx?"

"I'm always hoping," you admitted, looking at him with all of the want and lust you could muster.

"For your boss to bend you over your desk? Or to finger you while you're taking notes during meetings?" he asks, two digits running along your folds, teasing you.

"Fuck, Tae, please," you whined, biting your lip.

"That's no way to talk to your boss, is it?" he questioned, inserting the two coated digits into your entrance, making you squirm at the sudden intrusion. You jolted, thighs squeezing together as he curled his fingers in a come hither motion.

"N-No sir," you said breathily, squeezing your eyes shut as he began to hit your g-spot repeatedly.

"Y'know, I always noticed you staring at my hands. I didn't think much of it, but now..." He watched his fingers disappear inside of you, a loud, wet squelch coming from your pussy as he continued to thrust his digits into your pussy. "Now I think I understand. You were imagining this, weren't you?"

At those words he delivered a particular jolting curl of his fingers, making you squeal.

"Answer me, babygirl," he commanded, thumb sweeping over your clit to rub small circles inside, making your thighs quiver with each touch.

"Yes," you breathe. "God, yes. Please keep going, sir, please."

"Since you asked nicely..." He chuckled darkly, and the next thing you felt was his mouth wrapping around your clit sucking harshly. Your fingers curled into his hair, pulling at the soft locks, and there was undoubtedly a sting at his scalp.

You arched your back against the hard surface of the desk, feeling his harsh licks as his tongue traveled over every centimeter of your core, making sure not a single area would go untouched. It felt so utterly delicious to feel his lips traveling between your own set, and you were quivering, your thighs hitched over his shoulders, half hanging over the desk.

You were so desperately close, his fingers repeatedly hitting your g-spot in a rough manner and your bundle of nerves being stimulated to oblivion. You felt the warmth pool down to your stomach, and you were so, so close.

And he just swiped it away from you.

Yanking his hands out from inside of you and coming up for air, leaving you high and dry as you gasped out. You look up to him with pleading eyes, but he wasn't going to sway that easily.

You pout at him. "What was that for?"

He responded by tapping both fingers against your bottom lip, and you wrap your lips around them, sucking your juices off of his coated digits as you stared him in the eye, moaning as his fingertips pressed against your tongue.

"For being a cocktease," he simply answered as you released your mouth from his fingers with a loud pop.

"I can make up for it," you say, licking your lips as you reach down to his dick, squeezing his girth as he let out a hiss.

"Trust me- you will," he growled, his voice sounding almost feral.

"Do you want me to suck you off?" you ask him, looking up. You were just dying to have a taste.

"Next time, babygirl," he chuckled, seeing the eagerness on your face replaced with disappointment. But you didn't miss the way he insinuated there would be another time. He gripped your hips, pulling you off the desk and turning you over, bending you over the desk as you laid your palms out flat to stabilize yourself.

You groaned at the feeling of his head running along your folds, coating itself with your juices until he slipped in. You let out a deep moan, closing your eyes as you tried to get used to the girth of his dick.

"Right now I just want you to take it like a good girl," he said, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. "Can you do that for me?"

"Mhm," you say, desperate for him to move.

He pulls out slowly, letting you enjoy the delicious burn of his cock against your walls before he's slamming back in. You find it impossible to stay quiet, letting out whimpers and moans as he began to rock into you with well-timed thrusts, angling at your sweet spot that made you see stars.

You pitied the pigeon that was probably rudely awoken by the unmistakable sound of sex. Though you really shouldn't, seeing as it was getting a free show of grade A porn.

Taehyung's lips were brushing against your ear as he pressed his chest against your back, hands tangling into your own as you struggled to support yourself. "Fuck, babygirl, you feel so good around my dick. Keep clenching down on me- just like that." His voice was delivered in a raspy tone, and it reminded you of the morning voice he had when he had just woken up. That voice always got your panties wet, and you'd have to squirm in your seat for the rest of the day. On particular days when you couldn't take it anymore, you'd rub one out in the bathroom, having to wipe your sticky fingers against your skirt to conceal the juices, though you suspected the feminine smell still wafted on you throughout the day.

You felt your sweaty hands begin to slide along the table, and you gripped onto the edges, trying to keep up with Taehyung's brutal thrusts as he started letting go of more control, his hips slamming against your ass, a harsh pace that had you pressing your chest to the desk, letting out wanton sobs.

You knew he was getting close from how sloppy his thrusts are. The sound of his hollow thrusts, thighs smacking against your own, filling the room. You were close as well, only needed a small push to send you over the edge. As though he sensed your desperation, Taehyung's fingers slipped down to your already abused clit, rubbing small circles against the small nub. You started to spasm, shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm washed over you and you collapsed onto the table, limp as Taehyung continued to batter himself into you, hand still toying with your clit as he used you like a fuckdoll.

It was the last, harsh and brutal thrusts, sloppy as he bottomed out inside of you, balls deep as you felt him coat your walls white. You let him fill you up, clenching your walls around him as you milked him for all he was worth. He was panting, heaving, sweaty as he slipped out of you. You looked back, seeing him sink down to his knees and bury his face between your cheeks.

You let out a moan, feeling his tongue swipe over your swollen folds, licking over the abused hole as he ate the cum that dripped out of you. The sticky fluids being cleaned up as the cling to his awaiting tongue and chin, dripping down the man's golden skin as he took every last drop. You squirmed and whined each time his tongue swiped over your sensitive clit, and you were finally let free once he had you all cleaned up, coming back up for air. He turned you around, pressing his lips to yours, tongues swirling together as you tasted both his and your cum on his tongue.

He was still groping at your chest, and despite the fact both of you already came, it was as though he couldn't get enough. He was a starving man at an all you could eat buffet, and after getting a taste, he planned to savor every bite. He nibbled against your lower lip, and you let out no protest as he continued to make out with you. Your arms linked around his neck, pulling him in deeper.

He broke free, forehead pressing against yours, sweaty with his bangs clinging to his forehead. You didn't mind, however. You knew you looked like a mess as well, but from how he stared at you, you felt as though you were the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on.

"I love you," he breathed, hot breath fanning over you as he let out his confession.

You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and they started slipping down your cheeks. Your face crumbled, and your lips trembled, more tears streaming down your own face as you began to sob.

Taehyung's eyes went wide as he cradled your face, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. "Hey, hey, why are you crying? I understand if you're not ready to say the same, I sprung it upon you. But please don't cry. I hate seeing you so upset."

"It's not that," you say, choking on your own words, feeling the inevitable lump form in your throat. "It's just that I don't deserve it."

"What? Babygirl- everyone deserves to be loved. Most of all you. You deserve my love and all the love in the world," he assured you, pulling you into a tight embrace as you sobbed into his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so broken- you deserve someone better," you say, your sobs muffled in the cloth of his suit jacket.

"I don't want anyone other than you," Taehyung says, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. "Broken or not- you're it for me. You always were."

You ball your hands, fists curling into the fabric of his jacket as you ruined it with your tears. "Taehyung..."

"Shh," he said, brushing his hand over your hair to soothe you. Slowly you stopped shaking, and your sobs quieted down to small sniffles. "I love you, Mena. Don't you ever doubt that for even a second."

The two of you were leaning against each other, your head settled on his shoulder as you slept softly. His own head rested on your own, your hands tightly clasped together as you slept on the couch.

Your peaceful slumber was rudely interrupted by the sound of a ringing telephone. Continuous buzzing that had you shift as you nuzzled further into Taehyung's neck.

"Mm, Tae, get the phone," you grumbled.

"I'm too lazy," he groaned. "Five more minutes."

The phone didn't stop, however, and the noise was starting to get on your nerves.

"Tae," you whined softly.

He sighed, getting up from the couch, his fingers slipping from your own as he shuffled to the desk, smoothing over his hair and messed up clothes as he clicked on the buzzer. "What is it, Miss Jieun?"

"Mr. Kris Wu is here to see you, sir."

"Can you tell him to wait another time? I can have Mena pencil him in."

You heard murmuring on the other line, and Jieun's voice popped back in again. "He says it's very urgent."

Taehyung sighed. "Very well, bring him in."

You look at him with alarm, quickly combing over your hair and trying to fix your dress, though you still look like a hot mess, and you weren't in work attire, instead in the very same dress you wore to dinner. You supposed you had no other choice, however, doing your best to clean up your appearance as you settled into the couch.

Kris marched into the room, the door sliding back behind him as he approached Taehyung's desk. He took in both you and Taehyung's appearance, and while he'd usually question it, he seemed far more troubled. "She can't be here," Kris said curtly.

Taehyung furrowed his brows. "I beg your pardon?"

"The news I bring... it'd be best if she weren't present," Kris said, his mouth small.

"I can assure you that anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of her," Taehyung said, his voice firm.

You questioned what news Kris could possibly bring. In the six months that you had known him, he had never tried to keep you in the dark. What could it possibly be? You walked over to Taehyung's side, eyes trained on Kris. He gave you a serious expression, as though what he had to say was morbid.

Kris sighed. "It appears that Kyungsoo is back in the city- we don't know how, why, or where he came from. But we've got to act fast, otherwise, risk letting him slip away again."

Your eyes went wide and your face went pale. You felt the blood draining from your face, feeling slightly woozy. Kyungsoo was back? But how? You assumed he disappeared off the face of the earth. Why now was he back in the city? Where did he even go?

"Mena?" Taehyung asked, seeing your light-headed expression. He quickly got up, hands on your shoulder as he tried to stabilize you. "Mena, talk to me."

"I just need to sit down- that's all," you said. Taehyung sat you down at his desk, making sure you were ok as you leaned forward, cradling your head in your hands.

Taehyung looked up to Kris, alarmed. "Where is he now?"

Kris gulped. "That's the thing, sir- he's back in his old apartment. It... It appears he's looking for her."

Your eyes widened at that, staring up at Kris. Was it possible? He was looking for you specifically? Fear drummed in your chest as you thought of the possibility that he was coming back to fulfill his promises, finally killing you and finishing the job of all those years of torture. You stared down at your arms, remembering the countless bruises that would blossom on your skin. Dread thudded in your heart.

"The others insisted the only way we'd be able to get Kyungsoo while he was vulnerable was through Mena- but of course I argued against it. But a majority of our group voted for it- it's up to you now," Kris informed. "They won't go against your orders."

Taehyung clenched his jaw. "We can find another way to get him to come out into the open. We can-"

"I'll do it," you interrupted.

Both of the men looked at you in surprise, and you stared up at them, firm in your statement. "Kyungsoo's smarter than he appears- he wouldn't go out without being armed and he wouldn't put himself anywhere vulnerable. If it's me he's after I can pose as bait. You guys would have to be at a great distance so that he wouldn't suspect, however. One option is in a building with a sniper gun or something of a sort. But... I'd rather it be me."

Taehyung stared at you in alarm. "Are you kidding?"

"Absolutely not," you insisted. "If anyone's got to do it, it should be me."

"You looked like you were about to faint when he said Kyungsoo was back," Taehyung persisted.

You looked up at him, placing your hand on his own and squeezing it, not caring if Kris saw. "Taehyung... I have to do this. Otherwise, it'll eat me up from the inside and I'll continue to be paranoid. I need to do this, please. Call up the man and tell him we've got the culprit who murdered his son, and I'll either trap him somewhere where he'll be nabbed easily... or kill him myself."

Taehyung stared at you with a blank face, processing your words. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I'll sneak out and hunt for him myself if I have to," you promised.

Taehyung's lips went into a tight line, and he glanced up at Kris. "Set everything up. I want them to meet at a neutral location. Make sure she's armed and keep a track on him. And by God, don't let him so much as give her a single bruise, or-"

"I've got it, sir," Kris assured him. He looks down to you, still concerned. "Are you sure you're up for this? It'll probably be difficult enough to even see him again."

"I'm not," you admitted to yourself.

Kyungsoo looked worse for wear as he stepped into the cafe. His eyes were more sunken in and his clothes were shabby, his hair long enough to cover his eyes. But he still had the same eyes, and when they locked with your own you felt yourself being transported way back when you were only 15 and had the biggest crush on a boy.

He launched himself at you, and you try to resist the urge to recoil in fear, close to getting the pistol strapped to your leg beneath your flowy pants when you're met with-

A hug.

You felt frozen and stiff, feeling Kyungsoo wrap his arms tightly around you, clinging onto you as though he'd die if he didn't. You felt something wet on your shoulder, feeling tears drop down onto your blouse as he sniffled. You hesitantly wrap your arms around him as well, tense as he wept.

"God, Mena I've missed you so much. I came back for you in the apartment and you were gone- I knew they had taken you. Oh, God, I've missed you. I had to leave, but I couldn't stop thinking about you. I couldn't let myself rest without knowing what happened and here you are- I'm never letting you go again."

Your eyes widened at his words, shock running through your system. It didn't sound like the abusive boyfriend who injected heroin in his arm in the living room- no, instead this was the teenage boy who confessed for the first time ever about his feelings, revealing the poor childhood he had grown up with during his upbringing. This was the boy who cried on your shoulder throughout the night on the day he was kicked out of his home, the one who smiled to you as though you were the human form of the sun when you ran away with him.

"I missed you too," you croak out, trying to resist your watering eyes from betraying you as you're brought back to so many memories. One side of you wants to embrace him, and another wants to fear him. But at that moment you had completely forgotten about the side that wanted to kill him.

"I'm so glad you're ok," he said, hand curling into your hair as he took in your scent, closing his eyes and the tears clung to his lashes. "I searched and searched- and when you contacted me... I thought it was too good to be true."

"It's ok," you say, voice tense as you feel his arms wrap around you securely. "I'm... I'm here now."

Kyungsoo broke away from your embrace, a shaky smile on his lips as he looked to you. "God, you're even more beautiful than I remember," he whispered, fingers tangling in your own as he stared at you adoringly.

It felt like too much. You were overwhelmed.

You force a smile on your face, however. "Why don't we sit down, Kyungsoo? We have a lot of catching up to do."

He nodded, wiping away the tears as he quickly sat down at one of the tables, and you seated yourself across from him. You took in a deep breath, reminding yourself you had to get the chat over with so that he'd trust you, and you could lead him in a dark alleyway where he'd be taken to the company building and meet his well deserved, long-awaited fate.

But it was hard for you to concentrate when he looked into your eyes, and all you could see was the broken man you had fallen in love with.

"Mena, I'm so sorry for ever mistreating you," Kyungsoo spoke softly.

Mistreating was an understatement.

At those words, however, flashbacks of a memory swam through your head.

"What the fuck did you do with my cocaine? Huh?" Kyungsoo gripped your hair, forcing you to fall on your knees and to the ground as he shook your head violently.

"I swear to you, I never meant it. It... It was the drugs. I've gotten better these past few months- went to rehab for two," Kyungsoo explained.

"I threw them away," you sobbed, reaching up to Kyungsoo's tight grip, wanting to pry his fingers from your aching scalp.

"I promise you, I never intended to hurt you."

"The fuck do you mean 'you threw them away'?" Kyungsoo shrieked, letting you go as you crumbled to the ground, sobbing on the cold tiles as he growled. "Cocaine's fucking expensive, you piece of shit. You just wasted hundreds of dollars of my hard earned money- just flushed it down the toilet! ANd what do you do? I provide for you and you just whine about how you don't have enough. You want more more more! Well, guess what, bitch? You chose this life, and now you're going to deal with the consequences." His hand gripped your hair again as he dragged you across the floor, and you were sobbing for mercy, kicking your feet as you felt your head slam against a cabinet door.

"I love you so, so much, Mena," KYungsoo promised. "And I'd like for us to start again."

You begged for mercy as he repeatedly hit your forehead against the wooden cabinet, but it all fell on deaf ears. Your nose was bleeding and your eyes were filled with tears, and you knew undoubtedly that your face would swell up with bruises by morning. You felt your lip bust as your face hit the wood again, and finally, Kyungsoo lets go of your hair, letting you crumple to the floor, bloody and beaten, as he simply walked away. You slept there that night, sobbing yourself to sleep on the cold tile floor of the kitchen.

"I know you're my one and only. And I'll never love anyone the way I do you," Kyungsoo said, eyes brimming with tears. "You... You know me inside and out, Mena. And I know I don't deserve you, but God, I just can't seem to let you go. You're the reason I keep living."

Your eyes started to brim with tears, and you wiped them away.

Kyungsoo's face crumpled. "Why are you crying?"

"Because... because what you said..." you sniffled, vision blurring with tears that slipped down your face like waterworks.

"It moved you to tears, huh?" Kyungsoo laughed, a faint smile on his face.

"It was all lies," you whispered lowly, eyes trained on the table.

Kyungsoo's brows scrunched up in confusement. "What?"

You didn't hesitate, reaching for the pistol strapped against your leg and aiming it at him, the end of the barrel pressed right between his brows as you pulled the trigger. You killed Kyungsoo in cold blood as he fell back into the chair, slouching down.

This wasn't at all part of the plan. You were supposed to lead him outside, and to an alleyway, if you possibly could. Or somewhere he could be shot by a sniper, at least. Not like this.

You were frozen, staring at his corpse blankly. You weren't going to get out of this one. Taehyung was able to defend the two of you and pull strings since it was clear who provoked the attack and argued for self-defense, and he was able to pull strings. The two assassins had run away, injured but alive. Meanwhile, about less than a dozen citizens just witnessed you kill a man in cold blood.

You didn't bother to even get up from the table, frozen in everything that had happened that day. By the time you snapped up to your senses the police were barging in and handcuffing you, and you knew there was no way for Taehyung or his men to get you out of this one.

Orange was not a good color on you, in your humble opinion.

It wasn't a good color on anyone, you noticed, looking around the women's prison. You were the newest inmate, though you supposed only a few people in here were aware of you blowing a man's brains out in the middle of a cafe during broad daylight.

You were sitting alone at a table during lunch, eating what appeared to be frozen macaroni and a side piece of what you hoped was mashed potatoes when-

"So, you're the chick who shot a guy, right?"

You stared up at the woman blankly, one friend by her side. Both were a lot bigger than you, but the distinction she had was that one of her eye sockets was swollen, appearing to be missing the actual eyeball. You assumed she had lost sight in that eye.

"You must be a rookie or amateur then," she laughed. "What an idiot. The gang I used to work for would eat kids like you for breakfast."

"I'd like to be left alone, thank you," you grumbled, annoyed by her presence.

She quirked a brow. "Oh? Think you're too good for us, ay?"

"We should show her what happens to new meat in here," her friend grumbled, walking around the table to stand behind you, shaking your shoulder with her beefy hand. You felt repulsed that someone was even touching you at this moment- most of all someone who very clearly just wanted to beat your ass.

"I agree," the other laughed. She launched toward you, attempting to pull a punch, but you quickly swerved to the side, the punch landing in her friend's stomach. You grab your plastic spoon- the only utensil the prisoners appeared to be given- and swept out of the side as the woman launched herself at you.

You wrapped your arm around her neck, sinking down as you trapped her in a headlock. She kicked and scratched at your arm, but you quickly straddled her, aiming the spoon at her good eye. "Make one fucking move and I'll scoop your eye out like ice cream," you threatened. You gave a side glance to her friend, who was frozen in fear as she gawked at you along with all of the other inmates in the cafeteria. "That goes for you, too."

You lifted your foot to secure it on the woman's neck, and she was barely able to choke out her question. "Who the fuck are you?" she squeaked. You were surprised none of the security guards yanked you off of her, but it appeared they didn't care what the prisoners did to each other.

"Someone who wanted to eat their lunch in peace- that's what," you hissed, glaring down at her. "Now if anyone else has a goddamn problem with me, I suggest you shove it up your ass. Because I'll-"

It was cut short, however, from the sound of two large booms. You quickly jumped to the ground, rubble flying everywhere. You heard the sound of bricks toppling over, and dust and smoke filled the air.

You looked up at the person standing on top of the rubble, a gaping hole where the brick wall used to be. Your eyes widened as Shuhua stood above, eyes searching the crowd.

"Shuhua?" you gaped, surprised.

Shuhua immediately found you, smiling as you run towards her. "Had to come all the way from Libya to save your ass- now let's get out of here." You grab her hand as you stumble over the rubble, avoiding the guns from the security guards who had come to their senses.

The two of you were running as fast as you could, another hole shown in the wall surrounding the prison. The two of you leaped through the wall, spotting a helicopter waiting outside- a logo you recognized with one of the many corporations your company was affiliated with.

"Go go go! I'll take care of things from here," she insisted. She whipped the gun out from her side and shot at anyone coming close, hugging the wall as she aimed for whoever was about to follow after you.

You ran as fast as you could, enjoying the feeling of freedom as you ran across the grass, reaching for the outstretched hand as you were pulled into the helicopter.

"I came back for y-" Taehyung's words were muffled with a kiss as you held his face in your hand, happy to be in his embrace after so long.

"I knew you would," you say, grinning. "I never doubted it for a second."

"Put your seatbelt on- we've got to lift off," Taehyung said, reaching over has he strapped you in. You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself at his safety precautions.

He's smiling as well, looking at you the way that made your heart flutter. The light illuminating his golden features, so perfect they looked like they were cut from marble. He never looked more radiant.

"How come you're looking at me like that?" he asks you, voice loud as the sound of the choppers spinning fills the noise.

You say nothing, yanking him by his tie to smash his lips to yours once again, holding him in your embrace and closing your eyes, thankful to have this man by your side. He nips playfully at your bottom lip, hand moving a strand of hair behind your ear.

You pull back, your cheeks hurting from all the grinning. "Taehyung?" you shout, voice barely caught above the loud noise.

"What is it?" he shouts back.

"I love you!" you yell.

"What?" he screamed.

"I love you!" you repeat.

Taehyung grinned. "I heard you the first time, I just wanted to hear you say it again!"

You roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself as you pulled him into another kiss.

#taehyung #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #bts v #v #v smut #smut #bts smut #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung scenarios #bts scenarios #taehyung x reader #bts #bangtan

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xocriminal-minds-imaginesxo · 6 years ago

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What’s in a Name?

A/N: To those of you who told me to post this story, thank you. There will be another part to this. I didn’t want to put it in the queue, I just wanted to post it before I chickened out.

TRIGGER WARNING!

Agent Jaelyn Renasci took off after the UnSub at a sprint. Her boots were grinding against the gravel, closing in on him at a quick rate. When she was only a few steps behind she launched herself forward, tackling him to the ground. After taking an elbow to the face and instantly she felt the blood falling from her nose. She grabbed his ankle when he tried to run away. Quickly scrambling forward, she put all her weight into her movements, punching him in the nose, a sickening crack resounding. Sitting on his chest, she pulled out her gun and pressed it to his forehead, finally getting a look at his face.

“Hello, Agent Renasci.” He smiled at her and it made her stomach turn.

“Renasci!” Morgan’s voice resounded through the alley.

“Where’s the girl?” Jaelyn growled. When he didn’t say anything, Jaelyn whipped her gun across his face. “Where is she?” She screamed.

“Renasci!” Morgan pulled her back and she struggled against him.

“No! Morgan! He needs to tell us where the girl is!” Jaelyn kept pulling, but Morgan just held on to her all the more tightly.

“And he will! In the interrogation room at the precinct, not here!” He had wrapped both arms all the way around her, pinning her arms at her side. When the cop had cuffed the UnSub and led him away, Derek finally let her go.

“What happened?” Hotch asked when they got back to the house.

“Is she here?” Was Jaelyn’s response.

“Renasci, you’re bleeding, you need to see a medic.”

“Aaron is she here?” Her eyes met his, with a pleading look. Sadly, he shook his head. She rest her hands on top of her head and sucked in a breath. She lifted her arm, but Aaron caught her arm before her fist connected with the wall.

“Your hand is already bruised, possibly broken, you don’t need to add to that.” His voice was low, and he tossed Morgan the keys. “get back to the precinct and see what you can get I’m going to accompany Renasci to the hospital.”

“I’m fine.” Jaelyn spoke through clenched teeth.

“Like hell you are, let’s go.” Aaron couldn’t help using the boyfriend voice in place of boss voice, but in this situation, it seemed appropriate.

With his arm firmly gripped around her bicep Aaron guided her to the ambulance. Knowing it was useless to argue she gave in to his guidance and trudged into the ambulance. The medic took some sterile gauze and began wiping the blood from her face and she hissed in pain.

“This hand is going to need to be casted.” The other paramedic said, and she shook her head.

“No, we don’t have time for that. Wrap it up and I’ll cast it after we interrogate this son mother f-“

“Jaelyn!” Aaron’s voice was harsh.

“He knew my name, Aaron.” Jaelyn spoke after a moment. “I don’t know how, but I know him. We need to get back to the precinct so you can figure it out.” Aaron knit his brows together and nodded his head.

“Fine, bandage it up. I’ll make sure she comes back.”

When they got back to the precinct the team was sitting in the conference room, Garcia on the speaker.

“What’s this son of a bitch’s name?” Jaelyn growled tossing her go bag in the chair having changed her bloody shirt.

“Oh my god wh-“ Emily reached out to Jaelyn, gesturing to the bruise that was now forming on her cheek, but she pushed Emily’s hand away.

“I’m fine. Garcia?”

“Dave Mitchell.” Garcia’s voice was timid, unsure why Jaelyn was so upset. Grabbing a case file Jaelyn stormed out of the room and into the viewing room. She pulled open the file and looked at the picture of the dead little girl, praying to whoever would listen that they could find the one he had taken last night.

“There’s more to this, isn’t there?” She didn’t even hear Aaron come into the room. “You’ve been on edge this whole case.”

“It’s the victim.” Her voice was a whisper. “She just… she reminds me of somebody I know.”

“The only thing we’ve gotten out of him is his name.” Morgan had entered the room.

Hotch, Morgan, and Jaelyn stood behind the two-way mirror, arms folded across their chest they waiting to see if he would get restless, but he just sat, as cool as ever.

“Renasci, I want you to go in. I think it’ll make him more willing to speak.” Hotch finally spoke. Jaelyn stared at him in disbelief.

“Is that really wise considering what just happened in the field?” Morgan was confused.

“Aaron, is that really a good idea? I agree with Morgan, I don’t think I can stop myself from pistol whipping this guy.” She didn’t want to tell him that she was nervous, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“Yes, I’m sure. You’re going to walk in very calm and collected. You’re going to sit, and you are going to place two false photos along with the real photo on the table and ask him to confirm the victims. If he admits to each of them, we know he’s not the UnSub.” Hotch’s voice was firm. Jaelyn nodded her head and swallowed hard, taking the file from Morgan.

Hesitating, Jaelyn took a calming breath, and glanced at the boys who gave her a nod. Opening the door, she calmly turned and clicked it shut. Pretending she couldn’t hear her own heartbeat in her ears as she walked over to the table.

“Agent Renasci.” His voice caused her stomach to turn. Not speaking a word, she sat down and placed out all the pictures. Little girls, curled up in the fetal position, bruises around their necks.

“Can you please confirm that these are your victims?” Her voice was surprisingly calm, considering she wanted to do to him what he did to the poor little girl. His eyes flickered down to the pictures for a moment before meeting her eyes again.

“I can confirm that. Do you want me to tell them what I did to them? How I took them into the bathroom? Started by running a bath before I raped them?” Jaelyn couldn’t hide the disgust that had written all over her face. The blood drained from her face and there was a ringing in her ears so loud she could barely hear her own voice when she spoke.

“Where is he?” Her voice was wicked.

“Jaelyn, what are you doing?” Hotch voice sounded through her ear piece. She was so focused on the UnSub she didn’t hear Morgan walk into the room.

“Renasci?” Morgan placed a hand on her shoulder she shrugged him away, slamming her fists on the table, so loud it even caused Morgan to flinch at the sound.

“Where is he?” She asked again, her voice a thunderous boom, echoing around the room. There was a deafening silence following her outburst in which he smiled a sinister smile. Her chest was heaving, and her jaw was clenched tight.

“What do I get if I tell you?” He spoke coolly, she clenched her hands into fists.

“Renasci…” Morgan tried again to get her attention.

“Morgan, I’ve got this.” Jaelyn’s voice was dark.

“Leave the room Morgan.” Hotch’s voice sounded in their ear piece. Morgan furrowed his brow, concern written across his face, but he followed the order, slowly walking out of the room.

“We’ll tell the DA you cooperated, and you’ll get maximum security. If you don’t tell me or if you lie to me you will be put in a state prison for life and trust me when I say, guys like you don’t do well in prison.” Her voice tapered off to a menacing whisper. Eyes murderous from across the table, she stared him down until he finally answered.

“He’s where it all began.”

Jaelyn pushed away from the table and walked out of the interrogation room, out of the viewing room and out of the precinct. Barely making it to the edge of the sidewalk before emptying the contents of her stomach into the grass. A pair of familiar black shoes walked up beside her, his hands pulling her hair back.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, standing up and wiping the corner of her mouth.

“Do you mind telling me what just happened in there?” Aaron’s voice was soft.

“He’s not the UnSub.” Her voice cracked, and he stepped closer, holding himself back from reaching out to her.

“I gathered that. I’ve also gathered that you know who the UnSub is.”

“Yeah I do…” Aaron could sense she didn’t want to go into more detail.

“He gave up his name after you left, Garcia is looking up him up now.” JJ said when they stepped back into the conference room.

“Joseph Whiting was with him in prison.” Jaelyn heard Garcia’s voice over the speaker. “He has a rap sheet a mile long, filled with domestic violence and assault charges. 30 years ago, he was sent to prison after pleading guilty as an accomplice to murder.”

“When was he released?” JJ asked, all eyes pretending not to glance worryingly at Jaelyn and Hotch.

“Three weeks ago… oh god.” Garcia gasped.

“What is it Garcia?” Spencer questioned.

“While he was in prison he would brag about raping and molesting his partners granddaughter, Shauna, he was shanked and put in solitary confinement for his security.”

“How much do you want to bet she had blonde hair and blue eyes?” Emily asked. Jaelyn’s jaw was clenched, her hands were balled into fists so tight her nails were breaking the skin.

“Garcia, we need to find her she’s probably his end game. He blames her for getting hurt in prison. She’s probably where it all began.” JJ said.

“It says they tried to find her after he was released to offer her protective custody, but she went off the grid…” Garcia trailed off, fingers still clicking at the keyboard. Hotch looked down at Jaelyn, giving her a knowing glance, starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“They’re not you baby girl.” Morgan spoke up, glancing over to Jaelyn as well, an inquisitive look on his face.

“No, they are not and… oh, oh...” Garcia trailed off.

“Garcia?” Prentiss tried coaxing her. They heard a choked sob come from the other end of the line.

“Baby Girl?” Morgan sounded worry.

“I… Um… I’m no…” She couldn’t form a sentence.

“She’s trying to tell you that her name isn’t Shauna anymore.” Jaelyn finally spoke up, her voice monotonous.

“What? How do you know that?” JJ asked. After a moment Jaelyn finally lifted her eyes and met the curious gazes of her colleagues.

“Because my mom let me change it when I turned 16.”

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x oc #spencer reid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jj jareau #imagine #criminal minds imagine

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bts-aesthetics-for-the-soul · 7 years ago

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You Attempt Suicide After An Argument (Pt. 2)

.I know that this is a very serious topic, and I do not take suicide lightly. I myself have suffered with anorexia and depression before and it sucks. The best advice I can give is to tell someone, it doesn’t matter who. You can always come to me, my inbox is always open. Stay safe, friends.

Masterlist

Hyung Line

Jimin:

You stood and watched as he entered the small family-run cafe, his hands entwined with another woman’s. You watched as he smiled down at her, no love in his eyes, but to her she was looking at her world. You stood and stared as he leaned down to peck her lips. You walked across the street, paying no attention to the traffic as you went. You didn’t see the car barreling towards you. You didn’t see the mother shielding her child’s eyes. Nor did you see your body flying forward, the glass of the windshield shattering as the drunk man was ejected through it. Jimin’s head had whipped to the side as he heard all the commotion, seeing a body crumpled and bloody near the sidewalk. He rushed outside, looking down at the face of the body. His heart shattered in his chest. Your dull eyes stared back at him, cold and unblinking. The ringing of an ambulance consumed his ears, his mind, his soul. He didn’t move, not when they carried you into the ambulance, not when the woman he was with grabbed his hand, not when she asked what was wrong. He ripped his hand out of the woman’s, sprinting towards the nearest hospital. He ran until he reached the doors, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He continued, running in and demanding to know where you were. The nurse gave him a sad look, and told him that you were in surgery, the only possible thing that could save your life. The nurse handed him a stack of paperwork and a pen, and told him that he needed to fill it out. He told himself to stay calm, that you would make it out of this. His guilt ate away at the back of his mind, the combination of stress and anxiety lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

“Sir? Sir, we need you to wake up.” A kind voice rang out, awakening him from his sleep. “She’s awake, you can see her now.” The nurse took him to your room, and left promptly after opening the door. “Y/n? Honey-” His voice broke off into a sob as ran to your bedside. “Why are you here Jimin? Shouldn’t you be with her.” The last word sounded as though it was laced with venom, but in truth you held nothing against the girl, simply against Jimin. “Y/n, what are you talking about?” He faked confusion, and you saw easily through his lie. “There is no need to lie to me, Jimin. Tell me the truth.” You reprimanded, giving him a look of total disinterest. “If you’re going to be a bitch then fine. You should have died in that car crash.” He was fuming, and you could tell. You stared at him blankly, not bothering to tell him what had happened. “You are going to regret saying that one day, you know.” He scoffed, turning to the door. You stared at the wall as he left, your mind running rampant.

Two days later you were discharged, the nurse wheeling you out, your friend in her car to pick you up. She had been your only visitor other than Jimin, who had not returned once since your quarrel. She chatted quietly with you as you maneuvered yourself into the passenger seat. You gave the hospital one last look, as your friend was off to your apartment.

Arriving to your apartment, you were informed by the manager that someone had left several boxes for you, and that they were in your apartment. You wheeled yourself in, looking around at the place you called home. This place holds no warmth, no happiness. Only sorrow for what you had lost, only memories of what you used to know. Memories of your family, of friends, of Jimin, of your legs. The doctors had tried to give you a sense of hope, that one day you would be able to regain use of your legs, but you new that beneath their sympathetic smiles, they knew as well as you did that it wouldn’t happen. You didn’t bother opening the boxes as you reached into your purse, taking out all the medication you needed to take. Medication in hand, you wheeled over to the window, drawing open your curtains. You looked out into the city, watching as the sun began to set over the skyline. You quickly opened the pill bottles, downing them as quick as possible. Your tears left salty streaks on your cheeks, but a smile never left your face. You grabbed a notebook and pen, writing your thoughts and wishes down. You wanted for your friends to do as they wish with your things, and requested you to be buried in your favorite sweater, the one Jimin gifted you on your first anniversary. You let out a choked sob as you heard a shy knock at the door. “Y/n? Is that you?” You recognized that voice instantly, you heard it countless times, whispering words of love and endearment. “GO AWAY!” You screamed, not wanting to fail. “Y/n, what are you doing? Y/n? Y/N!” He started yelling, his worry overcoming most of his rationality. He slammed his shoulder against the door, ignoring the flaring pain. He repeated this, throwing his entire body weight into the door, it finally relenting and breaking down.

You woke up to blinding lights, a sterile smell invading your nose. “Jimin?” Your voice questioned. “I’m here, Y/n. I’m never leaving you again.”

Taehyung:

Another missed call. Another voicemail. Another failed attempt.

Y/n: Come one, Tae. Where are you? You promised that you’d actually show up this time.

Tae<3: Stop being so clingy, I have a life too you know.

Y/n: I’m sorry?

Tae<3: You’re being a bitch, Y/n. Just fuck off okay?

Y/n: Taehyung, do you really care that little about me?

Tae<3: For the love of god Y/n. Stop acting like you need me to live, because if that’s the case then don’t.

Y/n: I hope you realize what you just told me.

Tae<3: I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.

Messages can no longer be sent to this user.

You threw your phone, it crashing into the wall and shattering the screen. “FUCK YOU KIM TAEHYUNG!” You yelled out, your tears clouding your vision. You walked to the bathroom, starting the tub. You ripped of the plastic casing of your razor, marring your fingers whilst doing so. That was always his favorite feature of yours, you hated them even more now. You stepped into the scorching water, your clothes hanging heavily around you. You dragged the blade across your skin, watching as blood bubbled to the surface. You hissed as you dragged it across your skin, cross-hatching your arms as the water around you turned red. You watched in a daze as black dots blurred your vision. You watched as your life left your body, not permanently perhaps. You never saw Jungkook punch Taehyung across the face, or Jin screaming at him, or Yoongi glaring with all his might. You never saw any of those things, but perhaps that was what saved your life.

Jungkook:

The door slammed, feeling as though it rocked the entire house. You sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Y/N!” A scream bellowed from downstairs, frightening you to the core. Throwing the covers off, you sprinted down the stairs and down the hallway, worried if Jungkook was okay. “Are you okay?! Whats going on?” You exclaimed, your eyes fidgeting. “Why the fuck did Namjoon-hyung start talking about you today?” He growled, his tone venomous and deep. “How am I supposed to know? Did you really wake me up for this?” You drawled, annoyed that he had ruined the first time in weeks that you were sleeping well, especially over something so little. “Are you cheating on me with him?” A fire gleamed in his eyes as he said that, his voice dangerous and threatening. “First of all, no. I’m not. Second, I can’t believe that you think that little of me.” You rolled your eyes. turning to head back to bed to try and salvage what you could of your night. “I swear to god Y/n, why the fuck are you lying?” He stormed up to you and grabbed your forearm in a strong grasp. “Jungkook. I am going to give you one chance to let me go.” Your voice dropped, leading into a pained gasp as he tightened his grip. “You asked for it.” You swung your right arm around, sending it straight into his jaw. You leapt up the stairs, taking them by two until you reached your bedroom door, swiftly locking it behind yourself. “Y/N GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!” He boomed from behind the door. You heard his fists slamming onto the wood, trying to enter. “KILL YOURSELF YOU STUPID FUCKING WHORE. DO US ALL A FAVOR.” Your breath caught in your throat. You slowly crept over to the en-suite bathroom, locking that door behind yourself aswell. You grabbed two bottles of prescription strength melatonin supplements. You downed them quickly, curling up on the bathroom floor in a fetal position. Your tears streamed down your face. You hoped you wouldn’t wake up. You prayed and prayed that you would die. “YOU KNOW WHAT JUNGKOOK. FINE. WHO’S LAUGHING NOW.”

You seemed to have forgotten that if you tell someone your wish, it doesn’t come true.

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casuallydeliciousphilosopher · 7 years ago

Note

Prompt #9: “You’re in love with her.” Requested by @gucci–kisses !

Hey there! Sorry that this took so long! Life’s a bitch, lol. Anyways, I was originally going to do a Trixifer scene with this line, but I decided that it was a little too simple, and so we have this mess. Seriously, I don’t even know what this is anymore??? Anyways, this takes place somewhere in the late second season :)

The ringing sound of a gunshot was the last thing Lucifer heard before everything went blindingly white for a brief moment. His eyes adjusted to the brightness a moment later; but instead of the tall, dark outcroppings of rock he’d been expecting, he was surrounded by open sky, a vast, illustrious, silver-tinged city stretched out before him that was practically radiating light. He quickly glanced around himself, turning in a circle as he tried to determine if this was actually happening; and that’s when he noticed the added weight on his back, the angelic robes clinging to his body. It was easier than he’d like to admit to forget about the shootout that the Detective was currently facing, the anger coursing through his veins driving every deliberate step he took towards the unchanged city before him. He made his way through the sterile and abandoned streets with ease, still remembering every turn and alley even after all of the eons that had passed.

It wasn’t long before he stood in front of the tallest building, the white spire jutting so far up into the sky that the tip was practically indiscernible. He stalked towards the wide double doors before him, the seraphs guarding the entrance shrinking away from his presence almost instinctively. Lucifer pressed his hands against the cool white metal before pushing both doors open with enough force to send them banging into the walls behind them, stepping inside of his father’s throne room as several sets of eyes settled on him. He ignored the glare that Michael was sending his way, and the look of blatant surprise on Gabriel’s face as he stalked towards the golden throne his father sat upon. “You bastard,” Lucifer growled as he closed the distance resting between himself and his father, each of his footsteps ringing through the silent room.

“Well, hello to you too, Samael,” God replied as he stood, his white robes shifting across his hazelnut skin and his metallic silver hair glinting in the light as he moved.

Lucifer grit his teeth at the use of his old name as he ascended the few stairs leading to the throne, coming to a stop in front of his father as he glared down at the shorter man. “Why am I here?” He questioned, his voice deceivingly calm as his fingers twitched at his sides. He didn’t know what his father had planned, but there was no way that any good could possibly come from it.

“You died,” God replied with a lighthearted chuckle, his glowing silver eyes twinkling with something that was almost mischievous.

“Why am I in heaven?” Lucifer growled as he took a menacing step towards his father, immediately causing Michael to reach for his sword until God held a single hand out towards the archangel, instantly making him pause.

“Because, son, I’m finally beginning to realize how entirely dense you are.” The deity answered before reaching out towards the fallen angel, only to have his hand batted away. God let out a hefty sigh before he spoke up once more, “We need to talk, and since you wouldn’t listen to me when we met in that mental hospital, this seemed most prudent.”.

Lucifer faltered at his father’s words, his mouth dropping open as his defenses fell for a brief moment. “That was really you?” He questioned quietly, his eyes following his father’s movements with piercing calculation as he tried to find any hint of falsity in the claim.

“Only part of me,” God answered nonchalantly, before immediately continuing, “I’d have killed the human if I took full control.”.

Lucifer swallowed at the words, his throat suddenly dry at the confession. “Did you mean it?” He questioned, his voice shaking slightly from the desperation as he recalled the exact words ‘God’ Johnson had said to him at the mental hospital not too long ago. “When you said that you were proud of the man I’d become.” Lucifer continued, his voice threatening to crack over the simple words as he tried his best to choke back the pathetic emotions that were simmering just under the surface. “That you were sorry, for rejecting me when I needed you the most.” He growled, his voice growing callous and accusatory as fire lit up his eyes and he took another step towards his father, the two of them practically standing chest to chest.

God swallowed thickly, the sound echoing throughout the room before he answered, “I meant it.”. Lucifer drew in a shuddering breath at his father’s words, something deep inside of him soothing at the admission. “Every word.” His father added, his voice holding a melancholy note of what almost sounded like remorse.

“Then why?” Lucifer questioned, his voice almost defeated sounding as he spoke.

A confused look quickly flitted across God’s face before his voice broke the quiet, “Why what?”.

“Why did you make Chloe and put her in my path?” Lucifer growled, all of his abandoned anger and resentment flooding back in an instant. “Why are you still torturing me?” He snarled, his feathers bristling as his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his eyes flashed red once again.

God’s expression quickly changed, a look of understanding flooding across his face as he nodded softly. “Ah, yes. Chloe Jane Decker.” He murmured more to himself than anyone else. “You know, she’s mainly the reason you’re here talking to me at the moment.” He added as his eyes flicked up to meet his son’s fiery gaze. “We should probably check on her, shouldn’t we?” He questioned before snapping his fingers, the shimmering silver curtains behind his throne suddenly emblazoned with a view of earth. Lucifer swallowed thickly as the warehouse quickly filled the wall; a perfect image of Chloe hiding behind the same wooden crates he’d died by only a few moments ago, the sound of gunfire ringing through the room as though he was still alive and beside her.

“Lucifer.” She choked out as she stared at his lifeless body, her hands flitting across his bloodstained neck as they clearly sought out a pulse. She searched for it almost frantically, her fingers pressing deep into the side of his neck as she sought out any sign of life. It was obvious when she finally realized that there was none, her hand pulling away slowly as her eyes began watering. “No.” She breathed as her eyes locked on the slick, dark red blood coating her fingers. “No, no, no.” She muttered, her voice cracking on the quiet words as she frantically tried to wipe the liquid off on her jeans, only serving to spread the mess further across her hand as tears began streaking down her face. Gunshots echoed through the room a moment later, making her flinch back into the boxes as the wood above her splintered.

“Turn it off,” Lucifer growled, immediately drawing the gaze of his father and his siblings away from the image as all three of them stared at him.

“I think this is something you need to see,” God replied a moment later as the image of Chloe returning fire filled the wall. “You know, as far as you come, you are still so self-absorbed.” He muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear as he shook his head, his expression the embodiment of a disappointed father. “You think that everything is about you,” God continued, his voice growing more commanding as it boomed over the sound of gunshots. “This woman has multiple purposes, and they don’t all revolve around you.” He growled, his voice shaking as he pointed to the image behind him. Lucifer almost found himself quivering at the raw power flowing off of his father; but he wasn’t young, naive Samael anymore, he would not bow so easily. He watched as his father composed himself a second later, soothing his hands over his robes before continuing. “Her biggest purpose was her child, ‘the spawn’, as I believe you call her.”. Lucifer’s mouth fell open slightly at the admission as he tried to figure out whether or not there was any falsity to his father’s words. “Beatrice Decker has a very important life ahead of herself,” God explained, a fond smile filling his face for a moment before it dulled, his piercing eyes meeting Lucifer’s as his mouth began to purse into a thin line.

“Even though Chloe was designed with you in mind, she was never designed for you specifically,” God explained, his voice tense as he slowly began to step around Lucifer. “Did you know that I keep a feather from every angel I’ve ever created?” He questioned curiously as he continued to step around his son, slowly walking a circle around the fallen angel. Lucifer felt his mouth turn down into a frown as he silently wondered why his father was sharing this information with him; what did he care if his father had one of his old feathers laying around somewhere collecting dust? “Well, they were feathers once upon a time,” God chuckled, and the mirth in his voice immediately set several red flags off in Lucifer’s head. The fallen angel quickly turned around to face his father, pulling his gaze from the image of backup officers finally arriving to help Chloe with the gunfight. The two celestials held each other’s gaze almost like a standoff before God’s voice broke the quiet, “They’re all souls now.”.

Lucifer’s eyebrows drew together at the new information as he tried to figure out what his father was hoping to achieve by divulging this information. God simply smiled at his son’s reaction before continuing to step around him, waiting for something to click in the fallen angel’s head. “As I’m sure you can imagine, such a soul would be immune to the angel it once came from.” He added, hoping that a nudge in the right direction would spur the connection he was waiting for. God smirked the moment he caught the way that Lucifer’s eyes flicked to the image of Chloe on the wall in front of him before immediately settling on him again. “It would share the same underlying traits; the intelligence, the instincts, the drive to make sure that guilty are punished and the innocent are protected,” God clarified, and Lucifer swallowed thickly at the words as his father came to a stop beside him, holding his hands behind his back as he stared at the image of Chloe on the wall as Dan rushed over to embrace her. “Yet, despite the similarities, they would still be different. Different enough to compliment each other; one could be patient while one could be quick to anger, one could be forgiving while the other could be grudging…” God trailed off as Dan pulled back from Chloe slightly, his hands running down her arms before he spoke.

“Chlo, where’s Lucifer?” Dan’s eyebrows knitted together as he spoke, his eyes flicking across the warehouse as he looked for any sign of the man.

“Lucifer,” Chloe murmured, her eyes growing distant and watery as she swallowed thickly before shaking her head, her hands clutching Dan’s jacket until her knuckles were white. “He…he saved my life,” She choked out, her voice breaking on the words as a few tears escaped her eyes. A sudden look of melancholy understanding came over Dan’s face before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him again.

“One could love others deeply while the other is too frightened to accept their own emotions, let alone the emotions of another,” God’s cold voice cut over the sound of Daniel’s quiet reassurances as he rubbed Chloe’s back. Lucifer swallowed thickly as he pulled his gaze from the images before him, unable to watch the Detective fall apart over his death any longer. “But, as compatible as such a soul would be with the angel it came from, it would be dangerous. Capable of killing said angel, if the need arose for me to use that soul in such a way,” God added, and Lucifer narrowed his eyes slightly as he stiffened.

“My vulnerability,” Lucifer murmured quietly, watching as a soft smile graced his father’s face at his words. Suddenly everything made sense, the way he’d always felt drawn to her, the way she always seemed to shine brighter than anyone else, the way she’d been able to get him to lower his defenses so quickly.

“As Eve was created from Adam’s rib, Chloe’s soul was created from one of your feathers,” God stated, knowing that if he didn’t say it word for word his son would try to find a way to disqualify the merit of this conversation.

Lucifer stared at the ground as he tried to figure out what the point was. His father never did anything without reason, surely there was something bigger at play here, there had to be. Chloe was created to be able to hurt him, but she was also created to compliment him. He felt a hot surge of anger flow through him as he realized that Chloe had truly been nothing more than his father’s pawn, a tool to be used to either manipulate him or end his life. “So that’s it? She only ever had two options, kill me or care for me?” Lucifer growled as he took a menacing step towards his father.

“Samael,” God sighed, his annoyance practically palatable. “Nothing is black or white, everything is gray.” He stated matter-of-factly before quickly continuing, “I can’t control souls, I can simply choose what environment they draw life experiences from. I put Chloe in the hands of John and Penelope Decker in hopes that her father’s strong morals would rub off on her, that her mother’s carefree attitude might help her naturally purpose driven soul to loosen up a little.”. Lucifer tried to find the lie in his father’s words, but he knew that it was the truth. His father would be able to command the power that a feather held, he’d be able to shape it and form it as he pleased, but he wouldn’t have any real influence over it after he turned it into a human soul. “At least the morals rubbed off,” God chuckled quietly, seemingly finding some amusement in the statement as he pulled Lucifer out of his thoughts.

“I put her in an environment that I believed would make it more likely for the two of you to possibly be together, if that’s what both of you chose,” God explained, his voice growing soft as his sparkling gaze met his sons. “I could have put her in a lesser environment, one that might have made her more likely to kill others in cold blood.” He added with a shrug, and Lucifer felt annoyance bubble under his skin at the words.

“You mean to kill me in cold blood,” Lucifer spat, earning no reaction from his father.

“But I didn’t,” God stated simply, quirking a single eyebrow as he spoke. “She has free will, she has a choice, just as you do.” He added simply before his expression darkened dangerously. “If you think back far enough I’m certain you’ll remember that even though Eve was created from Adam and for Adam she had the ability and the will to choose a different partner over him,” God’s voice grew scolding as Lucifer swallowed nervously at the display of emotion. Apparently, his father still hadn’t gotten over the tryst he’d had with Eve back in the day. “Chloe has that ability as well.” He added, his voice growing kinder as his eyes softened slightly. “She will move on son, you will lose her to another if you continue to neglect her.” Lucifer shifted at the words, trying to ignore the straining feeling those words sent spiraling through his core.

“She still loves you, for some inexplicable reason,” God murmured as he watched the image on the wall before him play out; the morticians loading Lucifer’s dead body onto a stretcher as Chloe tried to follow after them. The way she desperately tried to keep hold of her grasp on his pale hand before Dan pulled her away from the body. “And you know it, deep down in your heart, even though you refuse to acknowledge it, that you’re in love with her as well.” He spoke as he turned to face his son, stepping in front of the fallen angel and drawing his gaze away from the wall. “It truly is a pity that you’re too dead to tell her that now,” God muttered, his voice grave.

Lucifer’s mouth fell open at his father’s words, his eyebrows drawing together as he desperately tried to think of the right words to persuade his father to send him back, even if it was only for a few sparse minutes. “The look on your face!” God snickered, a sudden grin quickly exterminating his serious expression as his deep booming laughter filled the room. Lucifer took a small step back as he tried to figure out whether or not his father had lost his mind, but God was speaking up before he could put much distance between the two of them. “I’m going to do you a favor, Samael. In hopes that it might, in some small way, make up for the actions I took against you in the past.” His father spoke as he reached out, resting his hands on Lucifer’s shoulders as his expression turned serious once more. “Don’t take this lightly, embrace your second chance for everything it’s worth,” God warned, pulling his son down slightly before pressing his lips against the fallen angel’s forehead.

One second Lucifer was standing in the throne room of heaven, and the next second he was falling all over again. The wind rustling his robes and his feathers as he quickly descended, it took him a second to get his bearing before realizing that the ground was approaching at a dangerously fast pace. He didn’t have the time to will his wings to carry him into the sky, so he settled for pulling one of them around himself just seconds before he hit the ground. This time he didn’t go crashing through the earth’s surface, he wound up skidding against the rough pavement before coming to a stop, groaning at the jarring stab of pain.

“What the fuck!” Daniel’s scared voice was the first sound that reached the fallen angel’s ears as he slowly pushed himself up with an arm.

“And just when I think our relationship might be on the mend you have to go and make me fall! Again!” Lucifer shouted at the sky as he stood, small bits of loose gravel falling from his robes as he mentally took stock of the fact that at least he hadn’t broken anything. He glanced over at the scrambling sound to his right, watching as Daniel pushed Chloe behind himself. His throat tightened at the sudden revelation that they were both now clearly in the know, but he tried not to panic at the thought of both of the humans standing before him rejecting him as he slowly turned to face them.

Lucifer’s hopes were effectively dashed when Daniel quickly reached down to his side, drawing his gun and pointing it at him. “Now, now, Daniel, let’s not get hasty,” Lucifer began as he lifted a single hand towards the officer in a motion of surrender. “I’m not sure how many times I can persuade dear old dad to resurrect me.” He chuckled, hoping to snap Dan out of his shock. He gave up on the notion of calming the officer a moment later, his hand falling down to his side as he tried to ignore the obvious look of fear laced across Dan’s face. Surely Chloe wasn’t faring any better, the thought made his stomach churn as he let out a sigh and accepted the inevitable end of both relationships. He scowled as he spread his wings, grateful for the fact that they weren’t broken, even if a few of his primaries had been scuffed up.

“Who are you? What did you do to Lucifer?” Dan shouted, his voice shaking.

Lucifer didn’t bother to look up at the question, unwilling to see the distrust and hatred that he was certain would be evident in Dan’s expression. “Seriously? Do you need to see an optometrist?” He questioned as he shook his wings out, more small bits of gravel cascading to the ground before he tucked them away, willing them into another plane of existence. “I am Lucifer.” He stated as he forced himself to look up, watching as Daniel slowly relaxed his arms his gun slowly drifting down to point at the ground as surprise and understanding washed across his face. Chloe stepped out from behind him a moment later, and Lucifer felt his heart miss a beat as his gaze settled on her wide eyes.

“You’re really…the Lucifer,” Dan muttered quietly, but the fallen angel paid him no attention as he stepped forward, desperate to feel Chloe under his hands, to make sure that no harm had come to her during the shootout. “Stop,” Dan ordered, his gun suddenly rising once again, his aim focused solely on the devil.

Lucifer gritted his teeth as he slowly lifted both of his hands. “Would it calm you down a bit if I said all of that ‘be not afraid my child for I mean you no harm’ nonsense?” He asked coldly, quickly growing tired of having his life threatened so soon after it had just been restored. “I mean, if I wanted to hurt you I would have a long time ago.” He added grumpily before immediately continuing, “You are very annoying.”. The look of anger that flashed across Dan’s face disappeared the moment that Chloe stepped around him, slowly closing the distance resting between herself and Lucifer as the devil’s hands slowly drifted back down to his sides.

“Lucifer?” Chloe murmured, her voice easily cutting through the tense silence. “You’re really…” She trailed off as she stopped in front of him, her hands slowly reaching out before she touched his arms. “You’re really here.” Her voice grew stronger as her eyes flicked up to meet his as her hands continued to roam his body. Lucifer swallowed nervously at her reaction, waiting for the hammer to fall and for her to run away screaming. “You’re alive.” The words were choked, her eyes growing wet as she reached up and rested a hand against his cheek.

Lucifer fought the urge to cover her hand with his own as he spoke up, “Well, you know what they say.”. He watched as her eyebrows drew together just before he continued, “Can’t keep a good devil down.” He chuckled, immediately defaulting to humor in an attempt to escape the horrible anxiety churning his stomach.

“You’re really the devil,” Chloe stated quietly, and Lucifer swallowed nervously as he watched a myriad of complex emotions flicker across her face one after another.

“I’ve always been the devil. I’m still me,” Lucifer breathed, silently imploring her to believe him. What was the point of being alive again if she refused to allow him near? “Nothing’s changed.” He added, swallowing as Chloe’s expression quickly became unreadable. “Well, except for the wings, but, other than tha—” Lucifer was silenced before he could finish, Chloe’s arms suddenly wrapping around him as she buried her face in his chest.

“Thank God you’re okay.” Her muffled voice reached his ears and he couldn’t help but smile softly as he slowly wrapped his arms around her slight frame, burying his nose in her hair as he breathed her in. A sudden swell of hope flowing through his veins at the feeling of her in his arms.

“Yes, well, I suppose He does deserve a little gratitude for this,” Lucifer muttered quietly, drawing a snort from his detective that made a smile light up his face. He wasn’t sure how long the two of them stood there before she pulled away, the wet streaks trailing down her face sparking in the sunlight before he brought a hand up to wipe them away. He marveled at the way she didn’t flinch from his touch, and before he knew that he was doing his thumb had drifted lower, brushing lightly over her lower lip. He pulled away as soon as he realized what he was doing, clearing his throat as he let his hand fall back down to his side. “Your guardian angel has officially returned.” He quipped with a smile, drawing a peal of bright laughter from her as she grabbed his hand before dragging him over to the black patrol car. And with every step he took, Lucifer silently thanked his father and swore to himself that we certainly wasn’t going to let his second chance escape him.

#gucci--kisses #prompt fic #prompt fill #my fic #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer oneshot #lucifer on fox #lucifer ff #deckerstar fanfiction #deckerstar ff #deckerstar #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #daniel espinoza #and god himself even makes an appearance :)#idk what this is???#here have a wild theory about chloe's origins

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fandomiseverything · 7 years ago

Text

Pros and Con of Countries - Written by two Americans (Who both live in Minnesota)

Canadia

Pros:

Marriage equality (the gays can get married!) (SINCE 2005!!!!) (YEAH!!!!!)

Free healthcare :0

People are truly friendly

Politics are lighthearted and easily run

Higher wages

They have a town called Regina

Money has little windows that when a laser pointer is shined through it, it shows the value on the wall

They hate Justin Bieber

I’m pretty sure Justin Bieber can’t go into Canada? So that’s good (that is good)

Avril Lavigne

AVRIL LAVIGNE (yeah shes great but why is she a pro 2 times) (cuz she’s a clone) (ohyea)

Its a themepark (what) (their money projects the amount on the wall, its monopoly money, its waterproof, and its a scratch and sniff….. Its a themepark)

GingerPale

Rei & Shane (and Rei’s cats)

Canada is one of the most gay-friendly countries in the world

Change of legal sex available in all provinces and territories

under varying rules without sexual reassignment surgery

Tim Horton’s (YEEEEE, now i want tim hortons, ive heard of it never had it, and now i want it) (it’s gooooood. One day we could drive down to Brainerd and get some) (THEY HAVE TIM HORTONS IN BRAINERD????/!111/1/1?1/1?!?!?!?) (ye) (WEEEENEEEEEDDDTTOOOOOGGOOOGOGOOO!!!!11!!!1!11!!!!!, LEAVE IT TO MINNESOTA OR AS WE KNOW IT, SOUTH CANADA, TO HAVE A TIM HORTONS)

Cons:

Higher cost of living

Snow. lots of fucking snow.

Their money??? Is weird???

Consumer choice is low (especially with Netflix. The Canadian library is half the size of America’s)

Environmental impact (they’re one of the top oil producers in the world)

They spell Canadien with an “e” (its Canadian you matherfeker)

Its kinda hard to get into Canada

*Chloe voice* they are not French they just PRETEND to be for ATTENTION. (wow)

A lot of people only speak French (thats pretty much the same for any country, they speak a different language)

How do you speak French (very difficultly, lots of vowels, slightly similar to italian and spanish)

Its a themepark

It doesn’t exist (vtru)

COLD

Sweden

Pros:

It’s very clean. Like, seriously.

Most attractive people in the world

The locals are anti-social

The Gay has been legal since 1944

Right to change legal gender since 1972,

No sterilization required since 2013

Sexual orientation and gender identity/expression protections

Gays can adopt

Gay marriage legal since 2009

the first country in the world to allow transgender people to legally correct their gender

HomO, was the Swedish office of the ombudsman against discrimination on grounds of sexual orientation (i think its a funny name)

after one year of abstaining from sex, gay and bi men can donate blood

Sweden is Europe's most gay-friendly country

Cons

Very high taxes

Can’t ask for directions no one will talk to you :(

The locals are anti-social (so am i)

Germnay

Pros:

Central hub makes it easy to travel to other european countries

Good healthcare

Very active, with fairs and parties

Oktoberfest is pretty lit i guess (you guess?) (I’ve never been to Oktoberfest but my friend from Germnay - fuck you - says it’s great)

Legal drinking age is 16

Rammstein

Furries (i’m not a furry i sWEAR) (are you sure about that??) (i dOnT kNoW)

Legal to be gay since 1968 East Germany and 1969 West Germany

Gay marriage legal since 2017

Transgender persons allowed to change legal gender without required sterilisation and surgery

Sexual orientation and gender identity protection nationwide; some protections vary by region

Full adoption rights since 2017

gay and bisexual men have been allowed to donate blood, provided they haven't had sex for twelve months

83% of Germans support same-sex marriage

Cons:

Nearly everything is closed on sunday

Legal drinking age is 16

Germans dont get sarcasm

Finland

Pros:

They, unlike the Germans LOVE sarcasm

Very clean air

walk anywhere in nature at anytime

SEALS they have a special breed of seal native to finland

Very clear northern lights

They’re modest?

Extremists

Good heavy metal music apparently

People say they’re kind

Some of the most progressive lgbt laws in the world

Transgender people allowed to change legal gender, but only after sterilization

Sexual orientation and gender identity protections

Gay marriage is legal

Legal to be gay since 1971

one of the most LGBT-friendly countries in the world and public acceptance of LGBT people and same-sex relationships is high (lots of gays!!)

Cons:

CANCELLED, THEY HAVE FAT RARE SEALS

Norway (Richie’s fave country besides Canada)

Pros:

Snow is wet so you can actually do stuff with it (unlike MINNESOTA) (you CAN do stuff with minnesota snow!) (NO YOU CAN’T IT’S POWDERY AND WEIRD) (swhy you wait for wet snow or wait till it melts slightly, cause then its warm and thereswet snow) (NO) (yEEE) >:(

Norwegian elkhounds :0

People seem friendly?

Transgender persons allowed to change legal gender

Sexual orientation, gender identity/expression, intersex status protections

Gay marriage legal since 2009, Gender-neutral marriage has been legally recognized since 1 January 2009

Married and committed same-sex couples allowed to adopt

Gay is legal since 1972

1 year deferral period was implemented, gay and bisexual men can donate blood

generally gay-friendly

Cons:

Shrugs

COLD (VERY COLD)

Russia

Pros:

Furry coats are nice

Furry hats called ushanka

Babushka means grandma but buska means bitch

Vodka

The GayTM, Decriminalised in 1917; Re-criminalised in 1933; Legal since 1993

Legal gender change since 1997

But only after what they call ‘medical procedures’ (idk what they mean by that but i suspect surgERY)

Cons:

No gays allowed

Religion is bAD

Religion is GOOD

THEY CAN’T DECIDE???

ALSO COLD (SO COLD)

Too much snow

They like to destroy things? I saw two Russian guys put a stick of dynamite in the sewer and explode the road? Why? (BAD but thins going boom is fun, but not important things)

Vladimir Putin (yee, but we have sarah palin to watch him) (o shid u right)

Government is weird? You can get killed if you say you don’t like the tsar?

If you gay and live in ‘Murica you can’t adopt from Russia (fuck russia)

Communism I guess (thought you liked communism?) (to a degree. I like the idea of it but it’s also bad? Like you can’t/don’t own anything? Your dog is not your dog it is everyone’s dog? I do not like that my dog is mINE)

No discrimination protections

No recognition of gay relationships

tends to be among the most hostile toward homosexuality

Japan

Pros:

SHIBES!!!!! AKITAS!!!! FLUFFY DOGGIES!!!

Sakura trees :0

Pretty colors

Gay is legal, it was legalized in 1880

Very strict gun laws

Never had a school shooting EVER

2015 opinion poll found that a majority of Japanese support the legalisation of same-sex marriage

sex among consenting adults, in private, regardless of sexual orientation and/or gender, is legal under Japanese law

Cons:

Killer bees (we dont like killer beeeees, NOT THEEEE BEEEEEEEEEESSSS!!!) (the killer bees will kill you in a heartbeat)(bad bees…. , NONONONONONNOTJAPAN) (they only live in the forests tho. I think)(ILIKEFORESTS!!) (me too)

No nationwide recognition of same-sex relationships

No gay marriage

Gay and Lesbian Kingdom of the Coral Sea Islands

Pros:

All the gay is allowed

They have their own website you know it’s legit when they have their own website

Government is gay (everything there is gay) (shhhhhhhhhggSTOPITgggg)(NO)

Dingos

Cons:

Im pretty sure you cant permanently live there

It was technically at war with Australia for a while

Dingos (I want,,, to pet them,,, but they will bite me,,,)(i was gonna put them in the cons too if you didnt)

Kangaroos (vdangerous) (they scare me) (THEY SHOULD)

Greece (i like greece)

Pros:

Ruins

Anti-lgbt discrimination explicitly banned (ooo nice)

Food

Ocean!!!!!!! Ocean ocean ocean ocean ocean ocean ocean!!!!!!!!! (SaME)

Goats :0

Male homosexuality has been legal since 1951, female homosexuality has always been legal (nICE)

Hate crimes laws covering all areas incl. sexual orientation, gender identity and sex characteristics

school sex ed classes include segments on sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, homophobia and transphobia (NICE!!!!!)

Pride has been held since 2005, and has been held in most other moderate sized cities since 2010

Trans people's can legally change their gender without having to undergo sex reassignment surgery (NICE!!!!!!)

GAY CULTURE IS VERY VIBRANT

a 1982 law that legalized civil marriage between "persons", without specifying gender, acted as a test-case for same sex marriage

Since 2005, discrimination based on sexual orientation in the workplace is prohibited.

A lot of boat traveling

Cons:

Quality of life is kind of falling apart

A lot of animals roam freely, which means LOTS of poop

Goat farmers (whats wrong with goat farmers) (they won’t let me pet their goats :( ) (really…. Thats why this is a con?) (yes. I’m a petty bich) (......) (i like goats. And i want to pet them. If you do not let me pet your goats I will be sad [and kinda mad because I want to love them])

Lots of fucking goat cheese

Too close to Italy (whats wrong with italy???) (too friendly. It’s suspicious) (OMFG SERIOUSLY???) (YOU PUT THE FACT THAT CANADA SPELLS CANADIAN WITH AN “E” IN THE CONS) (thats because it iS A CON!!!!! CANADIAN IS SPEELED WITH AN “A”) (NOT IN CANADA)

The Netherlands

Pros:

quite strict gun laws, not seen as a right, but a privilege (????) (you wanted strict gun laws, they have really strict gun laws, its a privilege to have guns, and only for hunting and target shooting, not for self defence, or for other things at all) (nice!)

Homosexuality legalized in 1811 (holy shid)(yeeee)

Gay marriage legal since 2001 (i was born in 2001, they knew i was coming) (I was born in 2000)

The first country to legalize gay marriage (I approve)

banned discrimination on sexual orientation on the grounds of employment, housing, public accommodations, and more.

Lesbians can get IFV (???)(in vitro fertilization, they implant a fertilized egg so they can carry their own child, instead of just adopting)

Transgender persons allowed to change legal gender, only after a diagnosis but without surgery or hormone therapy

. Amsterdam has frequently been named one of the most LGBT friendly cities in the world

Homomonument, was the first monument in the world to commemorate homosexuals who were persecuted and killed during World War II (this is so cool)

85% of the Dutch population supported same-sex marriage and adoption as of 2013

Cons:

Cold? I think?

Republic of Ireland

Pros:

Ireland (nice pro) (thanks)

first country to legalise same-sex marriage on a national level by popular vote

Affordable for any budget

Entitled to 20 days of leave

Yes, transgender people can change legal gender by self-declaration since 2015

Safe, with few guns

Less police

Lots of pubs

Speak English (this was a pro on a website) (IT IS A PRO I ONLY SPEAK SPANGLISH) (Spanglish) (YES SPANGLISH , DONT BE A DIC) (I can’t be what I don’t have)

Fear nothing and no one

Gay marriage legal since 2015

Low crime rate

Cons:

In a fight with Northern Ireland because they don’t want to be ruled by England but Northern Ireland does. Now Northern Ireland is a separate country.

The potato famine (I like potatos) (exactly)

Bad weather

Less police

Not much of a non-alcohol social scene

Fear nothing and no one

The Philippines

Pros:

Have to be at least 21, and pass a background check to be issued a Possession License for guns

If you’re a foreigner and you have a gun, you’re going to go to prison.

They are poised to make stricter gun laws

LGB allowed in the military

Low cost of living

GORGEOUS!!! IT’S GORGEOUS!!!

The Family Code of the Philippines says that marriage is “a special contract of permanent union between a man and a woman,” but The Constitution does not prohibit same-sex marriage

One of the most gay-friendly countries in the world

Is the most gay-friendly country in Asia

Cons:

Can’t donate blood if you gay. You will give them The GayTM. (don’t drink the tap water)

Drug problems

Healthcare problems in some areas

Tagalog is very complicated to learn

Malta

Pros:

Transgender people can change gender with or without surgery

Homosexuality legal since 1973

Gay marriage legal since 2017

ban on anti-gay discrimination in employment

sexual orientation and gender identity protections

the first country in the European Union to prohibit the use of conversion therapy

Cons:

Gay and bi men in Malta are not allowed to donate blood

Though there’s talk to change that law

Poland

Pros:

In Warsaw they have a Hatsune Miku statue

Never illegal to be gay

Transgender persons allowed to change legal gender.

one of few countries where sexually active gay and bisexual men are not legally restricted from donating blood. (give them The GayTM, drink that dam tap water)

Cons:

Apply to high schools

School is weird

Gay marriage is banned (wHAT) (I KNOW! Im sad too) (what if you’re gay married BEFORE moving to Poland) (idk are you planning to get gay married?, also … i dont remember waht i was gonna say) (no i’m just thinking about all the other gays who might move to Poland)

United Kingdom

Pros:

The Queen (YEEEE!!!)

Always legal for women to be gay; decriminalised for men in: 1967 England and Wales, 1981 Scotland, 1982 Northern Ireland

Right to change legal gender since 2005

Gay marriage since 2014, not in northern ireland

All discrimination protections since 2010; some existed since 2003 for sexual orientation and 1999 for gender identity

Tea

Crumpets

Cons:

Under the Gender Recognition Act 2004, transgender people who are married have been required to divorce or annul their marriage in order for them to be issued with a GRC. (??????? wtf????) (ikr, its kind of very mean)

The legislation of gay marriage also does not restore any of the marriages of transgender people that were forcibly annulled as a precondition for them securing a GRC

What time is it? ...ITS SEVEN BONG!! (you know they don’t actually tell time like this, right?) (IDONTCARE)

Still #salty about the Revolution (VERY)

BISCUITS (NO!!) (aka cookies in America) (FUCK BISCUITS)

conversion therapy remains legal in the UK (NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO) (IKR LIKE FUCK THAT)

Rains a lot

France

Pros:

Baguette (noice)

DEPENDING ON THE TIME OF DAY THE FRENCH GO EITHER WAY

Legal to be gay since 1791 (no wonder Lafayette was like how he was)

Transgender people allowed to change legal gender without surgery

Sexual orientation and gender identity protections

Gay marriage legal since 2013

amendment to existing anti-discrimination legislation, making homophobic, sexist, racist, xenophobic etc. comments illegal.

gay and bisexual men in France can donate blood after 1 year of abstinence

Transsexuality declassified as an illness

Cons:

Lots of crime? (from what I’ve heard)

Denmark

Pros:

Gay is legal since 1933

Transgender persons allowed to change legal gender without a diagnosis, hormone therapy, surgery or sterilization

Sexual orientation and gender identity/expression protections

Full adoption since 2010

Gay marriage legal since 2012

Gays in military since 1978

Lesbians can get IFV

Laws against hate speech for seual orientation

Lgbt sex ed and relationships taught in schools

Cons:

Iceland

Pros:

Legal to be gay since 1940

Transgender people allowed to change gender without surgery

Gay marriage since 2010

No standing army

Sexual orientation protections

Both full joint and stepchild adoption allowed

2016, Icelandic President participated in the Reykjavik Pride Parade

the first Icelandic President to attend a gay pride parade

Cons:

No standing army

currently unable to donate blood in Iceland

Though they are wanting to remove the ban

Greenland

Pros:

The GayTM has been legal since 1933

Sexual orientation protection laws

outlawed hate speech on the basis of sexual orientation

Gay marriage and full adoption rights since 2016

Cons:

Cant donate blood

trans people cant legally change gender (fACK YA GENDA RULES)

This is all we got for now, but if anyone has any input or tidbits about these countries that wasn’t listed, that you think is important (especially if you live in said countries, send one of us a message, we’ll add it asap! (most likely me, because im on more often and as such am more likely to check my messages) Sorry for the extremely long post!

#longpost #Very long post #countries #things written in parenthesis are our commentary #bold (if you can even see the bold #If you cant... have fun guessing whos wo) I'm bold #non bold is @Richie-spacedust #I swear it started mostly serious #then it devolved into memos jokes references and a lot of gay #send us anything you think we need to add #sorry for how long this is

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clandestineclairvoyant · 7 years ago

Text

Jungle Law

(Based on an au by @kickingshoes Where Lucian's are cats, Niflheim's dogs, there's deer and horses and tigers, but most important is Cor Leonis adopting puppy!Prompto)

Summary on AO3;

Cor opened what felt like the hundredth door of the day, and looked down the barrel of a gun.

It wasn’t the first time.

In fact, it was far from the first time, and probably bound to be far from the last. Something about Cor Leonis prompted people to point weapons at him, and if he ever found out why, he had strict standing orders to explain it to Clarus.

In detail.

Niflheim bases were large, sprawling, and confusing.

Cor had spent the past hour since they’d broken through the front gate trying to find the base Commander, or where they kept their project files; Whichever came first.

It was looking as if the base was going to crumble before either happened though, he thought idly, as dust from the concrete ceiling sifted gently down from another distant, rattling boom.

He felt no closer than when he’d started. Cor was more experienced than most, able to decipher most of the written signs on the walls, and easily following the cramped and sterile halls towards where he assumed the command offices were based on the flow of traffic and the upkeep of the hallways. But he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, since a sign that led towards ‘Infantry Research and Development’ certainly didn’t seem like where he’d find the base commander cowering. Possibly the files though.

Another rumble echoed through the base, and Cor adjusted his steps, letting the quaking of the floor rattle itself out. He remained stubbornly on all four paws, glancing at the ceiling to gauge how much time he had left, and whether someone from the Crownsguard would be able to disarm the self-destruct charges before the base Commander got clear and detonated them. If they didn’t, there was a time limit. The latest they could push to before cutting their losses and getting out, empty-handed or not. It was still a victory of a sort, with one less Niflheim base pushing onto the border of Duscae.

But their Infantry could do that. You sent in the Crownsguard for other reasons.

Cor scowled, pushing himself clear of the wall once the shaking stopped to head towards what looked like the door into the next research division, an emergency light blinking sickly over it. He had about another ten minutes, and then he’d have to start sounding the retreat.

Might as well see what the next corner brought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~42 Seconds~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cor opened what felt like the hundredth door of the day, and looked down the barrel of a gun.

It wasn’t the first time.

The scientist with the gun was dressed in familiar Niflheim whites, face covered by a plastic and rubber mask that had misted with quick shallow breaths brought on by panic and desperation. No doubt exacerbated by the fact that black and red blood was dripping freely and tackily from the naked blade in Cor’s hand. The scientists fur was an off white, what Cor could see of it under the white sterile cloaks most of them wore. Some kind of winter canine, a coyote or fox of some sort maybe. Didn’t matter.

He was slightly to the right of the door in front of row of odd containers set into the wall, and behind a bank of computers. They looked like glass and steel boxes set into complicated machinery, with double hinged doors to open them from the front. Cor had passed rooms full of them on his way here, but this one looked like the most recently used. Some if not most of them were dark and dusty with disuse; But the one the scientist was standing next to looked functional, if a little battered. It had lights on the side, indicators flashing indiscriminate red and green and the LED read out scrolling through a complicated array of numbers.

The room was cluttered compared to the rest of the facility, almost hospital-like. Cor had passed many empty and dark rooms with what looked like abandoned equipment and glass casings behind dirty and cracked observation screens. He hadn’t expected to find anything but perhaps some files back here.

And there were, between him and the scientist. Steel computer terminals with small keycodes and fingerprint scanners on them, no doubt holding the documents Cor had been hoping to prevent the magitek-facility employees from destroying. The Crownsguard had taken longer than he’d thought they would cracking the front door and muscling past ranks of MT’s, and he’d been forced on ahead alone to see what intel he could salvage before it was destroyed.

You always got the best stuff that way.

Fortunately, it looked like nothing here had been wiped yet. They might be able to pick apart the function and hierarchy of this particular branch if Cor could only download it onto the thumbdrive he had on his belt. Combined with scans of the base layout, and whatever equipment they could salvage, it could prove a boon to the war effort. Made it almost worth the three week trip.

Unfortunately, the scientist had gotten ahold of a gun, and thought it would stop Cor Leonis of the Crownsguard.

The hand that wasn’t holding a trembling weapon was thrust into the depths of one of the weird machine boxes, tubes and wires that had various liquids dripping from them into its hidden depths. It didn’t look to be opening quite right, and the scientist appeared to be fumbling with something before making a frustrated, guttural sound, and switching his full attention to Cor with both hands on his weapon.

It didn’t cease the shaking of the barrel, Cor noted idly, as the door swung shut behind him with a heavy, final sounding click..

“Back up. I- I have information. I was lead scientist on a multitude of projects here and- I said back up.” The man screamed- Cor guessed by the voice and the breadth of his shoulder it was a man- and jerked his gun pointedly. “Move back or I’ll blow the fucking kids brains out.”

Guessing correctly that Cor would not stop his slow and purposeful walk across the room to remove the man’s head from his shoulders, the scientist whirled to point his gun at the box, and it brought Cor to a surprised, jerking halt as soon as the words penetrated the blood soaked fog in his brain.

He didn’t say anything, trying to parse what he’d heard, and emboldened by the silence the scientist thrust a hand into the box (now that he was looking, Cor supposed it looked almost like a coffin) and this time managed to disentangle the contents, jerking loose a-

Baby.

Cor’s heart sunk. He couldn’t tell on first glance what it was, as he stayed in one spot and stared at the scientist, mind whirling. It could have been feline, a Lucian child. Could have been a canis, an underfed wolf. Could have been a bony sort of wildcat, some sort of prairie animal. The fur was silky, long, and paws slightly oversized, the distance too far to tell the shape.

Didn’t matter, since it was a child. A cub, his brain tried to beat into him, thinking of tiny spots and a disheveled white mane of fur. An instinct in his chest flipped and thrummed to life, like an engine starting, and for the first time in a long time Cor was afraid. His hands remained steady, his gaze unwavering. His heartbeat even remained the same as it ever did, steady and slow.

But he was afraid; And it pissed him off.

Cor’s next thought, as disjointed and aimless as it was with the base rumbling to pieces behind him and shaking the floor, was that it was cold in here. It was no place for a child. The computing power required in a Niflheim base necessitated low temperatures, and even hot-blooded Cor shivered underneath his thick leather coat and body armor, the steel and linoleum flooring ice-cold underneath his paws. He could see from here the pale color of the lips, the bloodlessness under the fingernails. The poor thing was shaking, eyes tight shut.

The scientist pressed the cold circle of metal at the end of his gun to the soft exposed belly of the- of the cub in the paper gown. Cor let the tip of his sword drop, a rumble of a frustrated growl starting somewhere in his chest that was deep enough and loud enough that the son of a bitchstumbled back on skittering paws, startled and tail tucking down between his legs.

The motion jerked the cords and tubes connected to the hostage taut, threatening to snap loose. The man didn’t seem to notice. His limbs shook in fear as the sounds of gunfire blatted out in the distant metal hallways, and if there hadn’t been another life in jeopardy, Cor would have been smug. But as it was he was mostly sick; Nauseous at the sight of one of the IV’s yanking loose, blood staining the gauze that had held it in place on the arm.

The cub was shockingly silent in the meanwhile, even with blood starting to snake its slow way down his arm, eyes screwed shut and paper pale under the heart-breakingly small hospital gown. His hair was light as dandelion fluff the same shade as his fur, paws and tail drawn up to his second heart and belly as if to protect it. Cor thought numbly of how fast he would be able to get there. How fast this paper-pushing scientist could pull a trigger. How fast he could knock the gun loose, how fast he would be able to draw a sword-

How fast a bullet would-

He felt sick, and stopped thinking, raising his hands and letting his sword drop onto the ground.

When the man reached the end of his tether the machinery fell over with a splintering crash of plastic and glass, and he gave a hoarse yelp of alarm; Cor and the cub didn’t even flinch. Cor because his eyes were fixed predatory on the gun, and the cub… The cub because he wasn’t entirely sure the little thing was awake, or aware.

Cor didn’t know why the he didn’t move, didn’t wiggle, but the concern at the shockingly still figure was enough to keep him in one place, to keep him rumbling threateningly, tail lashing in agitation behind him.

He’d faced hostages before, the dregs of society forced to the ends of their tethers and desperate. But never so unexpectedly. Never with such a little victim, and never when the standoff was so short on time. Or with so much on the line, he thought, eyeing the banks of computers. It looked like a program was already running on them, and he knew the longer he took the more files were being deleted.

Shit.

“What the fuck do you have cubs in here for?” Cor demanded hoarsely, stalling and icy still with anger. But the scientist simply kept his eye on him without answering, and slowly backed towards the computer terminal protruding from the wall covered in monitors. The cub was transferred to the crook of his arm, dangling and still curled in on himself, gun held in the free hand as the scientist kicked some debris to the side to access the computer.

If he’d just set the gun down, Cor might chance it. There was plenty at stake, enough to risk the bullet if it was just himself on the line.

But. He had to put something down if he wanted to get rid of the files. The gun, or the kid.

He seemed to realize it soon after Cor had, breath shaky, and staring down at the cub. He made a disgusted noise, and held the kid up by his scruff, the sneer evident in his voice.

“Come here and take him. And don’t even think of trying anything. This is military grade hollowpoint; You’d be dead before the kid hit the ground.”

The scientist jerked his gun pointedly. Cor didn’t reply, lowering his hands slowly and stalking one step forward.

The scientist flinched, but didn’t react, gun held firmly pointed at the kid.

Then one more.

He kept his steps slow and even, loose. Like he was afraid, cowed. Like he wasn’t shaking apart on the inside with anger, just some soldier worried about the kid and in over his head. Like he didn’t feel that familiar choking rage coming up his throat like something physical and hot, prickling the skin of his hands and face and the delicate tracing of veins on the inside of his forelegs. Making his head almost spin without an outlet.

Cor didn’t show a single bit of that. Hands curled slightly in on themselves, tail dragging, and head tilted slightly to the side. Harmless.

The cub was looking at him now, Cor noticed when he let his eyes glance down. His eyes were blue, set slightly wide with almost invisible lashes and his fist stuck firmly up in his mouth, the blood running down towards his elbow. He wasn’t quite a baby, and to Cor’s sinking disappointment he was probably old enough to be afraid. Maybe even old enough that he understood what he was looking at, when he followed the kid’s line of sight, and realized he was looking at the blood splattered across Cor’s front.

A third step, and the gun was trembling, and this close Cor could make out the shape of a face behind the mask, the pale flat line of a mouth pressed too tight and the dark of his eyes. They darted nervously, from forward, to back towards the computer, as if wracked with indecision.

Good.

He never took a fourth step.

The base shook with the strongest explosion yet, and the scientist staggered with the shock of it. The force was powerful enough to knock one of the cabinets over, shattering and sending black viscous liquid oozing out across the linoleum, sparks flying in bright green arcs from equipment shifted loose from it’s moorings. The sound muffled the scientists shout of surprise; Cor only noticed because of his intense focus on the mask, the mist of breath across the visor, and the tension in the scientist’s shoulders. The way he staggered, off balance.

The gun jerked to the side, away from the cub, and the wash of relief Cor felt to be looking down that cavernous barrel was almost obscene. He was already moving, and had never been more grateful to have a gun pointed at him as the cub slipped loose from the man’s grip; Squeaking in shock, and kicking his hindpaws out to knock himself further clear.

And then the gun clicked and Cor saw the hammer go down, the stale impotent sound of a misfire all that happened.

He met the man’s eyes through the visor of his mask, and didn’t smile. But something in his face must have showed, because the man dropped the gun from suddenly nerveless fingers.

Cor never took a fourth step, because he leapt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~9 Hours 23 Minutes~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were only a baker’s dozen of the Crownsguard left, winding their way across the hills.

Sixteen miles they’d crossed already, a smear of dark gray marring the crystal clear glow of the winter skyline behind them where the Niflheim facility still burned, hours after cracking the damned thing.

Luche had what physical evidence they’d managed to gather on his broad blue-gray colored back, shaggy with the cold and tail flicking for balance. Ackers at the back shouldered most of the medical supplies, severely depleted, his ginger fur a bright spot of color on the landscape that made Cor’s eyes twinge when he craned his neck back to check on the troops.

Or maybe that was the dryness.

Cor’s fur wasn’t quite long enough to withstand the weather, and he’d been forced to don a cape to cover his second-shoulders and withers while the others could simply make do with their fur and coats, tail dragging behind him and leaving a long line behind him in the snow. The cape was dark, simple. Factory made and mass-produced. It had been one of the MT snipers, and not so tattered and singed as to be unusable. It was thick enough to do the trick, and fit well enough.

It was crusted with dried fluid, which Cor didn’t inspect too closely. He simply scraped the worst of it off and stuck his sleeves in, and kept a barrier of cloth between the kid and any that might remain.

The landscape stretched out as pale and white as bone around them, ugly protrusions of rock bursting through in a series of ridges and gullies, making it a long difficult climb back towards the pick up. Trees here were tall and thin, bursts of bright emerald green needles capped in snow, that did nothing to break the harsh wind that plucked at their clothes and threatened to bowl over the smallest of the Crownsguard, Pontius. He struggled on hooves cut bloody by the hard packed crust of the ground, propping up Horatia who was limping on a shredded paw.

Cor wasn’t much better, towards the front, gathering his coat tighter around the bundle in his arms and blearily wishing they’d thought to bring more thermal packs. He did a better job of making it over the snow than Pontius’s delicate paws, but his pads did jack shit to block out the cold. Even Luche had done better than he had to grow a winter coat during their six month deployment, all patchy shaggy fur and embarrassed blushes when Monica pointed it out.

Cor had been forced to shoulder capes and blankets, and bed down with whichever of the Crownsguard was amenable enough to share body heat, in order to even get a couple hours sleep during their deployment.

Now, with so few people, it would be hard even to get that.

The cub in his arms snuffled, and Cor idly brought his lapel further up, to cover the small pink hand that had ventured out to rest against his throat, a spot of heat almost lost in the cold. He’d taken every spare bit of clothing he had and bundled the kid up. A linen shirt, a cape, some rags that had almost been used for bandages. Now they wrapped four little paws, where they were tucked against a soft golden belly and bundled in the only blanket the Guard could spare.

Cor had his jacket, and he had a cape thrown over spotted shoulders to cut the worst of the chill out. Beyond that he was just putting one paw in front of the other, hoping that the kid didn’t get sick from the cold, from being hungry.

From whatever the fuck those scientists were doing to cubs out on the borders of Duscae in a facility that was barely even on Niflheim records.

“How’s he doing?”

Monica drew up alongside him, breath pluming out and cheeks rosy with the chill. She was doing unsurprisingly well, serious face set in a determined frown and eyes fixed on the snowy horizon where their train car back to Duscae waited. Her paws were large, far wider than the span of her first hands, and padded across the snow while leaving only the lightest shadows of a divot. Cor tried not to feel jealous at the swathes of thick, mottled fur that snow didn’t even melt on, and grunted noncommittally.

“He’s fine.”

Monica smiled wryly, before settling back into her usual contemplative frown. Her tail was short, bobbed. Didn’t betray anything, and Cor tried not to feel bitter when the anxiety of not knowing what she was going to bring up caused his tail to twitch uncertainly.

“He might not make it you know.”

Cor stiffened, even more than the cold had managed; Monica continued undaunted, always as clear and blunt as her Captain needed. Her eyes were a steely gray, and she didn’t even look at him when she said it, “He was hooked up to a lot of wires. He’s small.” She did look down at the bundle that, while considerable, didn’t make as large of a dent in Cor’s jacket as a cub of his apparent age should. “Too small.”

“I was small too.” Cor grit out, voice hoarse with cold. The kid stirred, as if he could sense them talking about him, and Cor felt the brief thump of a tail wagging sleepily against his ribs before he tightened his grip and jostled his arms soothingly, ignoring the strange look Monica gave him. “He’s just cold, and tired, same as the rest of us. Don’t be so morbid Lieutenant.”

“Sure.” She said agreeably. “Its was just a thought.”

“Yeah well.” A gust of wind whipped across the line of Crownsguard, and Cor grimaced against the sting, as a murmur of disquiet rose up behind them and a couple of heartfelt grumbles. “Keep your thoughts to yourself.” He was being uncharitable, perhaps. She was making a lot of sense. What had possessed him to pick the kid up in the first place, he didn’t know.

But he had, and now he wasn’t sure how to put him down.

They trudged on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~10 Hours 12 Minutes~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One train car, Cor noted wearily. The train car that’d been sent to pick them up made the faintest bump on the horizon, almost indiscernible from the stones and abandoned structures in the war-torn landscape; just as they’d intended. It was almost invisible from the air, and the clear crystal tracks next to impossible to discern from a distance It had taken them two cars to get everyone north.

Now, one was more than enough. Cor tried not to think about it.

His arms were numb with the weight of the cub in his arms, and jacket damp. He wasn’t sure if it were tears, snot, or some sort of terrible mixture of both, but with his shirt serving it’s last duty as a blanket for the kid, he could only pray it didn’t reach his bare chest.

Despite the moisture mysteriously seeping from the kid, there was silence in his arms. No sounds besides the puffs of breath from the Crownsguard around them, the crunch of snow under paws and hooves, and the occasional grunt of pain from their injured or quiet murmur of encouragement.

He knew it was bad, the silence. But Cor couldn’t help but be relieved that on top of everything they didn’t have to deal with a screaming kid.

“Last stop little guy. Then Duscae.” He murmured quietly, guilt prodding him to say something, anything, and lifting the weight in his arms to adjust for the climb up the hill. He’d tried handing him off, tired and hoping that he’d imprint on someone else that wasn’t a completely fucking terrible idea. But every time he tried the little shit would clam up and tense stiff enough that it hurt to feel, all locked limbs and wide dilated eyes. His chest would start to move pitter-patter fast, fists clenched, and Cor would hurriedly take him back murmuring inane niceties. Now, after the entire hike, something like stockholm syndrome had set in and Cor wasn’t sure he could set the little shit down if he even wanted to. The idea of putting the cub down didn’t sit right anymore when he was still tense and behind enemy lines, made his fur prickle and his mouth tense in an uneasy snarl.

His arms would probably fall off if he tried anyway.

No one, in the short time they’d had to evaluate, knew why he wouldn’t cry. Whimper. Do something. Cor had carried this cub through the ruins of a Niflheim base, past dead bodies he’d tried to hide by shoving the small face into the depths of his coat, and humming dumb nonsense songs. Stupid little strings of song he’d heard on the radio, or things he’d heard other parents sing. Tunes that didn’t seem to have much of an effect, but left Cor without a wiggling armful of limbs and a pair of eyes looking shocked up at him.

But still, the kid had hardly made a whimper, besides to yawn wide and suck on his thumb when the shadows started getting long and the sun low. He’d been chilled on one side while Cor had pressed him to his chest during the hike, trying desperately to keep him warm when the cub started fussing. No doubt hungry, or thirsty despite the water Cor managed to drip into his mouth. Kicking fitfully before freezing completely still and stiff again, like he’d gotten scared. Or expected Cor to… Do something. Hurt him.

But he hadn’t cried.

They climbed the last stretch, and Cor finally, finally sat, lying against the icy side of the train car while the more able-bodied Crownsguard clambered up the steps, groaning and giving small whoops of relief when they saw the cots.

The cub wiggled, and Cor untangled him enough to looks down at his face, all bright blue eyes and downy gold hair. His nose and cheeks were flushed, but it appeared he was warm enough tucked into Cor’s coat, judging by the way he blinked up and idly pat his hand up against Cor’s lapel and chest. He was still strangely quiet, still with his free thumb in his mouth. His fur was soft, much softer than a cheetah cub’s, although it was a similar shade of gold without the chaotic tufting white, almost dun colored.

Cor fished a paw out, and felt a flicker of amusement when the cub kicked and tried to chew on his fingers. Pressing on the toes, the claws didn’t retract, and the pads were noticeably black. Canine.

“Well.” Ausker said, coming out from the car after what felt like thirty or so minutes, wiping his hands clean on a spare rag. Cor had spent the few quiet moments just looking down at the little cub while the rest of the team got settled, letting him chew on his grimy knuckles and jostling him every now and then when he tried to kick himself loose from the various blankets and shirts. The sounds of the Crownsguard making idle conversation and clinking gear together was soothing. Much more soothing than the whistle of wind across the snow, or the grind of weaponry. Or the slow implosion of concrete. “Let’s take a look at the little guy.”

For a moment, Cor didn’t want to hand him over. The idea of giving the cub to someone else and having him wiggle in distress, or for fucks sake, cry, was too much to handle. But Ausker held his hands out, patient, and Cor finally gave the kid one last little pat and got wearily to his feet to give him to the Crownsguard medical officer.

Within a few moments they were back inside, and Ausker was distracting the cub- pup, he was a Canis, Cor reminded himself- with an inflated latex glove.

The car started moving while he worked, slowly coughing to a start in the cold air and dragging itself a few feet on the tracks before building momentum. It didn’t whistle, since there was no steam, but did give an impressive moan of cold steel warming under the heat of magik engines.

Cor rocked carefully on his paws, catching himself on the cold strut of metal that came off the wall of the car to form a bench, watching Ausker’s hands as he palpated the kid’s ribs under the thin paper gown that was all he had to wear. It was slowly warming, with the heat of all the Guard and the electric grill radiating warmth through the car from the back corner, but Cor still felt uneasy and tucked a blanket more firmly around his furry lower half.

“Six. Do we have anything for the kid to wear?” He murmured wearily, and the pup’s head jerked to the side at the sound, tail thumping faintly on the seat he’d been perched on as his eyes fixed on Cor, fist firmly against his mouth and working eagerly. It had to have been a coping mechanism of some sort, but Cor couldn’t help but find it endearing. Even cuter was when Ausker checked the reflexes in the kids elbow with the tiniest hammer Cor had ever seen, causing the pup to jump in surprise and give the doctor a betrayed look.

“Probably not, but Pontius is working on it.” Ausker said, and gave the kids head a firm scratch and pet in reward when he didn’t fidget. Pontius waved from his seat at the back of the car, where he was haphazardly sewing something and letting Luche use him as a pillow. The car rocked gently as it sped up, but it only made Pontuis scowl and shove irritably at Luche, who was interfering with his stitches by virtue of his shoulders shoving under his hands. Cor imagined Pontius’s velvet fur was appealing in the cold metal of the train car, all soft ash gray with the feathered tail tossed over Luche’s hooves.

“Hrn. Well, he should work faster.”

Cor stiffened when Ausker pulled out a needle and a phial, but it was pointless. The pup didn’t even flinch, simply watched Ausker with bare interest, then held small hands up to Cor when he was done, looking plaintive. When Ausker gave him a nod, Cor picked him up, tucking the pup back into the crook of his arm and letting the little blonde head snug under his chin.

The smug look Ausker gave him was met with a lift of his lip and a small snarl.

“Relax. He checks out as healthy enough. A little dehydrated, a little malnourished, but it’s only to be expected from what you told me.” Ausker became slightly more serious, frowning, and looking at where the kid had started to fidget. “I can’t imagine what they had infants there for.”

“I can imagine any number of things,” Cor said bluntly, rocking the pup gently in his arms, and ignoring the flinch Ausker gave. “And you can too. Don’t be sentimental.”

Ausker’s mouth thinned to a grim line, giving Cor a dark look which was ignored. He was commanding Officer of the Unit. Not here to baby them. “I’m not being sentimental. But the equipment that wasn’t damaged beyond all repair was too heavy to take with us, and nobody who was qualified was able to take a long enough look. We don’t know what they were doing at that base, besides that it’s somewhere in the chain supply of Niflheim weaponry and they were doing some kind of genetic stem cell research, if their vitatanks are in anyway similar to ours.”

They were. Cor had been deeper in the base than the others, and decided not to mention the smaller vitatanks he’d seen until it was necessary for a brief. The sort of thing he only really told Clarus, or Regis; In the safety of the Citadel and with the safety of miles between him and the sight of the obsolete labels fixed to the front of almost a third of the vitatanks.

“Luckily, I managed to salvage about half the files on the desk terminal in the main vitatank atrium while the team was subduing the security.” The terminals had been on a closed system, all wireless signals snuffed out by a signal jammer that no doubt extended for the whole base, and made downloading it a much lengthier and difficult process than it had to be. What with the pup shaking silently in his arms, and the body of that Niflheim scientist leaking on the floor where Cor had left it. “We’ll hand it over, they can decide for themselves what was going on.”

“Hm. And this little guy?” Ausker wiggled his fingers enticingly at the pup, who looked as surprised at that as he had at anything, head bobbling backwards and looking up at Cor in bewilderment. Cor felt another flicker of amusement, and let him figure it out for himself. “You have a name for him yet? Or are we going by number.” Ausker caught the small hand that wasn’t buried into Cor’s coat front, pulling it gently out and turning it to show the barcode with a string of numbers. The ink was stark black against paper pale skin, and Cor rumbled involuntarily at the idea, tightening his hold and causing Ausker to arch an eyebrow.

“No.” The pup stiffened again, getting that blank look, and Cor made an effort to calm down, loosen his hold, and jostle his armful soothingly. It was jerky, and he frowned, feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

He was unused to being gentle. He’d held Gladiolus Amicitia a few times, Clarus laughing fit to burst every time he tricked Cor into holding the baby, all awkward elbows and desperate looks when the tiger cub started to fuss.

This was different. The pup was quieter, stiller, and too watchful. Cor didn’t like it; but since he was the only one who seemed to be able to hold him for now, he figured he was responsible for making it disappear as much as he was able.

“Well, we should call him something. How about something with the snow? It’s cold as hell out. Glacies?”

“Name him after Cor’s favorite thing; Acies!” Pontius called from the corner, drawing a chorus of grumbles from the occupied cots around the swaying train car from the Crownsguard trying to get some sleep.

“No.” Cor thought back to the gun the scientist had held, the one that had whipped from pointing at the kid, to right between Cor’s eyes; A black circle that had gotten larger in micrometers as time slowed down and he’d gotten closer across the room.

Thought of the echoing click, as the piece of shit misfired.

“Prompto.” Cor said, and Prompto looked up at his voice and smiled, the first one he’d seen, even if it was quickly replaced with that startled look he gave as Ausker broke into laughter.

“That shitty handgun model?” He looked down at the pup and grinned, holding his hands up at the defensive glare Cor gave him. “Alright alright, calm down. It’s a great name. Hey Prompto!” Ausker grabbed the little hand in gentle fingers and shook it in a pantomime of a handshake, his own tail curling in delight when Prompto patted it and investigated the gloved fingers curiously. “Nice to meet you little guy. Daddy Cor here will take good care of you. You’re in the safest place in all of Lestallum right now.”

Cor huffed and jerked away, storming over to his own cot to catch some sleep while he could, ignoring the embarrassed blush he could feel creeping up his neck that caused the team close enough to see to break into chuckles. Monica to offered him a small, soft smile from the one cot over. Her paws crossed elegantly in front of her, fur plush looking now that she’d groomed the blood and snow from it, and Cor gave her a brisk nod as he settled in with Prompto.

The pup wiggled into the blankets eagerly when Cor set him down, making a surprised series of noises when Cor climbed in after him, arranging himself in a curl to prevent the pup from falling out. He laid his upper body against the wall, the reassuring rocking of the car soothing even if it was cold as hell. Every motion brought them closer to home, and it made Cor’s tail flick in satisfaction.

After a while Prompto stopped wiggling, snuggling by Cor’s side in the warm fur against his ribcage. He was no doubt exhausted. Cor wasn’t familiar with babies at all, but he suspected they weren’t used to staying awake this long at whatever age Ausker had guessed at Prompto being. Roughly one and a half to two and a half years old was his best guess.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, the small motion of the pup’s tail against Cor’s hind knee slowed to a halt, and eventually was replaced by the small kicks and twitches of a deep sleep. If he concentrated, Cor thought he might be able to feel the little flicker of a heartbeat and the slow expansion of breathing.

He felt a sinking in his chest, at odds with the warm fond feeling that caused his tail to curl up under the blankets and an embarrassed purr to almost free itself from his throat.

Clarus was going to be a pain about this.

#kickingshoes #ffxv #taur au #cor leonis #dad!cor #prompto #writing #jfc sorry guys if this is bad

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