#anyway law you have it so bad and you’re in such denial about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jodilin65 · 4 years ago

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SUNDAY, MAY 31, 2020 Congratulations, assholes. You’ve made some of us look down on you even more. Keep on hurting innocent people while you are (understandably) angry at those who screw you over. You know, because AutoZone and Target and other people and businesses have everything to do with some pig possibly smothering someone to death. You’re just as bad as the pigs and so are those of other ethnicities helping you spearhead your violent little hissy fits. You live in a country where you now have more rights than whites and 95% of the country favors or at least supports you, so the next time you whine about the few left with ill feelings toward you, maybe you’ll finally wake up and realize why.

Meanwhile, go on. Keep living up to those labels at innocent people’s expense. Deepen the animosity a few of us have toward you, then bitch about racism and swear you don’t give a shit what others think all in the same breath. Keep playing the race card unfairly when you know damn well that in most of the country, you’ll automatically be believed, and take your frustrations out on innocent people when you actually do get screwed over. Keep making your own haters based on not where you’re from or your damn skin color but your appalling behavior.

Hate to say it but if it wasn’t for my buddy’s BF who I’m sure would never stoop so low, I’d wonder if going back to the days of segregation may not be such a bad idea. Part of me wishes whites would finally get fed up with their shit and return the violence but I know that adding violence to violence isn’t the answer. Plus, most whites stand by them anyway.

The media needs to start giving as much attention to whites that are brutalized and screwed over by the law as they do others. Maybe it will then sink in that it’s about the abuse of power and not aimed at any particular group. Sure there are a few that don’t care for blacks when they see how much crime they’re involved in, but I think that’s a very small number. I think most cops just like to abuse people much like an abusive lover. Makes them feel powerful and in control.

Well, just like I’m not ashamed to say which foods, music or colors I don’t like, I’m not afraid to admit what people I don’t like just because most people don’t want to hear it. No one’s totally indiscriminate and I’m not about to pretend I’m any different.

What’s with the People You May Know on Facebook that I don’t have any mutual friends with? How do they end up being recommended to me?

Been having some fatigue early in my day and I’m not sure why. Figured out why my weight is down a little, though. I no longer snack on nuts between meals. So while I’m not at the 800 calories or so it would take to lose weight, it deducts enough calories to keep me at the lowest my body feels comfortable weighing these days. A little fat won’t kill me and that’s another thing… I still don’t get why so many people are against that particular F-word. Referring to myself as fat isn’t being “mean,” it’s being honest. I just don’t see the point in dressing things up in fancy labels. Wouldn’t that be a form of denial? I can see “overweight” or “obese,” but “curvy?” IDK, it just seems like that’s really avoiding what those “curves” really are…fat rolls. Nonetheless, the reality is that I’m okay with both the word and myself. I’m not mean to myself. I’m not ashamed of myself. I’m not disgusted with my body. And I’m neither proud nor unproud. I have a typical middle-aged body and that’s fine.

Anyway, I may have no desire to diet but I think Walmart wants to clog my arteries, LOL. Got up around 1 p.m. and Tom had already been up for 6-7 hours and put the groceries away when they were delivered. I opened the fridge to get creamer for my coffee and that’s when I noticed the carton of 18 eggs. I didn’t order those, I told him, and he said he thought it was weird that I would get so many. Exactly. I don’t have any kind of a death wish. He checked the order and it turns out that it’s just another freebie from them. They didn’t charge us for them.

Today marks 8 weeks of taking my medication consistently and without cutting pills.

Tom and I were talking about more ideas for moving and it may actually be cheaper to buy a cheap dump than to rent depending on the space rent and all that. Figured we’d start off in a park so I could compare it to this one and see how similar or different it may be. This would just be for climate testing. Then we would sell it and get a different place in either a park or rural setting if we didn’t leave the state altogether.

There are many areas with tons and tons of parks, hardly any crime, and over 90% white. I still say there’s a noise curse on me and there has been for decades and we’re going to happen to end up next to the wrong people or close enough to them. For the most part, I’ve learned that it isn’t the residents themselves that are annoying but their visitors and workers. The only thing I would worry about with an older park with older homes would be even more sawing and hammering. Here, it’s mostly because people can afford to do so many projects.

I just wish Aly could live near us! Her parents aren’t doing well now but if they get well enough to move to Florida like she said they want to, it certainly wouldn’t hurt my feelings if she followed. :-) But I know it also depends on her job, Cam, and whatever else on top of whether or not she would actually want to live there.

We also talked about possible trips we may take. We still want to go on a helicopter ride and would love to snorkel again. I wouldn’t mind trying scuba diving. Don’t know if I would be brave enough for parasailing or anything like that. Maybe the kind where you’re attached to a boat and above water. Maybe we could take a small plane and go island hopping down around the Caribbean or maybe even further south. Some excursions may be tough because of our weight. I’m fat and he’s really fat so…

I don’t know that we could afford to sweep Europe but it would be cool to fly to Wales and see Mitch, then Amsterdam to see Adonis, shoot over to Germany to see Christiane who would no doubt tell Nane (LMAO!), drop down to Austria to see Irene, then maybe sweep on through Italy, Portugal and Spain before flying back. Greece would be nice to visit, too. There are some beautiful areas there. No way I would go to Africa or the Middle East. If I won a safari or something that would be different.

I would still like to cruise on a small ship. Never again will we cruise on a ship with thousands of people!

I decided to delete my public book on PB. I just can’t get into public blogging anymore. Maybe once we get settled somewhere. I know that anyone could find our future address if they really want to but the less information that’s easily accessible by people that may sell or rent us a place or give him a job, the better it may be.

Here comes another helicopter. The commercial planes have been better but the helicopters still get annoying at times. Wouldn’t be surprised if I heard small planes circling around after midnight but we’ll see. Lately, the most annoying thing is traffic with things opening up again.

Since Tom loves technology and gadgets, we have both arm and wrist blood pressure cuffs. To get me used to the blood pressure cuff they’re going to put on my arm during the root canal, we had me use the arm cuff yesterday with my finger on the stop button. It gets pretty damn tight, but I managed to get through it without panicking or hitting the stop button.

My tooth is the best it’s been since it got infected because the root is no doubt dead now. It’s not even throbbing at the end of the day like it used to. No longer having pain in the lymph nodes on the side of my boob either and I haven’t felt the one in my groin. But I am noticing my neck again.

I haven’t been remembering much in the way of dreams lately. Something about trying to decide if I wanted to purchase this small mirror that had a pretty decorative frame in mint green, another favorite color of mine along with pink and lavender. I was living somewhere with multiple stories since I was thinking about putting it in a spot where I would see at least my legs as I was coming down the stairs. The house I had in mind and pictured in my dream looked similar to my first childhood home. I was thinking about putting the mirror in the small space between the window and the corner of the room by where Dad’s chair was.

Later…

Decided it wouldn’t hurt to compromise with myself and share some things publicly on PB. Then, after people have a little time to see it, I can FO it.

Next thing I know I’m being asked to either take down or make private my last post, and no, I’m not going to do it simply because some people don’t want to hear it and don’t agree with it. I DO NOT support violence as a means of obtaining justice. Never have, never will, and I don’t care what color you are either.

Meanwhile, I’m not going to sit here and babysit some people’s fragile feelings and stifle my freedom of expression because some may not take it well or get the wrong idea. No one can agree on everything 100% of the time. Also, no one’s obligated to read my stuff either. You don’t like it… move on.

If sharing my opinion on being anti-violence is “racist” and “threatening,” (God only knows how they came up with that last one) then so be it. I’m not going to share only what I think most people will agree with and want to read. I’m here to express myself. Not to seek approval. Besides, if one is that sensitive, then why are they reading people’s journals in the first place?

We went to Rite Aid to get some treats and I got some merlot. Rather than drink it every day and risk becoming addicted, I drink it every other week. This keeps it more special this way too.

Lentil chips are really good. I’m glad they’re back.

We went for a bike ride and it was a touch windy and humid with the cloud coverage out there. Sometimes it was sunny. My heart was pounding at 124 when we got back. Coming up the hill against the wind isn’t easy and my legs felt kind of weak and rubbery for a little while afterward.

Made mashed potatoes in the slow cooker for the first time and they came out great. I used cream along with milk.

So excited about our upcoming move even if it’s still a whole year away. Still no idea how we’re going to move either. Going by ground would be harder on me but definitely safer so we can avoid “goesh.” Yeah, me and my silly little nicknames for everything. When we would log on to the internet at the extended-stay hotel we were in when we first came down from Oregon, it would say “connected to goesh.” The “G” was for gateway and of course the “esh” was for extended-stay hotel but I’m not sure what the “O” was for. Online?

Anyway, we were stuck there from August of 2007 until the following April as it pretty much sucked every last dime out of us. If I hadn’t won that 9k, we’d never have gotten out of there!

Nothing exciting in the way of dreams other than me scrubbing an old clawfoot tub that was stained and filthy.

FRIDAY, MAY 29, 2020 Here we go again with black people rioting. If it really is true that a pig suffocated a suspect to death, that’s absolutely horrible, and unacceptable, and the pig should be killed. But they’re just as appalling and disgusting with the way they’re taking their anger out on so many innocent people. Why not take it up with the police department that they’ve got the problem with and leave others out of it? Why do they have to burn, loot, and harm innocent people and businesses while they’re at it? How many times must the LA Riot scene repeat itself? I’ll never understand why they feel they have to take their frustrations out on everybody and anybody they can. This is only going to make them look bad. If you’re pissed at the bank teller, you don’t take it out on the butcher at the grocery store. If they don’t want labels stuck on them, then why do they do so many things to earn them? You can’t pull this shit and then turn around and complain about how unfair the world is to you. No way I’m going to deny the fact in the name of political correctness that I would never feel safe living in a black neighborhood. Some things and some people really never do change. It’s okay to get angry with those that screw you or someone else over. That’s only normal. But there is NO excuse for taking it out on others. Would all blacks do this? Absolutely not. But I have nothing but contempt for them as a whole. They’re no better than the pigs who, incidentally, kill just as many non-blacks. It’s just that those aren’t the cases the media wants to focus on.

I amazingly slept through trash pickup which has been occurring earlier and not being such a multi-hour production

Coming up on 6 million COVID cases but not quite half a million deaths. Tom still feels confident there will be a vaccine next year. And I still feel fairly confident that we won’t catch it. I’m more curious about what’s going on with my lymph nodes, particularly the one at the side of my breast that’s sore. If it doesn’t back off when my tooth is fixed, I’ll decide whether or not to get into Doc A sooner.

The antifungal nail polish will be here on the 5th and on the 3rd comes the portable AC. So our home’s AC has to be sure not to let us down for one more week! It won’t have voice commands, but it will have a remote.

Decided not to wait until we got settled which will be well over a year from now to get a new set of bras. I just got a six-pack of Fruit of the Loom sports bras. I went a little larger than I needed. Usually, 40-42 is enough but I ordered them in 44 so that while I wouldn’t get ideal support for things like jogging, I wouldn’t feel like I had anything too snug wrapped around me with swollen lymph nodes. The colors will be light blue, light gray and white. I prefer dark panties, but I like lighter bras that won’t show through lighter shirts and blouses.

Took the bikes out but only for five minutes because it was a little too warm for doing anything physical, and even a touch humid because it was cloudy.

The more we discuss getting a truck and trailer so we can bypass hotels and shipping containers, the more I like the idea. Still, nothing is etched in stone. But having to deal with him while I’m trying to sleep is enough, as I tease him about, as true as it is with me being such a light sleeper. I don’t need pesky maids and people slamming doors in hotels to add to it even if that would be roomier than a trailer. This time we would be doing it with a lot more money instead of a few grand or less and he wouldn’t have to scramble to get a job right away. Plus, we’d have incoming money.

I’m excited the more I think about it. I just hope nothing shits on our plans and prevents us from getting out of here! No health issues or anything.

Once we got to Florida, we would get a rental in another adult park so that we could compare it to this one and see if it was similar or not. We also need to test drive the climate, so to speak, and make sure I can handle the extreme humidity and that the storms won’t wake me up all the time. If we like the climate but not the park, we’ll check out land somewhere. If the whole state is a bust, then we might head for Texas. They should have some dry areas that aren’t too high in elevation. We need to stick with those blues and greens.

We wouldn’t sell the truck and trailer and get a new vehicle until we were certain of where we want to live. We’d likely take I-80 and then slowly descend downward and outward towards the Carolinas and then shoot down into Florida from there. This way we could stop and meet Aly and I could bring her the doll and the pigs. This is only if we really did end up moving this way.

Tom and I were discussing whether or not we wanted to do NaNo in July. He’s just not really a writer and I’m pretty much out of steam. I just don’t get many ideas I’m excited to actually put into print these days. But we may still do it so I can add to Roomies, my ongoing story written in journal format, and he can edit his story.

THURSDAY, MAY 28, 2020 I called my dentist to schedule the follow-up filling of the crown as well as my other fillings but was told that they want to wait until they get the report from the endodontist. She said it would arrive quickly because it’s digital.

New Mexico is definitely out of the question because I didn’t realize how high it was in elevation and as I learned up in Oregon, that makes my ear worse. We looked at a topographic map and found that areas in red and orange like Oregon and New Mexico are too high. We’ve got to stay in the blue and green areas.

Didn’t feel hot yesterday at all. It’s like that one degree made a huge difference. This is the last day of the heatwave and then we’re going to drop quite a bit. They’re even saying we might get some rain Saturday which is very unusual for this time of year but probably won’t actually happen.

Tom proposed another idea. That would be to get rid of most of our stuff and buy a truck and a small trailer. Then we would drive the main highway that cuts across the country, including cutting through Nebraska, visit Aly, then drive down to Florida. It would actually be a much easier route than if we went through Arizona, New Mexico and Texas to get there (not that we’d dare go through an inch of Arizona). This way we stay on the same road and it would be a much easier drive. If we didn’t have to store a container of stuff anywhere, the truck and trailer would give us the freedom to explore more places before making any definite plans. Not saying we’re going to do this but it’s another possibility to think about.

If we don’t fly, I would definitely like this idea better than taking a train. I think this would be easier for my sleep issues. When we moved to Oregon, he had no place to go when I was sleeping so his movements would often wake me up. But if we were sleeping at different times, he could hang out in the truck more. Sleeping at the same time may be a bit of an issue with his movements and snoring, but this way we would be able to test the waters when it came to both inland and coastal areas easier. Maybe we could even find a bare piece of land somewhere that will allow us to remain in the trailer until we get a house hauled in. All I know is I’m sick of listening to people’s shit and having a daily symphony of loud traffic, power tools, landscaping, planes and projects.

He could probably tolerate Florida because he did spend six weeks of basic training in San Antonio where it’s also humid and didn’t have any problems. I’m not really expecting any myself, to be honest, but you never do know. I didn’t know Simone would trigger my asthma, after all. If Florida doesn’t work out, there are dry places in Texas at lower elevations.

Haven’t done much public writing lately. It just doesn’t excite me much anymore to share with just anyone and everyone.

The money arrived yesterday and I’m going to treat myself to that antifungal base coat and polish and then we’re still gonna save, save and save all we can. Never know how long the money will last. They’re out of berry-colored nail polish so I’m getting light turquoise.

Anyway, working hard today! Lots of cleaning that I’ve neglected and doing some laundry. Cooking some chicken thighs with broccoli too.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 2020 My bum tooth is holding steady and the lymph nodes in my neck and groin haven’t bothered me today, but I can feel the one at the side of my boob. Wish I could get the peace of mind of knowing it’s nothing serious without the torture! But I’m just not ready to get any serious testing done at this time. I’ll make a decision after my tooth is fixed if the lymph nodes don’t back off at that point.

Florida or New Mexico, Florida or New Mexico??? It’s a tough decision! Yesterday I was so hot all day that I started to think we may be better off forgetting planes and trains and just driving down to New Mexico since I don’t seem to be able to tolerate heat as well as I used to. Yet today I’m fine so far. I lowered the temperature in here from 78 to 77.

Tom brought up the idea of picking a place in Florida to ship our stuff to in a shipping container and taking a train to Nebraska which would take 37 hours. Then I could meet Aly and we could see what it was like there. Maybe even rent a place for a short time, and basically sample different places to possibly live in. I just know there’s no way I’d be happy in that harsh of a climate. Snow and extreme cold just aren’t my thing. Nor would I want to go back to the furnace Arizona was either.

I hate the not knowing! I wish I could know if the climate in Florida would get to either of us in any way. Would we be that uncomfortable every time we were outdoors? Would it mess with our breathing or allergies and anyway? Would storms wake me up a lot? But because of that damn container, we can’t just sample too many places, unless we got rid of nearly everything. Actually, though, Florida is the only place I wouldn’t mind sampling. I can’t imagine having any problems in the New Mexico desert since I survived an even harsher desert than the area we might consider.

I’d love to meet Aly, but the train doesn’t appeal to me very much due to being doubly cursed in the sleep department. When you can’t keep a schedule and you’re the lightest sleeper on earth, the faster you get settled, the better. So I’d rather fly across the country than train it, and it would be cheaper too. The trains have roomettes that have a bed and table, and rooms with bunk beds, tables and a bathroom. I just know I gotta get off the fucking street and out of a flight path! I was just falling asleep last evening when a fucking motorcycle woke me up. And oh, the projects! I’m so sick of hearing people’s shit all the time. Every fucking thing they do, I have to know about it.

I like the fact that Florida is stricter on loud vehicles than New Mexico but then with every other person having a motorcycle in Florida as they do here, that might make up for it.

My meds, age and weight could be why I don’t handle heat as well as I used to. Well, I can’t stop my meds, I’m not going to get any younger, and I’m not losing weight either. Or maybe it’s just not hot enough often enough to be used to it here, I don’t know. I remember it took me years to acclimate to Arizona and whenever the winters would come around, as short as they were, I would be so cold. I was freezing my ass off when we went to Oregon as well. So I still do handle heat better than cold, especially if it’s that cold.

The heat may be more comfortable than freezing my ass off, but warmer weather makes it harder for sleeping, working out, and doing things like that.

I miss the beaches, but I don’t like the humidity. If we got some land in New Mexico we could get our own pool and that would certainly be better than public pools with the potential for screaming brats in it. Whenever we wanted a vacation we could go to Hawaii or Mexico. It’s not like we could afford to live too close to the beach anyway or that we would go to the beach every single day if we did.

If we could find an ideal piece of land with an old piece of shit on it, we might be able to have a brand new place brought in, and then the old house could become a storeroom and a workshop for Tom. It would be better for outdoor walking and bike riding, too.

I’m still open to looking at everything when the time comes to seriously start hunting for a place, but fear of the unknown is definitely something to consider. Being evacuated due to Hurricanes could be a real bitch for me as well depending on where my schedule was at the time. But then I don’t think that would happen very often or for long, so I don’t know.

Tried the new Haagen-Dazs Spirits ice cream today. The one with rosé and cream. Yep, tastes like rosé.

TUESDAY, MAY 26, 2020 I have an hour before I have to leave for my consultation with the endodontist, so I’ll start this entry now but probably won’t post it until later on. I can then add what they say to this entry.

The lights are flickering again in parts of the house and again we don’t know why or what stopped it the last time.

Now that we’ve won the appeal, we’re waiting for the lawyer to take their cut and then send us the rest. Once we get our money, we decided to get a portable AC because I’m tired of stressing over the thought of the AC crapping out. ACs always have more problems than heaters. If we lost heat in the winter, we’ve got a small portable heater, and I could bundle up. Plus, it rarely freezes here. But we would be in trouble if the AC crapped out on us on a day like today that’s getting up to 102 degrees. Triple digits are good for a solar-heated pool but getting up to 90 is actually enough for me because then it keeps the house from getting too chilly in the early mornings. We won’t be back in the 90s for a few days, though.

So when we get our money, we’re going to get a portable AC that is also a heater for $400. It would be totally worth it to have as a backup and we could take it with us. We might actually save money with it because then we wouldn’t have to heat/cool the rooms we’re not in as often nearly as much.

I was a little surprised to feel slight cramps in my upper right tummy earlier and I really hope it’s just funky intestines and nothing involving my gallbladder and especially my liver. I definitely had plenty of fiber yesterday.

I’m both tired and nervous about this morning’s appointment since I don’t know these people and I don’t know how much pain I’m in for and how many appointments I’ll have to try to juggle around my schedule issues and all that. I just wish I could go over a year without one problem after another!

I was stressed over the house messing with my schedule that’s to be hauled out, but they already hauled out a piece of it and I didn’t even know it till I looked out the window and saw it gone.

I noticed there’s a slight discoloration that resembles a bruise at the base of my neck by the lymph node that’s been giving me problems, but I don’t know if there’s a connection or not. I’ve actually noticed this before, but the discoloration is a little more obvious now. Tom thinks it’s just a blood vessel. He has them too. Part of being older.

I’ve learned a lot over the years from Aly about different things from writing to people to life in general. In many ways, she is smarter and more mature than me even though she’s younger.

We were discussing how much lying bothers me and when she explained the reasons behind most of Kim’s lies and why she doesn’t feel it’s significant enough to throw away an otherwise long-term friendship, I could see exactly what she meant. It’s one thing to say I’m going to ghost Kim but then another when I consider the fact that the lies truly are petty and haven’t harmed me in any direct way. It’s still a bit bothersome but not the worst thing I’ve had to deal with from anyone. I realize no one’s perfect and I haven’t always been totally honest myself. I’ve come to see that if we’re looking for the perfect friend, well, they just don’t exist because no one’s perfect.

Aly isn’t always honest and open but still a great friend for many different reasons. She gets and accepts me as few others have and doesn’t judge me. She’s got a good memory, and she cares. I know nothing is guaranteed in life and that she could decide one day she no longer wants to be friends, but I hope we’ll be friends for the rest of my life.

Aly said, “If Kim ever did something to truly destroy my trust in her, I know her address, her home phone number, June’s number and address, where Kim works, where she goes to church, the business her sister owns or used to own and I’ve got plenty of ammunition to use against her to bring her down. There are a lot of things I notice and know about friends and family that I never bring up, but instead retain just in case.”

I asked her what she noticed or knows about me and while she told me of some dirt she has on a few others, she said, “But if I told you then I’d lose that power! ;) Realistically, though, you’re a very open book compared to some, so I really don’t have a whole lot of “dirt” on you compared to, say, Kim or Molly or my aunt Cathy.”

I’m definitely an open book with her. Still, it got me thinking and asking myself, what could anyone out there really use against me? When I say, “use against me,” I mean something that could bring noticeable physical, legal, or financial harm to my life. I honestly can’t think of anything because I don’t share sensitive info like credit card numbers and Social Security numbers in blogs, private or not. Plus, we always do regular checks to make sure our identities aren’t stolen and keep an eye on all bank accounts. I’m not a fugitive on the run, I’m not abusing the welfare system or the government in any way, and I’m pretty much boringly ordinary. Even if someone hacked into all my journals and stories and shared them with the world, oh well. It can be proven that it wasn’t me that shared them and even if I chose to do so right now on my own, there really isn’t anything in them that could get me in any form of legal trouble. It could embarrass and piss some people off, no doubt, but that would be the extent of it. I only choose to wait until I’m gone or close enough to it because then they literally have my entire life story and not just part of it.

Pretty sure that if anything could be done to me, the termites would have found what it was and would have gladly and happily done it. They’re very spiteful, vengeful people.

Her “dirt” is probably finding accounts of mine I don’t know she knows about. There is always a chance, I suppose, that with her hacking skills, she hacked into and read some private journals. Or maybe she knows about Tom, even though there’s nothing she could do with any info there. We’re not in Arizona. So what else could she do? Call the park or my doctors and tell them I threatened suicide or something? But that couldn’t be proven and could actually get her in a lot of trouble.

These days I prefer to simply get along with those I can get along with and avoid those I don’t. I don’t want to troll anyone needlessly or stir up any trouble, and I won’t allow myself to be baited into any shit either. No one’s worth having karma bite me on the ass unless they did something seriously detrimental to me. Nasty words and online pranks wouldn’t be enough to unleash any kind of a fight in me but unlike in the past, I would fight back if given no choice and provoked and pushed to the edge. Again, though, I really prefer to live in peace and get along with people. I can ignore those I don’t like and those that don’t like me.

Okay, I’m back from my appointment which went as well as can be expected. A white guy that’s from here (gay?) is going to do it so at least he doesn’t have any hard-to-understand accent.

Tom went into the building and located their office with me since it was a huge building and I was all wound up, but I went into the office alone. My temperature was perfect at 98.6.

I had to fill out the usual paperwork with some of the questions being COVID-related. The lady at the desk told me she and her husband had root canals done, and they’re no problem.

Then another lady took me into one of the exam rooms and put the scary blood pressure cuff on me. Those electric ones that squeeze you real hard that I hate. This is the first dentist that’s ever wanted to take my blood pressure. By the time it got too tight and I told her to remove it, it was done, and of course my BP was through the roof with my nerves.

I forgot to mention my swollen/sore lymph nodes but maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t because then they might think I’ve got the virus. My stomach pains are a little annoying. Perhaps the penicillin is responsible since it does kill good bacteria in your gut that you actually need.

So the doctor was very businesslike. Not to the point that he was cold or made me feel rushed in any way. He was just very professional and seemed confident, assuring me he does this sort of thing all day when I expressed my fears and told him of the incident with my medication and county clinic that put a complex on me.

Unfortunately, they don’t have nitrous oxide available now because of the virus and they don’t know when they’re going to have it again. Not exactly sure what the connection is but obviously there is one.

They took x-rays and confirmed it actually is the tooth in the very back. He reminded me that pulling it would still be an option and a much cheaper one even though that could call for future problems down the road should I have problems with any surrounding teeth. I would probably be able to chew okay without that tooth but he too, recommends a root canal.

He felt my gums, poked my gums, and did that pressure test. Then he used something that was really cold only this time it didn’t leave me in excruciating pain as the dentist did. He said that’s not just due to the penicillin I took but because most of the root is now dead. Then why bother removing the tooth if it’s dead? I asked him, and he said because I could still get infected. The root may be dying but the tissue surrounding it is not.

They keep the place cold as my old dentist did, so I now know to dress warmer. I don’t like the way my legs stick to the plastic on the chair anyway when I wear shorts or a dress. And yes, it will be just one more appointment, fortunately, and then I have up to 4 weeks to get into my dentist to fill the rest of it. I’m hoping she’ll do that and my cavities at the same time. If I don’t call her today, I’ll call her tomorrow to fill her in.

Anyway, the guy says that two days before the appointment, they’ll call in a bottle containing two Halcion pills. Apparently, it’s a kick-ass tranquilizer because they’re going to not only have an oxygen/HR thing on my finger in which she says not to wear nail polish, but also that scary blood pressure cuff.

The doctor said, “You won’t care what I’m doing.” I sure hope not because if I don’t care about him drilling and whatnot in my mouth, I’m not likely to care that my arm is having the shit squished out of it. I’ll just see if they can put it on the arm I didn’t break because the extra bone mass on the broken arm makes it a little more sensitive to pressure. His assistant said some people say they don’t even remember the procedure.

The entire thing, including today’s x-rays and medication and all that, is going to be $1,700. Thank God we won so much money!

Today he had to wait in the car and in the lobby, but they said he could sit in the waiting room during the procedure. I definitely won’t be able to walk out of there easily when they’re done, and he said someone would have to drive me. No problem when you don’t drive to begin with. The two things I don’t do is drive or handle our finances with my shitty math. I could barely manage a checking account and the few bills I had during the nine years I had an apartment in the late 80s and early 90s.

I’m on for June 11th at 7:30. They only do this particular procedure in the mornings. I’m to take one of the Halcion pills an hour before the appointment and bring the other pill with me in case it’s needed.

Tom told me Halcion is a sleeping pill while I was helping him with his wart. He has a huge wart on the back of his head that we’ve been treating but I can’t believe it’s going to go away on its own. We’ve got money, so I don’t know why he doesn’t get it taken care of by a doctor but then most of us hate doctors and the money isn’t going to last forever either. Probably just the rest of the year. It could last a year in a cheaper place.

I’m too tired to get into an idea he came up with for moving, and this entry is getting long enough anyway. I’ll just end it by saying we stopped for burgers and fries for the first time in a while on the way back from the dentist.

MONDAY, MAY 25, 2020 Researched tips on how to stop being such a worrywart. One tip suggests talking about my worries but the last thing I want to do is put anyone in a bad mood. Tom is horrible at handling complaints of any kind.

The rat started chewing the pig’s liner so no more coming and going into the pig’s section unsupervised.

We took the bikes out yesterday before it got too hot. I could hear hammering and sawing just over the wall. Yes, Californians love to do their projects.

After a few more triple-digit days, I hope they’ll open the pool. I don’t know if it would be wise to get my hair cut, though. Until and if there’s a vaccine, I don’t know that we should go anywhere unnecessarily. But then maybe in another month or so, if no one in this area has had the virus, then maybe it’ll be okay.

Didn’t know this but apparently, they make antifungal nail polish that actually helps cure yellowed nails and brown spots like what I’ve got. I have my doubts despite the rave reviews, but it can’t hurt to try it. It’s looking like the Lamisil probably isn’t going to do me any good.

It was nice to have funny and embarrassing dreams instead of sad and terrifying ones for a change.

The first dream was weird. I was at the beach somewhere enjoying the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore and taking in the smell of the ocean which I loved. I looked at the waves and was trying to judge the best time to dodge the bigger ones to go out for a swim.

Suddenly, a few people were yelling at me in an angry but mostly concerned manner. It was almost like they thought I was enjoying myself a little too much or something and that worried them.

In the embarrassing dream, I was in a room talking to some photos. It suddenly occurred to me that Tom may be in the next room listening. So I stepped out of the room and checked in the room next door and sure enough, there he was, much to my immense embarrassment. I tried to make some excuse to cover up for my embarrassing actions by saying I’d fallen asleep and was just talking in my sleep.

Then both Andy and the termite contacted me. The termite called begging to “move on” and for financial help because she was down to her last $2. LOL Unfortunately, they can’t be that bad off in reality even if her narcissistic offspring aren’t working and can’t help because she has disability checks while he has retirement checks to support them, and they’re paying a lot less than we are. They may not be doing great, but I can’t see them struggling much. I would be a lot more worried about Andy than them.

I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if someday she tried to contact me to play kiss and make up. Not gonna happen! I may have learned my lesson decades too late, but I have learned it.

I even told Tom in the dream that I would talk to people like Andy and Marie before I ever talked to Tammy, and that’s true. However, unlike in the dream where I seemed to like the idea of reconnecting with Andy, I really don’t have any desire to. Same goes for Marie. They are who they are, and I think it’s safe to say that as old as they’re getting, they’re set in their ways with no desire to change. I don’t want to deal with Marie’s paranoid craziness or reconnect with Andy just to deal with his arrogance, insensitivity, negativity, and to be told that every other thing I say is a lie.

SUNDAY, MAY 24, 2020 We’ve got a heatwave coming through with triple digits getting as high as 106 dgs. Should be hot until the 30th.

Tom has had a tremor in his hands for a while but lately, I’ve noticed that sometimes his head has a slight shaking to it as well. He’s getting a little old for Parkinson’s so hopefully, it’s nothing serious. I’ve asked him about it, and he says it’s nothing. I hope he’s right! Having to worry about my shit is enough.

Yesterday I asked the pharmacist at Rite Aid his opinion on my nails and unfortunately, he said what I came to suspect it is…a fungus. He recommended Lamisil and said it might not work and I may need the pills that Dr. A mentioned I might need. You only take a couple of them, but they’re supposed to be particularly hard on the liver.

When I got back, I checked my Documents folder and found I tried Lamisil to no avail in 2017 on my toes. But my toenails are worse than my fingernails, so we’ll see. Aly said it helped her toenails after a couple of weeks so that gives me a bit of hope. After a couple of treatments, there might be a very slight improvement but it’s too soon to say for sure.

He recommends calcium for the lifting. I’ll get some caramel calcium chews with the next grocery order.

It’s also looking like my stomach pain was caused by a lack of fiber because while I was at the store, I grabbed a can of cannellini beans and it’s better today. Not perfect but better. I had one normal dump and one that was slightly runny. What I call the partial runs.

So much for saying my body won’t let itself under 155 because I woke up at 154.6, interestingly enough, even though I’m not dieting.

Just a little concerned with whatever my throat/neck situation is. I can see swollen lymph nodes, and I get that they extend into the sides of the boobs which would explain the sore spot at the side of my boob, but why would I feel irritation at times in my throat when I swallow? That’s the part I don’t get. So I decided that if my neck/throat/boob doesn’t improve with fixing my tooth, I might see if I can bump up Doc A and get finding out about it done and over with. This way they can fix anything that may be wrong or tell me it’s nothing and ease my concerns, so I don’t have to sit here worrying and wondering all the time. Oh, it’s something, alright. The question is how much of something it is. Hopefully, it’s something simple that won’t require any treatment. I know I should just take the free boob squeeze but I’m still hesitant. Right now the lymph node thing is my biggest concern.

Trying not to overdo the complaints, concerns and stress over my health and teeth to Tom because I know it gets to him. If there’s anything he’s always been really bad at handling, it’s complaints of any kind. He just doesn’t want to hear it. Be it me bitching about noise or my health, it brings him down and puts him in a bad mood and I don’t want to do that to him. So I’m going to make a point of just toughing out whatever I can. Yes, it sort of bothers me just like it’s always bothered me that he’s quick to defend whoever I’m upset with, and I also know that someone could be bashing the shit out of me right in front of him and he wouldn’t say a single word. So yeah, it bothers me. But he is who he is.

My chicken marsala came out okay if you like white meat. Not something I’m going to make again so I’m hoping the slow-cooked pork chops I’m making right now will come out better. They’re cooking in a mix of cream of chicken, ranch dressing mix, chicken broth, and garlic.

Last night’s dreams were the usual mix of negativity. Facing living alone or thinking about it as a real and scary possibility (I would never let myself live alone. If I wasn’t in jail, a nursing home, or a funny farm, I’m dead, but definitely not alone), cops showing up to execute a search warrant while someone was visiting me, me in a hallway in some building the cops were storming through.

SATURDAY, MAY 23, 2020 Planes are going to be bad later this morning. I can hear the freeway.

Based on my symptoms and our research, we’re now thinking the intermittent stomach pain I get is connected to intestinal inflammation. I should have other symptoms if it was the gallbladder.

Then I took a dump and noticed the shit was broken apart, Googled it, and it suggested a lack of fiber which can lead to GI issues.

As for my nails…I’m 90-something percent sure it’s not nail polish damage. I think it could be fungus similar to what’s in my toenails. When I don’t put lotion on, I see the same yellowy-white discoloration that’s in my toes. I’d love to ask a pharmacist at Rite Aid what their opinion is and any OTC they may recommend.

The endodontist’s office called yesterday wanting to have me come in a little earlier. That’s fine but this is the second time they’ve changed times on us. Really hope they don’t make this a regular habit even if I hope to only see them one more time after Tuesday.

They’re opening more things up here and the increase in traffic sounds reflects that. So now my sleep is at risk when I’m sleeping during the daytime. It’s stupid too. They shouldn’t lift the lockdown until a vaccine is available.

I’m sure I will be woken up when that house is finally hauled out of here and the new one hauled in. They’re taking forever to do it.

Dixie said she later heard that no, the house wasn’t broken into but they’re just remodeling. How do you get a break-in out of remodeling? But then Dixie isn’t all there. Pretty sure I know the house she’s talking about. I’ve seen it when out walking.

Yesterday when I was out walking, one of the turkeys kind of lost its mind. I don’t know if it was attempting to be aggressive or if it was desperate for attention or scared of something or what. I turned to look behind me to find one charging at me as a woman was coming toward me walking her dog. Then a car was coming, and the turkey didn’t want to get too close to the car or to me so it flew a short distance. Then it turned around and kept circling the woman and her dog. The woman was worried for a minute that the turkey would harm her dog based on the way she held the leash protectively. There were a couple of clusters of the ugly bastards along the way. You don’t realize how loud turkeys gobble until you’re standing right next to them when they do!

The chicken marsala I made yesterday came out okay. I’m just not a fan of white meat so if I ever make it again, I won’t use breasts. It’s dry, bland and stringy.

About a month ago I broke down and finally decided to say hello to Dr. H and Holly and let them know we would be moving next year. Yesterday I noticed Dr. H was showing up under the People You May Know section. I asked Becky her opinion and she said she wasn’t sure exactly, she’s had people show up too, and it can’t be a coincidence.

I agree. I don’t think Holly has been to my profile if she even got or read my message, but I think the doctor visited me. Of course she didn’t reply. It’s kind of weird, too. I can see if she was still treating me, but there is no doctor-patient relationship anymore. So why not a quick and polite reply? It just seems kind of rude to blow me off at this point but that’s her choice.

I also can’t help but wonder if perhaps Alyssa does read my messages after all because she hasn’t updated her profile picture since August. Okay, I know she’s busy as hell adding a kid on top of a demanding career, but it makes me wonder if perhaps she feels uncomfortable posting anything that has to be public because of me. I hope that’s not the case as I certainly don’t want anyone feeling unnecessarily comfortable.

Aly’s having the same problem I had with mometasone, only on her face instead of her privates. It really burned the hell out of her so now she’s on steroids again. Seems to be the only thing that helps her with her eczema outbreaks and other rashes.

She visited in my dreams last night. Not sure it looked like this house but she turned in before we did, and as I was putting on my floral silk robe I said, I looked at the closed door she slept behind and said, “I can’t believe Alison P is behind that door.”

In reality, I’m starting to doubt we’ll ever meet. Kind of sucks but I can live with it.

FRIDAY, MAY 22, 2020 “They split that house,” Tom stepped outside and then stepped back inside to tell me. Sure enough, when I looked out the living room window and at the house where the guy was beating on the carport, I could see it was pulled apart a bit. He thought they pulled it apart to do some kind of repair, but I knew there was no way they would do that just to fix something. He said it would be a tremendous waste of money to replace the house when you can just get a new place somewhere. I agree. But people do stupid shit all the time.

I jumped on Facebook and messaged Mrs. Twenties and yes, they are replacing it, she confirmed. She’s also tired of the project noise and is usually tolerant of noise to begin with. They haven’t pulled it out yet. I guess they’re waiting until I’m back on nights? We were hoping at first that they would go out the back and that way they wouldn’t have to go around the corner by our place and then to the back gate, but Tom says it does look like they are going to come between us and the Twenties. He said it’s actually a triple-wide and that they’re just gonna shift the pieces over onto the carport and then pull them out onto the street from there which means it has to go by us. Really hope to hell I’m awake when they pull it out and bring the new one in! I can’t believe this shit. I just can’t. It’s like there’s no end to what people will do in this place. Everything’s about appearance and throwing money away.

There is some good news. While Dahl may make me want to beat him over the head at times with his circular saw, the Twenties lucked out with a good neighbor. Her name is Mary Ann. She’s a home health care nurse who is working from home. This is exactly why I say I want more female neighbors if not couples like the Twenties.

Dixie surprised me by informing me that someone broke into a house on Tandy while the owners weren’t home. If this is true, then wow. This is the last place you would think anyone would want to break into even when the front gate is open. You’re just so much more likely to get caught here. Stealing a bike on a corner that someone was stupid enough not to lock is one thing, but breaking into houses? Here? Guess it’s a reminder that no place is exempt from trouble.

Yesterday the planes were more annoying than they have been in a while. I think the direction of the wind might have shifted because I could hear the freeway.

I don’t know if this is real or not. It seems a little too good to be true that I could play a spin-the-wheel game and instantly be told I won a $200 discount in a smartwatch store and I don’t even have to apply the code when I check out because it will be automatically applied. Most of the smartwatches range from $220 to $225 but again, I don’t know if it’s for real. I’ll have Tom check it out with me when he gets up.

It seems that when it comes to my top two cyber friends and me, we all have our curses and our blessings. One is blessed with good health, the other peace and quiet, and I’ve got the money. But only for now. If I continue to have one problem after another as I feared I might once I beat the anxiety, and if something really is trying to trap us here, it’s going to run out fast. Really starting to suspect I may have gallstones. That cramp-like pain I get in my upper right tummy that I’ve had on and off since about 2017 seems to suggest this. I looked up everything in that area and it’s too far to the side to be the pancreas. Really doubt it’s any kind of liver-related problem or IBS, which leaves gallstones. I fit the criteria too. I’m an obese woman over 40.

Read back in my journal (again, I’m so glad I keep a journal as everyone should), and not only has Tom’s mother, sister, and Evie had gallbladder surgery, but my dad sent me a letter in 2008 saying he had his removed. It’s a common problem. It’s easy to diagnose and easy to fix which is great, but I’m tired of suffering and I definitely don’t want to waste money on health issues. But yesterday and the day before, it was more noticeable than ever. I was constipated for a couple of days, so we’ll see if no longer being stuck makes it better. I’ve only been up for 4 hours and so far, it’s ranged from non-existent to mild.

Aly will be tested for the virus today. She doesn’t think she has it.

THURSDAY, MAY 21, 2020 Woke up feeling more rested (even though I took a nap) and less like I had a cold. My lymph nodes aren’t too bad, although I’ve also felt the ones under my jaw and my left groin at times. Today’s problem is that mysterious pain I sometimes get in my upper right stomach. I don’t think it’s enough pain for gallbladder issues and I haven’t been doing anything where I would have pulled muscles in that area, but it’s something that comes and goes along with the lymph nodes swelling. Never really paid attention to say if it happens at the same time or not. I’m thinking it’s either connected to my liver or large intestine, likely the latter. I’m just not sure what, why or how.

When I felt shitty yesterday, I didn’t eat much and realized that if I ever lost a significant amount of weight, something would have to be wrong. Better to keep my appetite and my weight because then I at least know I feel good and am healthy! Since dropping my processed diet in favor of unprocessed foods, the risk of gaining weight has gone way down. But if my body is comfortable staying at 155, then I’m comfortable.

If you diet and lose weight, great. If you diet and don’t (assuming nothing’s wrong with you), then you were likely meant to be where you are.

I had catfish and an avocado an hour or so after I got up. Now I’m baking a chicken breast.

No longer doing voice journals with Alyssa’s chat thread because I noticed that some of them said error after a while. So I decided not to bother.

It may be too soon, but things are starting to reopen. So eventually it’s going to be maddening around here again. You know, if I was the type who could brainwash myself and I wanted to make myself believe there was something up there listening to me, all I’d have to do is ask for noisy neighbors when we move. Yeah, I know better. I know that if there’s anything up there - and that’s a big if - it’s totally pointless to even bother to try to ask for a quiet place because I know it won’t happen. Just not meant to be.

Got tired of asking Kim to tone down the messages and trying to explain that six 1-minute messages or more are a bit much. She’ll respect my wishes for a while, then it’s right back to the long, rambling bullshit. I’m tired of her repetition, too! She’ll tell me the same thing over and over again in a 1-minute message. But at least she’s gullible as fuck and I could convince her my speaker and mic broke so we must revert back to texting. I can skim these faster. FB offers no way to speed up or jump through voice messages in increments.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 20, 2020 I accidentally locked myself out of my Mac doing some kind of upgrade, but since I only use the thing for puzzles and I didn’t need anything on it, we erased the drive altogether and reinstalled Mojave.

My neck lymph nodes feel better today but I feel very run down and almost like I’m coming down with something. God, I hope not!

That concludes my very short entry because I really don’t have anything else to report at this time.

TUESDAY, MAY 19, 2020 Yesterday, the bulge in my neck was more obvious than usual and even Tom could feel it, though it’s not visible to the eye. It was tender and slightly throbbing like my tooth sometimes does. It was the first time I took ibuprofen for it. Tom and I both agree, though, that there’s no urgency to run to the doctor because I’ve had it so long and it’s highly unlikely to be anything serious. So it can wait 5 months until I see my PCP. It’s still stressing me out, though, on top of my pending dental surgery. When I woke up, I felt like gone was the peace and serenity I’ve been having. But then I did additional research on Google and I’m pretty sure I have an idea of what it is and how to make it better if not go away completely. Pretty sure it’s a swollen lymph node that’s been more noticeable due to the inflammation in my mouth. It doesn’t explain why I’ve had it for so long but while my tooth may no longer be infected, it is inflamed.

I learned that we have lymph nodes in the neck, under the arms, and in the groin. I don’t know why this one has been noticeable for the last 2 to 3 years, but I’m guessing it may be connected to my thyroid. I read that nodules on the thyroid are rarely sensitive. Lymph nodes can get bacterial infections at times but that is rare as well. Besides, I just had a round of penicillin. But due to the fact that it is a little tender and seems to be spreading more towards the side, my bet is on a lymph node. Sometimes they have to drain it. No pain in my jaw, thank God, or ear any more than the usual shit I get from the ear on that side.

Definitely don’t have symptoms of cancer and that’s usually not painful. That seems to be the general rule from what I’ve heard and read. If you have lumps in your breasts that are hard, don’t move, or cause any pain, that may be a concern.

They recommended a warm compress on the swollen lymph node and that seems to have helped stop the “bubbling” a bit like when something’s just about to boil. Keeping my hands off it is easy. Keeping my mind off it, not so much. I’m curious and a little worried but right now I want to try to just focus on my tooth first and then decide what to do about my neck. If I do go to the doctor sooner, it will be more to give me peace of mind and settle my curiosity than anything else. Meaning, I don’t have to have any treatment done if she recommends any after finding out what it is. I may mention it to the endodontist just in case it’s important in any way I don’t know about. I’m not a doctor. But as Tom said, I’m the boss of my own body.

I swear I sometimes still get a tickle in my throat on that side and the last couple of days I’ve had a scratchiness of sorts overall, especially when I talk, but again, trying not to worry. It’s hard not to think about it so I’m trying to distract myself with other things.

Lost the nearly 2 lbs I gained after just one day of eating healthier, although I did indulge in some M&M’s. I’m cooking the cornish game hen now and I made the cheddar bay biscuits. Yup, just like Red Lobster.

We ran out to Rite-Aid yesterday and returned to this god-awful hammering sound. My first thought was the woodpecker, but it quickly hit me that it didn’t sound right for that. Well, a few houses down, 125 feet away (love how I can check that on Google Maps), some guy was beating on his carport. I could hear it all the way down in the bedroom even with the door shut, but fortunately, it didn’t last long, and nothing woke me up. Let me guess…they’re getting a garage? I’m just so fucking sick of listening to projects every single fucking week!

Tom made the best mask yet by gluing drawstrings along the top and bottom edges instead of using sewing thread. Much easier to get on and keep in place.

Facebook lets you create personalized avatars that look like you, but I couldn’t quite get mine to look like me, even though I’m using it anyway. Tom thinks I look sort of Asian, LOL. Well, at least I’m a green-eyed brunette.

I have no idea why, but Blitz has been limping and Rockefeller has been whining up a storm. With Rockefeller, I think he just wants attention. With Blitz, I’m clueless. I highly doubt Fuzzy harmed him because he’s never shown any type of aggression toward him and he seldom goes downstairs anyway.

Looking forward to trying this peel-off base coat a PBer recommended so I can hopefully bypass polish remover altogether since the small sample of hairspray I got was worthless, but it’s not a high priority. We both agreed to really watch our shopping until we get out of here.

I was right in assuming I’d hear the motorcycle within a few days because it just came in at nearly 12:30.

Took a break before posting this. Was up for nearly 20 hours and barely slept for 6, so I’m a bit tired today.

The motorcycle left at 2.

The hen was fabulous and totally worth the extra two bucks. Yes, there were a few bland bites of white meat I didn’t eat but I didn’t waste nearly as much as I would a regular chicken.

MONDAY, MAY 18, 2020 My heart was racing again. It did this the night before too, after eating. It’s almost like there was something in the tortellini recipe making it race, but I can’t imagine what. I managed to get five or six servings out of the tortellini and it basically fed me for a day and a half. The same amount of weight it put on me. I swear if I wanted to gain weight, all I would have to do is eat bread, pasta, rice, and peanut butter. I think even just pasta alone would do it.

Some groceries are to be delivered tomorrow. Since it’s harder to lock in a delivery time with so many people getting their groceries delivered, we decided it would be easier to get things delivered every few days rather than weekly. The only “bad” thing I ordered to make us tomorrow besides a small sweet treat of mini M&M’s in a tube is Red Lobster’s Cheddar Bay biscuit mix.

I also ordered a twin pack of Cornish game hens for the first time ever. You can bake them in the oven, but they recommend a cookie sheet with a rack which I don’t have at this time, so I’m going to slow-cook them. I know I could use a casserole dish, but I really love slow cooking. Because they’re small and the cooker is small, I’m going to make one at a time. I can’t see myself eating more than one at once anyway. I’ll season it to taste and cook it over some veggies. Learned that they’re not even game hens but young chickens and therefore have less fat. I prefer dark meat to white but I’m sure I’ll still like them.

Having some fluky weather. We don’t need the heat or anything but the rain we’re getting is unusual for this time of year when it’s supposed to be hot and dry. There is also a flash flood warning for tomorrow.

I hope Tom is right with his time frames. I’m thrilled that we won’t have to worry about money for many months but what then? I asked him what we would do when the money runs out and we’re back down to $1200 a month in retirement checks which aren’t enough to live on. Well, he feels confident that we’ll be fine for the rest of the year and that early next year, there will be a vaccine at which time he’ll get a job and not have to worry so much about getting sick. Wish I could be as confident as he is! It’s just that they felt certain they would have an AIDS vaccine yet 40 years later, there isn’t one. As he said, though, this is very different than AIDS.

I really hope nothing comes up to prevent or delay us from moving next year! And I also hope that whenever I’m destined to have new health issues or old ones that get worse, it isn’t until after we’re moved and settled.

It seems we really have been compensated with money after many years of struggling. I wish I could believe that we’ll be compensated with a beautiful home and an ideal location that’s peaceful and that I love so much and never want to leave until I die, but I can’t believe that for a minute. I would love for that to be the case, but I just can’t see it. Then again, I never would have thought we’d not have any money problems for 9 years, so maybe - just maybe - I’ll be pleasantly surprised even if I highly doubt it.

Had a horrible nightmare. One that certainly can’t reflect anything that’s going on now, so I have no idea where the hell it came from because we’re the furthest from losing the place than we’ve ever been before in our lives. The dream didn’t make much sense in a lot of ways. I was alone yet Tom was still alive. It’s like I couldn’t get to him or something like that. Then there was something about a phone ringing late at night and being back in Massachusetts. I wouldn’t answer it because I was sure that whoever was calling had bad news or was at least someone I didn’t want to hear from.

The scary and sad part of the dream was being stuck in this hotel. I was out somewhere and this woman that sort of resembled Nane was driving me back to the hotel. Then I realized I’d forgotten my room key. “Nane” was frustrated with me, wanting me to make up my mind where she was to drop me off because she was in a hurry and didn’t feel safe being in public with the virus still going around.

Once she dropped me off at my hotel, I was able to get inside my room easily enough because the housekeeper was in it. I found that someone had ripped off most of my stuff. My lungs were tight and I told myself not to panic since I didn’t have my inhaler but then I found it in one of my bags. After I took a puff, I noticed a woman and a man sitting at a small table by the door playing cards and smoking. I demanded that they take their cigarettes outside and was determined to find who stole my stuff. I was questioning some guy at some point and had to resist the temptation to strangle him before he could if not tell me directly then at least point me in the right direction.

I began to feel a sense of hopelessness and to believe that death was my only savior. I then started crying as housekeepers and whoever passed by me as they came and went. I sobbed, “I’m gonna die,” but no one seemed to care.

At least the dream ended on a good note. I was getting it on with some woman and I came like I was under 50 again. LOL

Aly admitted she was still in touch with Molly but only through Fitbit and that was sporadic.

SUNDAY, MAY 17, 2020 Looked into alternatives to nail polish remover that may be better for my nails, and one of the suggestions was toothpaste. That one didn’t work at all, but the perfume suggestion worked a bit. The problem is that it would take forever so it’s not worth it. They say the best is hairspray so next grocery order I’ll throw in some hairspray and we’ll see.

Thought of ways to hide the ugliness until my nails clear up (if they ever do) and remembered I have a bunch of nail decals. They won’t stay on by themselves but all they need is a topcoat. No nail polish and no remover.

My mushroom spinach tortellini came out awesome! The only problem is that it’s making me hungry. That’s the problem with carbs… They fill me up but leave me hungrier. More hunger and eventually more weight. Definitely gotta switch back to meats even if it’s bad for my cholesterol. I don’t lose weight, but I don’t have to worry about gaining and always being hungry that way. It would be nice if I could live on just fruits and veggies alone since I wouldn’t have to worry about cholesterol, but I know I would be even hungrier than with carbs. So it’s either carbs or cholesterol and I choose cholesterol, LOL. My doctor said I don’t have to give up meat altogether if I focus on things like fish instead of bacon. Yeah, but a moderate amount of fat is actually healthier. Atkins was low-carb and low-fat and that can cause heart attacks. I definitely lean way more toward fish and chicken and healthier meats as opposed to bacon and red meats. I don’t want to have too much fish, though, because of the mercury in it.

So that’s what those “steps” are for. The people before us left these little wire-coated steps and when I was looking for spice racks on Amazon, those were one of the designs that came up. I plan to get a different one that I think will be better in the next place but for now, I set one of the steps up by the side of the stove and arranged my sprays, oils and spices on them.

I keep going back and forth in my mind as to whether or not I want to unblock the termites. I’m kind of hoping one of them will contact me first if I do so I can reply with the journal excerpts which kind of makes me feel more like I have an excuse to, but I still hesitate for a few reasons. I want to be gone over a year first. I’m sure they could figure out how to get our future address if they really wanted to and send shit there instead, but at least it should take time to show up online. I don’t think they share this information with the world the instant you get it.

I also don’t want to take a chance of any of them realizing I’ve unblocked them and then turning around and blocking me if they haven’t already, thus making it harder to send them anything in the future. I think I’ll just stick with my original plan and wait until we’ve been gone a year, then I’ll unblock them and send the messages then. I’ll just have to wait a few days before I send them because Facebook doesn’t let you re-block anyone for 72 hours. I’m also going to Skype a copy to Lisa because I don’t trust that Tammy ever forwarded anything I sent her to give to her. Especially when I asked more than once if she gave Lisa a copy of my note and never got an answer.

I don’t want to ask Aly to piggyback any messages when we move because then it’s more likely to be filtered since they were never connected before.

Decided to quit sweeping since all I get are win notifications for others. Really, I’m sick of that shit, and there’s just no winning with all the competition I’ve got these days. I wasn’t sweeping as I used to, though. Not using OLS or anything like that. I was just entering sweeps I would see on my Facebook feed.

The fucking motorcycles made up for my being able to sleep during trash pickup on Friday. Tom said two of them went by. Believe it or not, we’re supposed to get rain tomorrow so hopefully, that will back them off so I can sleep. But yeah, the rude fuckers are going to be a problem until November. I wouldn’t be surprised if I heard the one that visits in the middle of the night within the next few nights.

Sighs frustratedly First all I had to run from were the stereos and barking. Now motorcycles and planes have been thrown into the mix. What’s next? Spaceships?

No runs today but I’m still going too much. I hope I don’t need another round of antibiotics. No pain but there is a slight throbbing sensation in that tooth almost like the nerve is desperate to escape or something.

Went bike riding around 9:30. I figured that sticking to the circle would be kind of boring but I didn’t want to go down the “rollercoaster” not only because of the skunks but because that’s where I go the fastest, and without being able to see well, I didn’t want to risk an accident. So I opted for a Daisy run instead. It only took 10 minutes and there were a few areas that were pretty dark, but it was a nice ride. With the exception of the skunky smell by the RVs.

It seems I had a dream about trying to keep a skunk out of our place without getting sprayed. It didn’t spray me, but it made this horribly angry screeching sound.

I also had dreams involving Alyssa and Dr. A. I love it when I have funny dreams involving people like them, although I wouldn’t exactly call them “funny.”

With Alyssa, I met her under different circumstances, and she was younger, too. We were in a medical building and she was only 21 when I first saw her, though not as doctor and patient. At least not right away. The first time I saw her we never actually spoke, but I was immediately attracted to her and would later realize that she was having a job interview with the medical group about working in that building. I don’t know how long she eventually treated me for, but my dream self was thinking how we first met when she was 21 and now she was 26.

With Dr. A, Tom was telling me it was time to go for my appointment with her and I realized I was barely ready. I had just gotten dressed and hadn’t put on any makeup or anything like that. I jumped up to leave and then fell down.

But then I was sitting in a room by myself waiting for us to do a Zoom meeting. I hadn’t been paying attention to the screen, figuring she would be late. Suddenly, I saw that she was just coming on and went to adjust the monitor.

Then in another split second, I was waiting to meet her outside some building somewhere. It may have been someplace I was living because I was a little embarrassed by how the outside of the place looked. She showed up carrying a jacket of mine as well as a notebook that I left in her office the last time I saw her there. I took the jacket gratefully but then was embarrassed when I looked down at the notebook which was folded open to a page where I had a list of names.

“Ah, my character list,” I said. “A friend and I randomly threw some names down from the internet to choose for stories we’re writing,” Then I flushed with embarrassment when I thought of her reading anything else, knowing I’d written some personal thoughts and things I wouldn’t want to share with her.

In the last dream, I was listening to an official-sounding voice message. My first thought was that it was Dixie, but the woman started off by saying, “This message is for Jodi…” I’m not sure what it was about but I wanted to ignore it and was afraid I wouldn’t be able to.

FRIDAY, MAY 15, 2020 Well, the penicillin has officially given me the runs. Hopefully, it won’t last long.

Forgot to mention yesterday that the dentist canceled my Monday morning consultation. I was annoyed at first, hating it when doctors or dentists cancel on me because that adds to my stress when trying to schedule appointments. But they called back today, and I’ll be seeing a different doctor on the 26th. As much as I’m still dreading it, I hope to get the root canal and all the fillings I need completed around the time I see my ENT in early June so I can enjoy a long break from appointments until I see my PCP in October.

The dentist emailed me saying they’re open again but are going to do things a little differently. They’ll text us a couple of hours before our appointment to ask some COVID-related questions, and then we’re supposed to text them when we arrive. They’ll then text you letting you know when you can enter the office. You must have a mask on except for when you’re being treated, of course, and they’ll take your temperature upon arrival. I’m almost always 97.

At least now I know I won’t have to worry about money at all and can have whatever procedure I want regardless of costs (I would still prefer laughing gas and not just a simple chill pill). Yeah, I still can’t wrap my head around that, LOL. This is more money than anything I’ve ever won, more than my joke of an inheritance, more than anything.

I have these foil sachets that are typically used for removing glitter nail polish. I think I’ll soak the pads in them with apple cider vinegar and treat my still shitty-looking nails with them. I still hope Tom’s right when he suspects it’s just nail polish damage and reminds me that my doctor saw them and didn’t think they were anything to worry about. They’re not as irritated today, so that’s a plus.

Despite my hair being barely past my shoulders, it’s still a bitch to brush even if I do it regularly. Is it really still that thick?

Miraculously, I slept through trash and green waste pickup. Wish I’d thought to add Alexa and her brown noise 7 years ago. It’s just that she wasn’t as reliable back then and I had other things going on to disrupt my sleep like perimenopause and the hell I went through adjusting to my medication. I’m much better off both physically and emotionally these days, especially emotionally, and I think that helps me relax enough to sleep better, along with the fact that I know this is our last year here. It better be! Life isn’t usually what we plan or at least when we plan it, so hopefully, this will be one of those exceptions.

The only time I might still get in a blah kind of mood is when I’m on nights, which is not surprising and quite typical. That’s when my mind has fewer distractions in order to have a chance to go places it shouldn’t be going. That’s when the what-if moments often come to mind. I just try to keep busy which is something I like to do anyway. I like to be as productive and as creative as possible.

Could have sworn I heard that damn saw for a few seconds shortly after I got up, but I can’t swear to it.

While I’m glad it’s summer, it kind of sucks to know that they’re very likely to close the pool during the summer. At least we should be able to swim year-round in Florida.

I’m making mushroom spinach tortellini now. This is the most sophisticated recipe I’ve thrown together yet. If someone had told me I would one day develop an interest in cooking and would be making the kinds of dishes I’ve been making, I would have laughed. I’ve definitely learned never to assume I might not be interested in something later on down the road or that I won’t lose interest in something I’m presently interested in. One can never know.

Right now I’ve got mushrooms, onions, butter, soy sauce, salt and pepper cooking in vegetable broth.

It took a half-hour of preparation and it’s in the cooker for the next 7 hours. It’s going to be a while before I add in the tortellini, cheddar, cream cheese, spinach and basil leaves. I shredded the basil leaves by hand because I don’t have a decent shredder right now. Thank God for rodents! I had more basil leaves than I need, so the pigs and rat will be happy to finish off what’s left of them.

Fuzzy and Blitz are cohabiting nicely. I was worried Fuzzy would pester him and maybe chew up the liner, but he’s been behaving nicely. I think it’s mostly because he’s older and spends most of his time upstairs sleeping.

THURSDAY, MAY 14, 2020 I’m still baffled by my nails, but I think whatever it is goes beyond simply overdoing the nail polish. I hope Tom’s right since he thinks that’s all it is. The problem is I’m so addicted to nail polish that it’s hard to keep from polishing them, but I’m determined to leave them alone for the rest of the year or at least until and if they clear up. I’m wondering if it might be due to psoriatic arthritis.

I’ve got lifting in about half of my nails, some discoloration, and even a touch of sensitivity. It’s hard to describe but I guess it’s almost like the tips of the nails where they meet the nailbeds have a slight burning sensation or like the skin is too dry and tight even though I’m keeping my nails moisturized. It’s weird because the fingernail that’s the most sensitive doesn’t appear to have any discoloration or lifting. One of the sites I was investigating recommended soaking them in apple cider vinegar for 10 minutes for a few weeks. I doubt it will help but it can’t hurt to try.

They also recommend coconut oil, so I decided to use that instead of the Healthy Hoof.

At least my bottom I-tooth didn’t have any soreness when I first removed the mouthguard today as I had for a few days. I think that tooth was just trying to shift.

I also think I would like to stop having one fucking problem after another!

I’m a couple of days away from taking my meds consistently for 6 solid weeks. So I’m sure my next round of anxiety is coming soon and I’ll have to snip the ends of the pills for a couple of days. Well, hopefully, that’s all I’ll need to do it for.

Nothing like waking up to the sound of sawing. Yeah, this is the third fucking time since the sixth and it’s definitely getting old. The thing is that the bastard will quickly saw something and then jump inside his house. I don’t want to go to anyone’s door with the virus going around. He’s obviously not going to stop until someone complains and maybe not even then since many people react poorly to complaints. I can see someone doing this initially when they first move in and are getting settled but it’s been going on ever since the bastard moved in which tells me it’s just what he does. It’s probably his hobby if not part of his job. Oh, to have all-female neighbors! Yes, I’ve had some obnoxious female neighbors before but nothing like the shit I’ve gotten from guys. Them and their fucking loud-ass power toys and vehicles.

The commercial planes, on the other hand, have been a million times better. No longer do I hear dozens of them in the early morning and late at night along with a sprinkling of them in between. I’m sure they’ll drive me crazy again soon enough but I’m enjoying the break from them for now. All I hear are a few small planes and a few more helicopters and that’s pretty much it. The nights are nice and peaceful as they should be.

Took the bike out this afternoon but it was a bad time because there was too much activity getting in the way. People see me coming yet they still can’t get out of the fucking way which slows me down. Riding against the wind on a gearless cruiser is damn hard, so I hate it when they slow me down in the areas that aren’t uphill. I love coasting down Oak. There were also a couple of women hugging nearly in the middle of the road which forced me to go further toward the middle of the road to get around them and this was right at a curve where you can’t see oncoming traffic. I almost slammed into a couple of turkeys as well.

I would go at night when the traffic, people and turkeys aren’t in the way but then I run the risk of hitting a skunk darting out in front of me. It wouldn’t take much to get thrown. Just one large rock or something in the road that I didn’t see until it was too late, and I could be as good as dead if not so injured that I sure as hell wished I was. Getting thrown from a bike can be just as dangerous as a motorcycle and you don’t need to go nearly as fast. It’s still fun to go out riding whenever I get around to it. If I stick to the circle at night, I should be okay. There’s only a small section where I like to go fast, but that area is well-lit.

Tom loved the creamy cheesy scalloped potatoes I made. He said they were fantastic and it was all he could do to keep from eating the whole pot, LOL. Well, he won’t want any of tomorrow’s recipe which will be mushroom spinach tortellini.

I had a boneless skinless chicken thigh leftover from when I made the garlic chicken which I baked at 425 degrees for 40 minutes after seasoning it with garlic salt, cinnamon and paprika. Came out surprisingly well and I could see myself getting this more often.

The wool dryer balls came today and depending on how long they last, we’ll save a lot of money in the end because I’ll no longer need to get liquid fabric softener. They do a great job with static and your clothes dry a little faster.

Dixie invited me down this Saturday to make more masks with her but I’m on nights now. I wish she would just download the Walmart grocery app and get a subscription going so she doesn’t have to go out as much but I don’t think she understands how to do that. She and technology just don’t get along and she has memory issues much worse than mine. PQQ helps with Tom’s memory but I’m afraid to take things I don’t need to take. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably have to record my doctor/dentist visits and then take notes later on, that’s how forgetful I can be these days.

I’m worried for Aly because her temperature was 99.9 which isn’t too bad but 13 hours of sleep? Hell, I can’t remember the last time I slept that long and she usually only needs 5-6. She said she was still tired afterward and had to resist the urge to sleep, not wanting to throw off her schedule. Really wish she had stayed away from Cam and that she doesn’t have the virus!

I decided to make the blog with the termites’ journal excerpts private. I’ll message them directly when I feel the time is right.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 13, 2020 Found out some not-so-great news today as well as some totally fantastic news but I’m not sharing the fantastic news just yet and when I do it will only be with Aly. Gotta laugh to myself knowing how pissed the termites would be if they knew about it, LOL.

Yeah, it isn’t every day you wake up to learn you won an appeal you didn’t even know about that’s going to get you over 20 grand. Tom didn’t want to tell me until he knew the outcome, but he hired a lawyer from some legal group and that’s what the “phone interview” with Unemployment was really all about. Funny too, because just last night I was warning Tom that just like you sometimes have to fight for prizes to get delivered to you when you win sweeps and contests, you have to fight the government as well. I knew they would do everything in their power to string things along or deny us all together with or without being so overwhelmed with tons of claims, but especially with all the extra claims. That’s exactly what happened a while ago and Tom was right to keep his mouth shut about it since I would have worried even more. Maybe we should have appealed Oregon’s decision, but we weren’t in a position to hire a lawyer back then.

You know, if the fucking government would stop giving so much of our money away, it wouldn’t be so overwhelmed when it came to taking care of its own. We shouldn’t have to fight for this shit. I’m glad we won, of course, but sometimes I wish we weren’t from here or at least not white.

The lawyers, who win 95% of their cases, agreed to work on a contingency and only get money if they won the case. Well, they won! Our wonderful government was going to stiff us probably because he maxed out the system and was owed the most you can get per week on Unemployment here which is $450. Plus, there’s the stimulus part of it to be factored in that you can’t get unless you’re getting Unemployment (guess there are two types of stimulus deals). He was so relieved to win because if he’d lost, he’d have to get one of those $15 jobs with Amazon or something like that and risk getting sick and maybe even dying.

Instead of having to go to work and possibly die for it, we’re going to get more than when he was working, believe it or not, for the next 6 months, since he’s unlikely to return to work anytime soon. We actually have to be careful not to make too much money otherwise we could lose it. That’s a first! Yeah, having to be careful not to make too much is a refreshing breath of fresh air. I’m still in shock.

It’s weird because it’s like where the economic crisis damn near killed us, this pandemic is causing us to profit. I just hope there isn’t some nasty catch to it we can’t see. Like how we were blown out of our minds to get such a great offer on the Phoenix house only to eventually leave me wondering if something up there only had us get such a great offer because it knew we’d need the money fighting to get into the new place with the way they kept fucking up on us and then the legal bullshit that soon followed. Well, hopefully there’s nothing sitting up there saying, “I better have them win a decent amount because they’re going to need it when I get done picking on her health.”

As it is, taking care of my teeth is going to be more expensive than we thought but I’m pretty confident that going with a root canal is likely to be my best bet in the end. I don’t know what kind of pain I may be in for but if I don’t do anything at all, I’m guaranteed to get infected again.

Even getting a pull costs more money than we thought. That would be around $500, and that office is closed now. They’re only doing emergencies where they simply pull the tooth with Novocain and nothing else. They said they would rather not pull the tooth at all, and recommended the root canal, so we trust their judgment and that it must be the best thing for me since they lose money by saying they would rather not pull it.

The bad news is that it’s going to cost around $1,600 for a root canal. Dixie said she’s had three of them and that they weren’t as bad as she thought, just expensive. Looks like I’ll probably be able to get nitrous oxide too, but it won’t be just one appointment like Dana told me over the phone. I go in Monday morning for a consultation before the actual procedure. They could have gotten me in this afternoon, but Tom explained I couldn’t make it due to my sleep disorder which the person he spoke with probably didn’t get. The doctor would know what it is but I’m not so sure about those that answer the phone. Doesn’t matter, though. I get in when I can get in.

Anyway, we have to pay half up front and they’ll accept payments for the other half.

I was doubly annoyed, though, because the doctor is male and has a name that appears to be Middle Eastern or Indian because they have the accents from hell. Really tired of having to deal with foreigners who don’t want to conform to the American accent or at least try to! I’m fucking American, so why would I want an Indian treating me?

But then I looked the guy up, and despite his name, he’s from Canada. So that should be easier to understand even if it still wears a dick between its legs. Personally, as long as they do the job right, they can have whatever body parts they want and be from wherever. I just want to be able to understand what the hell they’re saying and have them be competent.

Anyway, we’re relieved and happy about the settlement in which the lawyers will only get $1,700. We’re guessing the payments will start coming at the end of the month. It’ll amount to nearly 30K in half a year and that’s a lot for us! I’d love to take the money and run to Florida but there’s no way we can put the house on the market with this fucking pandemic going on that seems to have no end in sight anytime soon. I still worry about being trapped here, so I hope Tom is right when he says they’ll have a vaccine around the time we’re ready to move.

I’m still a little worried about the lump in my neck as well as my nails, but not so worried about my female parts.

I removed the nail polish I swore I wouldn’t bother with for the rest of the year and my nails still look like shit. But maybe it’s more than just nail polish, though. Given that I’m also getting a band of redness under my wedding band, I’m starting to wonder if it’s some kind of contact allergy and if it’s some product I’ve been using that’s causing it. This could be anything from my tea tree mint shampoo to conditioner to different lotions. At least this isn’t in a sensitive spot and I only feel a bit of irritation. Nothing even close to maddening in any way.

I was surprised to learn that by age 50 most people have lost a total of 12 teeth, including their wisdom teeth. By age 75, 26% of people have lost all their teeth. I didn’t know this! So I guess I’m kind of normal after all since I’ve lost 7 so far. Those are the ones I’ve had pulled. This doesn’t count the bridge, the few crowns I have, and the root canal I’m about to get. One of the pulls, though, was an impacted baby tooth.

Aly told me she didn’t care for her teeth very well when she was younger and believes that steroids and other prescription drugs damaged her teeth. It was $2,400 for her upper dentures. She has a few missing teeth down below but nothing worth getting crowns or bridges for yet. She misses her real teeth.

I’ve had lots of pets, yet none have ever or will ever make the impression on us that Tinkerbell made. She was truly extraordinary in every sense of the word. Despite my anxieties over my teeth and my relief over the appeal, I’ve shed some tears for her tonight. I still miss her so much and I feel so guilty about the way she died and having to suffer under the shitty circumstances we were in at the time. If Tom’s belief is right about there being an afterlife where we’re reunited with our pets, I hope she’ll forgive me for the way I handled her in the end, even though I would think most people would understand.

Even though I told Alyssa I wouldn’t send any more messages since she clearly didn’t want any kind of friendship with me, which is her right, I decided that since it’s highly unlikely she’s even picking up my messages (and this is true since she could always disable notifications) I would use our Messenger chat for a voice journal. I won’t discuss anything too private, of course. It just amuses me to think of the very, very, very off-chance that she may actually hear them. Or maybe even her kid or future grandkids someday. Most likely no one will ever hear them but until voice blogging is as common as text blogging, why not use it for that?

My first-ever homemade scalloped potatoes are in the cooker now. Was a bit of time and work to make but I didn’t mind. The mandolin saved some time, though. The ingredients came today, and I swear this is the biggest onion I ever did see! Didn’t use most of it.

TUESDAY, MAY 12, 2020 Oh, gross! Gross, gross, gross. Tom has a big old ugly wart on the back of his head which I’ve been treating for him with this stuff that stinks like hell. So I ran into the bedroom and shut the door and turned on the fragrant wax warmer. Hopefully, the iced mocha latte will override that strong yucky chemical smell soon.

The government is still stringing us along, which is no surprise at all to me. I still think they’re going to turn us down. Why take care of your own when you can send billions to other countries?

We’re having March weather now in the 70s, but it was still nice. It was warm in the sun but there was a strong breeze to keep you from getting too hot. We went bike riding. The only thing I didn’t like was dirt and whatever being blown into my eyes because of the wind. It made riding a little tough depending on which direction we were going but it was still fun.

I now have two people who have told me root canals were painful. Aly said that if it was up to her she would get the tooth pulled because there would be less pain and less recovery time.

It seems it really depends on the person and the tooth. My last molar was a nightmare, partly thanks to the fucking county cock that did it. I did some research and found a mix of opinions. Some said root canals were tough and others said it was no big deal. This may sound funny but pain after the fact is easier to deal with than before the fact. If I’m in pain because something’s wrong, it seems harder on me than pain caused by something that was fixed.

I called the dentist and updated Vicky. Not long afterward, Dana called. I know that a dentist’s main objective is to save teeth whenever possible, and she told me she had a root canal when she was 11 and has never had a problem with it and is now 55. I was blown away to learn of her age since I really thought she was around 40. She said most root canals are successful but yes, every now and then they do fail. She said having it done was no big deal.

So she and the dentist strongly recommend going with a root canal and that’s what we’re leaning toward but I’m going to call tomorrow and get additional information. Meanwhile, my infection is 95% better and I won’t need a second round of antibiotics. They’ll stay in my system for about 30 days. Took my last dose early in my day.

MONDAY, MAY 11, 2020 Went bike riding together for a quick but fun ride. We covered nearly a mile and a half, and our top speed was close to 15 miles an hour.

We’re having a cool spell and are only expected to get up to 69 degrees tomorrow. We had some rain tonight as well.

Been hearing more car stereos and motorcycles around here and even some commercial planes. The planes are likely due to the weather. Only heard 2 or 3, though.

Tom made us much better masks out of old T-shirts. Instead of going around the ears, you tie it in back. Much more comfortable! I have an old balaclava I was going to cut the crown out of and sew the mouthpiece of but then decided not to bother. Besides, that thing is made of knitting. They recommend cotton.

Tom asked me which I would choose if they both cost the same…a root canal or for them to just pull the tooth. Well, I suppose I would take the root canal since the other option could lead to more potential trouble than the root canal. I just wish I didn’t have to have anything! As soon as one problem goes away, I get another, and it’s always one fucking thing after another.

I get sick of seeing certain people like Kim that are nothing but selfish, lazy pests that never have a goddamn problem in life other than an occasional cold. You can take that health, I reminded myself, remembering certain spells I cast upon some people, but I swore I would never do that again. Karma would only bite my ass tenfold. Besides, I have no way to know what would happen and no way to call it off if I wanted to. She would get something, but would that be just a few more colds than usual or something serious? It’s not like I want her to get really sick and die or anything like that. But come on! I don’t care that life is supposed to be unfair. I have atresia, asthma, allergies, a sleep disorder, shitty teeth, a dead thyroid, high cholesterol and blood pressure, plus I’ve been through a million other things and all she has is extra weight? Well, fuck that shit. Get ready to do a little suffering because just thinking about it is going to make me pissed off enough to change that even if I didn’t want to. I mean, I know I shouldn’t want to. I should just be happy that she’s healthy and probably will be for many more years to come, right?

I’m mostly worried about money and pain, especially the pain since I’m not one of the lucky ones to get many breaks in life. I’m tired of suffering. I don’t know that it would be that easy to get a dentist willing to at least give me laughing gas for a root canal. A chill pill, sure. But are there many who would be willing to go as far as IV sedation or at least laughing gas for a root canal? Well, Tom is going to find out Wednesday. When I get up tomorrow and take my last penicillin, I’m going to call my dentist and let her know that while I’ve definitely improved, I’m still having sensitivity when I eat, especially if it’s not something soft.

Wednesday, Tom will call the oral surgeon she recommended and find out about costs, sedation, etc. I’m glad he’s okay with being the one to call because I may forget or not think to ask about certain things that might be important.

Definitely have some kind of lump or mass on the side of my left booby, but I’m not worried about it. I suppose most people would be freaking out over it and maybe I would have 20 years ago. Then again, I did have a pea-sized lump in that same breast but in a different area while we were in Oregon that eventually disappeared. I guess that’s part of why I’m not freaking out over it along with the fact that most of us don’t freak out as easily when we get older. Maybe another part of it is just gut instinct. My intuition says it’s nothing serious. If I’ve got my facts straight, most lumps, bumps and masses are benign. I know it could end up being a big deal later on down the road, but for now, I’m not worried. I just want to focus on surviving this pandemic and getting the hell out of here.

Tom reminded me that I could get a mammogram anytime, and I know that but that’s not the problem. Testing isn’t what worries me. It’s the off-chance of being told what I don’t want to hear when we’re trying to get out of here that I have a problem with. I still say I wouldn’t find out anything bad despite having a family history of it, being busty and just a little bit overweight, along with a few other risk factors. But just in case, I would rather get out of here or at least die trying, LOL. I don’t want to deal with anything serious that may require tons of appointments and treatment until we’re out of here and settled wherever, assuming I ever did have problems and didn’t choose to ignore them. I already have enough appointments and things to do between my teeth, ENT and regular things like that. My ENT is next month. Don’t know how helpful she can really be since the thing is basically going to torture me for most of my life anyway. I really think the bulk of my problem has to do with damaged nerves and possibly inner ear tubes more so than TMJ, dead skin shedding in the canal, or anything else.

I was watching a Lifetime movie where a woman was diagnosed with HPD. I’ve never heard of it before and when I looked it up, I immediately thought of the termites and a few online trolls from the past. They seem to have some of the symptoms. It’s the bipolars and those with Asperger’s that I’ve had the most problems with. Intense and constant mood swings are one thing, but it takes things to a whole new level when you deal with those who are extremely paranoid and accusatory like Lisa and Marie. Then again, Lori on Facebook has Asperger’s and she’s never been a problem like her cousin who also has it that damn near wanted to take my head off for declining her request for a texting buddy. I turned her down because I didn’t have the desire to have more than the few texting buddies I already had, and I knew she would overwhelm me with tons of senseless, silly, rambling and repetitious messages. Furthermore, I never felt any real connection with her. She always came off as both unintelligent and uninteresting. I may not be the brightest, sanest person on earth, but there are limits to what I’m willing to put up with. I guess it’s kind of like associating with someone who’s had a speeding ticket as opposed to someone who’s been convicted of a violent crime. Anyway, she took it all wrong when I politely told her I didn’t have much time for texting. She took “no” as a personal insult and attack against her, and I finally had to delete her.

I get that some people would consider me narrow-minded and a bit cold-hearted, but I do understand that most of them can’t help the way they are. I just also believe that one should have the right to be selective. Just like it’s okay to be picky about who we’re intimate with or who we date or marry, it’s okay to be picky about who we’re friends with as well.

Etta, Bill’s sister, has a couple of accounts on Facebook. I’ve messaged both warning her to be careful of Tammy and her equally mean and crazy offspring, and included the link to my blog. My hope is that she’ll alert the termite to it. Honestly, though, I don’t even know that she’s seen the messages. I’ve messaged her before so she’s either not getting them or ignoring them.

Been having fun creating a recipe board on Pinterest and finding different things I want to try. I picked out some things I knew Tom would like. Because he hates so many different things, I can’t include him in many of the recipes. He’ll gladly eat the next one I’m going to try and surprise him with when we get groceries delivered on Wednesday and that’s going to be creamy scalloped potatoes. Potatoes are the only vegetable he’ll eat, and bananas are the only fruit he’ll eat. He wouldn’t dare touch fish or seafood either. He loves carbs, processed foods, and basically everything that’s bad for you, LOL.

I tried to get Molly’s Facebook link, but instead, she asked for mine. So “Penny” made up some story about thinking of making an account in a bogus name because of her ex.

I’ve always known Molly was stuck on herself, but she’s proven all the more to be the selfish emotional shitstorm she’s always been by never reaching out to Penny first. She only communicates with Penny if Penny does it first. Guess that means Penny doesn’t have to worry about being stalked by her! I think she’s busy being fixated on the usual people anyway. She’s still pretty hung up on Roman and Josh. But hey, at least she always responds.

She also brings up her attack regularly and wonders if her life would be different and if she would have ended up in Marbridge had she not been attacked. I think the way she is has a lot more to do with it than just being attacked. I think she’s naturally fucked in the head. She’s just a natural emotional firestorm. If it wasn’t being attacked she uses as a crutch, it would be something else. Even she admitted she’s a very emotional person. She’s always got something to cry about or to be pissed off about.

Had a dream that we were moving only it didn’t make sense because it was just an hour’s drive away.

Then I had a dream I was driving alongside a steep mountainside. I don’t know where I was going but Tom and I felt I would be safe and feel comfortable enough since I would be traveling on the same road the whole time with no chance of getting lost and very little traffic.

Along the way, I was frustrated because I eventually ended up with someone in front of me who was driving too slow that I couldn’t pass. Then they made like they were pulling off at the side of the road much to my relief, but then they jumped back out in front of me. I could see two people in the passenger seat. I was worried they would hold me up the entire way but then they zoomed ahead quickly.

SUNDAY, MAY 10, 2020 Right now I’m multitasking between listening to my audiobook, watching a movie, and now writing.

Oh, I’m sure I should add worrying as well. Will the weeks turn into months and then into years like when the economy collapsed? I’m guessing no and that they’ll have a vaccine by then. I sure hope so! At least this time we’ll have some money even if it may not be enough. They could take away our unemployment as they did in 2011, but they can’t take our retirement.

Yesterday was annoying with not one but two people using circular saws somewhere in the park. I don’t know if Dahl simply moved out of view after he’d saw something or if it was coming from the house behind him but I still can’t believe how much I hear this shit here. Never lived anywhere like it before in my life. I realize that even if we could afford to go where my parents lived, things have changed. Things aren’t what they were in the 80s. People weren’t project-crazy (unless it was absolutely necessary) and coming and going with loud vehicles, including motorcycles back then. But I would be willing to bet just about anything that they are now. Still think we could get a place quieter than this if we went to another park but I also don’t know that I want to bother with communities ever again. Where there are people there’s always noise and I’ve always had a problem in just about every community I’ve ever lived in, adult or not. People just can’t shut up, so there is always going to be some degree of annoyance. If I don’t have the college kids and the welfare bums driving me crazy with their mutts and music, it will be the older folks doing regular projects. Even if the residents were dead quiet, these parks are obsessed with appearance and upgrading this and that, so the park itself is just as annoying. I would still hear things in a rural setting but at least those things wouldn’t be as close or as often. Because it’s Mother’s Day, I’m hoping no one will pull anything today. So far so good.

The meal I made in what I’m pretty sure is just a 2.5-quart cooker from who knows how many decades ago came out well but I’m not sure I’d make it again. The chicken and broccoli were great but the potatoes were kind of bland. At least he likes the potatoes and even ate some of the chicken too.

Going to be making a 25-degree drop over the next few days but it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain after all.

Not a single comment on The Landlord. Figured as much but that’s okay.

The term “social distancing” is kind of funny because if you’re distancing yourself then you’re not social, LOL.

“Just saying” and “I’m just telling you” really annoys me. I mean, no shit you’re just saying or just telling. Do these people think those they’re talking to are deaf or something?

Yesterday I was starting to think my tooth wasn’t going to get any better than it had gotten and I was even in pain after eating. Maybe that’s because I ate so damn much because I went hungry most of the day and was absolutely starving. Had to take ibuprofen too, but today I’ve noticed that while I wouldn’t want to eat anything hard or crunchy on that side, I didn’t feel as much irritation when I ate and then brushed my teeth.

I want so badly to send the termites my final piece of mind which are the journal excerpts I have on Blogger so I can delete them (assuming they haven’t seen them), but it’s too soon. I told myself not to be afraid of them. After all, they weren’t afraid to bully, stalk, harass and even threaten me. But I am afraid of them, not because I fear they could get me in any kind of trouble and not because of what they may find a way to say to me directly but because I wouldn’t want Tom finding out about it due to something they either end up sending to the house or because they managed to find a way to contact him online. I knew they weren’t very bright but I didn’t think they were dumb enough not to know how to find our address. But they could figure it out if someone didn’t tell them.

I just know how paranoid Tom can get. As for me, I learned the hard way that people only have power over us if we let them have it. So I wouldn’t be worried about anything they may do on account of me sending a link or the actual excerpts but I think he might worry a bit. I think he would be paranoid that I went too far and crossed some kind of line that could get me in trouble. In reality, though, I would never send anything even remotely illegal. Those threatening voice messages, however, were really pushing it. I would be genuinely worried if I’d been dumb enough to say anything like that, especially with my voice, but they knew damn well I wasn’t going to involve the police so I think that’s part of why they said what they said along with sheer stupidity. But yes, I could have hung them by the balls with their threats. Oh, they wouldn’t have done a moment of jail time, of course, or even gone to court or paid any fines or have to do probation, but it might have earned them a serious warning. The cops would have gone to their place and lectured them like the cop that came to me when Tammy defended her abuser about my threatening voice messages to him. Well, that’s all that would have happened to me had there not been an unknown warrant out on me.

The termites will hear from me one last time a year after we’ve moved and nothing can be forwarded to us. If I keep it out of public, they shouldn’t have any reason to know when we move. As far as they know, we weren’t supposed to move for another 4 years, if they can remember that. Once we get settled wherever we’re going and I know it’s permanent, then I’ll be willing to be a little more open about my life in public since we wouldn’t have to worry about potential sellers, park managers or employers. I would still be careful about sensitive info, of course, and sharing things pertaining to those I’m close to.

Ran out to Rite Aid and decided to take a chance going maskless when I had issues adjusting the mask. Oh, to have two normal ears! What annoyed me a little was the way one of the guys at the register was distracted by chatting with a coworker. I had to remind him that we wanted to leave as fast as possible. Got some mini chocolate chip cookies and merlot. I suppose we shouldn’t spend extra money unnecessarily but sometimes you just gotta have a life and treat yourself. The store was kind of crowded and I was surprised to see two or three people that work there regularly unmasked. Running in and out quickly is one thing but spending all day there? I’d say about half of the customers had masks on.

I’m a hell of a lot more worried for Aly than I am for myself even though we have a higher chance of getting sick and dying than we do of losing this place. She was the one who picked up Cam from the hospital. I was really hoping that Cam would insist she stay away and get a taxi, Lyft or Uber instead. She did wear a mask and gloves but I’m still worried because of how easily she gets sick. Cam has a brother in Colorado who’s also sick and might not make it.

SATURDAY, MAY 9, 2020 Making my first slow cooker meal of honey garlic chicken with potatoes and broccoli. Not sure I’ll like it, though, based on the smell of the spices it’s cooking in. It has a bit of a…tangy?…smell to it.

Switched the pigs’ cages and I am allowing Fuzzy to visit with Blitz. As long as he doesn’t run Blitz ragged by being too much of a pest or chew the liner, he’s free to come and go between the two levels.

Heard sawing AGAIN and went out to investigate but no one was in Dahl’s carport. I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised. It’s EVERYWHERE here. He could’ve sawed something and then gone indoors, though.

Exchanged hellos with Jon. He likes the progress Tom has made with the yard.

Still worried about my teeth, our finances due to COVID-19, and whatever the lump in my neck is that’s sometimes more noticeable than others. Plus, I felt a mass on the side of my left boob. Pretty sure that one is just fibroid-related (those things that fill with fluid before periods), but still. My health really needs to hold up until we get out of here!

I’m also worried that my tooth isn’t going to get a hundred percent better. I think where I’m at now is as good as it gets. This means I’m no longer in excruciating pain, I usually don’t need ibuprofen, but I can’t chew on that side.

I’m so glad I keep a journal! I recently read an article about how our memories change over time. Not only that, but I’m becoming more and more forgetful with age. Everyone should keep a journal! I read back on the details of the county quack that pulled my other molar that got infected in 2011 and forgot a couple of things. That’s that he had to numb me four different times and even had to drill where the root connects. This confirms what my dentist said about antibiotics helping but not completely getting rid of the infection, and I can totally see where numbing agents would be worthless. This makes me even more determined to get knocked out regardless of whether or not I have them pull the tooth or do a root canal. I want to be as oblivious as possible!

The longer this shit with the virus goes on, the more I worry about worst-case scenarios happening. When I think about it, we could now be on a long, slow, tortuous path toward death, even though I doubt it. I sure as hell would at least like to think the end isn’t near, anyway. But then who does unless they’re really suffering? It’s just that when I think about it, there are a number of things that could go wrong. He could have no choice but to work for Amazon and get sick and die. Or, if he couldn’t find work anywhere, we could lose the place. As much as I dislike it here, I would certainly rather be here than on the streets.

Finally, I told myself not to worry about the streets because we’re not going there. It’s that simple. Just like the two times we came close when we first moved here, that’s not happening. I couldn’t survive the streets. I’m just not tough enough. That for sure would be a slow and torturous death for me, so we would definitely end it before it came to that.

A part of me wishes we’d gone straight from Arizona to Florida or maybe sought a more permanent solution toward getting rid of the problem next door (even if it might have been a long battle) and remained in Phoenix. Yes, they favor minorities that aren’t gay or Jewish, and yes, the courts favor minorities over whites, but at least the place would have been paid for ages ago.

Another part of me wonders about those who believe things happen for a reason. Could the medical trauma I went through be in order to prepare me for something even worse? Something like having to take my own life? I mean, I’m going to have to do it sooner or later unless I die before Tom does and I would definitely not be as terrified as I would have been a decade ago, but I would still be plenty terrified enough. Again, who wouldn’t be?

I swear I’m going to slap the next person that talks about free will and how we make our own choices and choose our own path in life and all that bullshit. I can choose what to wear today, I can choose what to eat, I can choose to walk out of this room and cuddle my pets, but I can’t choose the outcome of the situation we’re in. Nobody asked for this virus and to be affected by it be it directly or not.

At this point, I’m a little more worried about us getting extremely ill than I am about running out of money. Despite the fact that just over four million people have had it in a world full of over seven billion people, I would think that would be more likely than anything else. So yeah, I’m worried about whether or not we may get sick, our finances, my teeth, and whatever other health issues I may encounter. I don’t want to have to deal with health issues no matter what and no matter where we are, of course, but I would certainly rather deal with them settled in a cheaper place than here.

I realize that in some ways it might be better to die now than in another 30 years where I would have to endure decades of God only knows what additional shit physically and emotionally, especially physically. But self-preservation is a natural instinct that’s hard to fight. I also continue to worry about what, if anything, may lie beyond. It still makes no sense that there is an afterlife since we need eyes to see, ears to hear, and a brain to think, but maybe it’s like transferring digital information from one hard drive to another. Maybe there’s a way to transfer all those things from our brains in this existence to something else. I just don’t know. Personally, I’m still hoping for no afterlife at all. This life is enough!

Finished proofreading and editing my 1998 journal. Although slowly, I’m moving along steadily, making them as correct and readable as I can, and it’s filling some of my time.

FRIDAY, MAY 8, 2020 Another day, another water shut-off. Yeah, that alone is enough of a reason to want to move. Sick of this shit, although I shouldn’t have been dumb enough to attempt to do laundry during the daytime. Fortunately, the water didn’t go off until after my shower but we had to pause the washer. From now on, there will be absolutely no more showers, laundry or dishes running during the daytime while we’re still here since most of these “emergencies” occur during the daytime.

Tom assures me that Joy’s last complaint was not aimed at us specifically but at a lot of people because many have let their yards go. There’s one nearby that let their grass get knee-high. So it’s not a coincidence that the complaint comes the day after I complain anonymously about the middle-of-the-night motorcycles? I guess not since I’ve complained that way before and didn’t get counter-complained on the next day, after all.

Today is going to be 95° but in a few days, we’re going to drop all the way down to about 70° and get some rain, which is unusual for this time of year. I love the warmer weather when I’m awake but it definitely makes sleeping a bit uncomfortable.

The lump in my neck has been noticeable again. He thinks it’s just a weird muscle or tendon and I think it’s either a swollen lymph node or a thyroid nodule. Unfortunately, I’m probably the one that’s right. He didn’t think I was infected but I knew I was. I was in too much pain not to be. Broccoli is supposed to be bad for thyroids so once I run out of what I’ve got, I’ll back off and see if it’s less noticeable.

Yesterday was the first day I didn’t need any ibuprofen for my tooth. It’s still improving but very slowly. I can still feel some sensitivity if I chew on that side and when I brush my teeth.

Couldn’t resist commenting on a couple of friends of Alyssa’s that allow public comments. I don’t know, I guess the thought of her noticing it amuses me, though I don’t know that she has. She may have all kinds of nannies and other people to help her with that kid, but she’s got to be pretty busy. This is the longest she’s gone that I know of without changing her profile picture so I doubt she has much time for Facebook. The last change was in August. One of the friends replied that lives in Harlingen, Texas where Molly is from (I complimented her yard decor). Most of her friends are from this area so I don’t know how they know each other or if they’re related or not.

THURSDAY, MAY 7, 2020 Yesterday I only needed to take Ibuprofen twice and so far today I haven’t had to take any. I’m now able to brush the infected area as long as I do it carefully but I do still have some sensitivity when I bite down, and quite a bit of fatigue. So my body is still busily fighting the infection.

Since penicillin is a common drug, it was cheap at just $9.21. But even if I go with having it pulled which would be cheaper, it’s still going to be a few hundred dollars in the end that we really can’t afford to spend now, so I’m almost tempted to just get rid of the infection and hope it doesn’t come back. I still don’t eat unless I’m famished or close enough to it, and I limit where I go online since talk of food is as abundant as racism, if not directly then at least in some indirect reference.

We lost both Woody and the fish yesterday. :-( Since Rockefeller prefers his solitude, I’m going to switch him with Blitz and open the door between the two levels so that Fuzzy can visit him every now and then. That way they can each have some company. I’ll have to watch the food, though, with the way rats hoard and hide food. I won’t put the ramps down so that it’s a little trickier for Fuzzy to climb up, especially being older and fatter, so it won’t be too easy for him to steal many of the veggies. I’ll make a point of feeding Blitz mostly when Fuzzy is asleep. Fuzzy has a schedule, Blitz doesn’t. The pigs are sleeping more, though, as they age.

Dixie called yesterday wanting to know if I would be willing to go down and help her sort Diane’s dresser drawers, and since Dixie’s had limited contact with outsiders, I decided it would be okay to go down for an hour or so and I did. We chatted as I helped her sort drawers and she gave me a few things, too. Black sequined flats which are slightly big on me, a pink knit scarf, and a small colorful canvas tote.

Through her, I learned why we haven’t seen Jim. He’s moved to an apartment with assisted living.

So now we can’t even go a month without sawing or one week without the motorcycle in the middle of the night. If I wasn’t so hot and in a hurry to get back home, I would have confronted Dahl on my way back from Dixie’s about the regular sawing going on over there. Yeah, that’s the worrisome part…that he’s not as incapable as I thought. The guy in the blue truck wasn’t here. It was him doing the sawing. This has gotten to be way too much so I definitely plan on finding out what the hell is going on soon enough and seeing if they would be willing to move the saw to the other side of the house if they’re going to pull this shit every goddamn month and more. This isn’t the place for that shit! I didn’t come to an adult community to listen to loud power tools and motorcycles in the middle of the night.

The more shit I hear from people, the more the idea of returning to country living appeals to me. Oh, we’ll still hear shit with the world being so noisy, but at least it won’t be 20-50 feet away. People just can’t shut up no matter where you go. But if we can get a piece of land in Florida, at least when the neighbors are barking, banging, sawing and making the racket they do, it will be hundreds of feet away. I’m sure we’ll still be able to hear some of it inside the house, just not nearly as loud. The two biggest problems in rural areas are barking and engine-gunning. I don’t know why, but they really love to gun their engines out in the country. I’m sure there will be some degree of motorcycles and car stereos as well. But if I could not have to sleep with such loud sound machines, it would really be nice.

Unemployment told him it would be a few days before they made their final decision but I’m not very hopeful there. Between the government’s reluctance to take care of their own and the way they’re overwhelmed with so many requests, I don’t expect him to get anything.

Cam is now in the hospital. Aly said his fever got dangerously high and he was delusional and gasping for breath. She’s getting updates through his family. Today he’s doing better and is more alert. They hope to release him this weekend.

I didn’t have any bad dreams about Cam, but I had a dream Aly’s father died. Only she was living with her parents at the time he died.

Quickly scanned Molly’s tweets and she’s the same old miserable person who’s always fighting with someone where she lives. Plus, harassing a couple of guys online that she used to know. From what “Penny” could gather, she seems to believe she’s still friends with Aly, so they’re either keeping in touch elsewhere or Aly finally dumped her, was too embarrassed to admit I was right about her, and Molly’s too stupid to get that she’s been ghosted. I think the first case is more likely and that Aly “magically” knows that I’m Penny and that’s why she hasn’t created a new account to connect to her from there. For some reason, she’s very private when it comes to her friendship with Molly. She doesn’t want me reading any tweets from any account connected to her, and she doesn’t want to discuss her either.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 6, 2020 Little by little the pain is subsiding and I’m getting better but still have quite a bit of pain when any pressure is applied to that tooth. So I’m not out of the woods yet. I managed to eat one full meal yesterday and although it was agony at times, I was so fucking hungry that I really didn’t have much choice. An infection is painful enough, but an infected nerve takes things to a whole new level.

We cut the end off my mouthguard. It was never seated properly in that area because it was molded before the crown was placed there, and I realized that it didn’t need to cover that much in order to do its job and keep contact away from that tooth.

Not too long ago, I noticed I was having thrush again and treated it until my mouth felt better but by then it was too late and the bacteria caused the infection. The mouth is one of the toughest places to keep bacteria-free.

Tom learned that Bob has much deeper health concerns than I do. He was out working in the yard when he noticed him using a walker. He was surprised because he’s always been in such good shape, walking and riding his bike regularly. Then I thought about it and realized I haven’t actually seen him on his morning walks in a while now. Neither of us has seen Jim in ages either. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.

Anyway, they learned Sunday that poor Bob has a brain tumor and will be having radiation therapy. I’m hoping that since his doctor is willing to do this on a guy who’s 90, that means he has a fighting chance to enjoy a few more years of life.

I hate to sound selfish, but I really hope he doesn’t die before we get out of here. I do NOT want to deal with a new set of neighbors just a few feet away ever again! I know damn well that with my shit luck, they’re going to be outdoors all the time and God only knows how loud their vehicles may be. I would actually be more worried about that than them having an annoying dog since most people in the west don’t believe they should be brought indoors and therefore won’t bother bringing them here if they know they can’t leave them outside all the time. There are only two households with dogs on this side of the circle, Geri and Santa. Nonetheless, if he goes, she goes. I can’t believe she would stay here by herself. I think she would move in with one of her kids or maybe to some kind of apartment with assisted living. Plus, she once told me they’d be here till one of them dies.

TUESDAY, MAY 5, 2020 Wow, I’m really losing weight here. Yeah, it’s called the infection diet and it isn’t any more fun than the anxiety diet. I’d much rather feel well and keep my weight. So yesterday turned out to be incredibly shitty. Ironically it was the fourth, too. Went through just about one of the worst pain in my life. Not even my worst period cramps were ever that bad. With the exception of when I broke my arm, I don’t even think my ear surgery hurt that much.

We got to the dentist’s office shortly before 10 but no one was there yet. I began to get a little worried since I was in so much pain and didn’t think to take my phone with me. But at 10 on the dot, the doctor and her assistant Dana showed up.

So I waited a while as they set things up that hadn’t been used in several days. Their software did an update that fouled things up, so it took a while to get their computer system going. Then Dana checked my temperature which was 96.9 and had me use a special mouthwash.

I had been pretty sure it was the cavity in my lower molar that had somehow expanded and got infected, even though it seemed a little weird that I would get infected since my body is pretty resistant to infections and I take good care of my teeth. But I knew I had way too much pain for a simple problem. Plus, I’ve been having fatigue no matter how well I slept.

So they got an x-ray of that tooth which was also a problem because I’m small and they eventually had to get the kiddy paddle, a slide shaped like a paddle. They had to take a few pics because one of the roots near that tooth was longer and not fully in view.

The dentist looked at the picture and didn’t see anything unusual. Nothing seemed to have changed since I last saw her and she discovered the cavity. I was confused as hell because I knew that such severe pain had to mean something was up for sure. Yet she did a bite and air test along the bottom right teeth and I didn’t have any sensitivity to it at all.

But then she moved to the back upper molars and it was a whole different story. Like through the roof kind of pain!

So off I went for another photoshoot with her telling me that when there’s a problem in that area it is hard to differentiate which tooth is the real culprit. Sure enough, I’m in for worse news than I bargained for. Oh, I’m infected all right, but it’s not a matter of giving me antibiotics and then filling a simple cavity gone haywire. The root is dying, and she recommends a root canal. She started me on penicillin and said to let her know if I feel I need another round after my 8 days of this one are up. The reason they can’t do anything until they cure the infection is that being infected renders the numbing agent worthless. Guess that explains why ibuprofen has done me little good.

I was so pissed at myself because this is pretty much my fault. The root isn’t dying due to decay but bruxism. That’s when you grind your teeth in your sleep. Someone got lazy and forgot to sleep with her mouthguard one too many times and that’s what did it. I had no idea that bruxism could lead to nerve damage and infections but apparently, it can. I thought the worst it could do was damage the teeth but nope. So I’ve been mentally beating myself up for it. Yeah, I could really kick myself to hell and back!

Anyway, I was freaked out by the thought of getting a root canal done because I’ve heard such horrible things about root canals. Andy said they were very painful. Tom was quick to point out that Andy wasn’t a good one to go by, but still.

She doesn’t do major tooth repair so she gave me a referral to an odontologist if I decide to go through with the root canal she recommends since as a dentist her first choice is always to try to save any tooth that can be saved. Plus, she gave me a referral if I decide to have it pulled. This would be my eighth extraction. It would be a tough pull if I went with that because it is a molar. As long as they’re not impacted, wisdom teeth are the easiest to pull, then incisors, and then molars because they have double roots. I could end up with the tooth below it lifting since it wouldn’t have anything grinding down on it, but it would definitely be cheaper. Tom looked up the cost with our discount cards and it would be $200 to pull it and $800 to get a root canal. For a fleeting moment, I almost wished my parents were still alive because I know they would want to pay for some of this.

Another reason I was freaked out about a root canal was because of a documentary I saw about a guy who had one years ago that didn’t feel well for years and it was discovered that it was because of the root canal. The dentist knew the documentary I was talking about and said she hates it when people see that because that case was in Australia and they do things differently there and in New Zealand than they do in the US.

Dana said she had a trauma many years ago and fell and had to have a root canal and that it was painless and no big deal at all. Unlike bridges, crowns and fillings, it should last a lifetime. The doctor said that rarely do root canals fail. But then I did more research to find that yes, they can fail even years after having it done, and no, they don’t always last forever. I thought the entire root and tooth would be dead, but it’s actually only the root that they kill. The tooth is still alive and therefore could still be a problem in the future and get cavities.

I looked up a quick video on YouTube about the general procedure and how it’s done and read the comments. Most people did confirm that it’s not a big deal and a few even said it was easier than fillings. That doesn’t make sense. There’s a lot more drilling with root canals and it takes about an hour to do just one tooth. But that’s what some people said.

She assured me that the oral surgeon could use the numbing agent without epinephrine and all that but since that particular tooth has a crown on it, I’m even more tempted to just get rid of it.

Really, I need to find a better solution for these fucking teeth! I was born with bad enamel. My teeth have been a problem all my life and they will only continue to be if I don’t look at something more long-term like getting the molars replaced at some point with partial dentures. They just get worse with age and I could end up spending more money and putting myself in more pain if I try to keep up on them. If flossing and brushing religiously aren’t enough to keep cavities away, what is? Hopefully, I’ll never again have damaged nerves because I’ll never again sleep without my mouthguard. Last night, I had no choice but to go without it, though, because I was in so much pain from what the dentist did to diagnose me that I couldn’t even put the slightest pressure on that tooth. You don’t realize just how often your top and lower teeth touch each other until you’re trying not to let that happen, and with the guard, I would have to open my mouth even wider to keep that from happening. I was just falling asleep when my jaw began to close, and the pressure caused enough pain to wake me up.

She said that when I start feeling good is when it’s time to call the oral surgeon. I was in so much pain last night that I started to feel like I would never get better. You could have taken a hammer to my teeth on the other side and it wouldn’t have made a difference because I was in so much damn pain to begin with. I don’t think I’ve ever even had cramps that bad. Other than when I broke my arm, not even my ear surgery was that bad. Definitely just about the worst pain I ever experienced.

I haven’t been able to eat or even drink much, and I appreciate the weight loss and I certainly could afford it, but again, I’d rather just feel good and be able to feed my hunger. I had a piece of bread and sipped some OJ as well as an Atkins shake out of a straw so I could aim the liquid away from the infected area. I’m starving now and hoping I can eat something with substance later on.

Anyway, I haven’t made my final decision yet, but right now I’m leaning toward pulling it. Yes, the bottom tooth could lift and throw my bite off but if it does, then I’ll just have that tooth pulled as well. Pulling two teeth would be cheaper than one root canal, and I would be rid of that crown too, as I said. Pretty sure that’s the one that popped off when I was flossing. Both options have their good and bad to them. If I went with the root canal, not only would that cost more money, but since they would have to poke a hole in the crown, I’d have to run back to her to have that refilled. She is going to be reopening this month so I could get that taken care of if I went that route and she could take care of the two cavities as well.

I’ve taken a few doses of penicillin so far, trying to ignore the fact that one of the numbers on the huge pills is a 4. I took Doc O's advice and didn’t look at the list of possible side effects, but I did see on the bottle that it could cause diarrhea, even weeks or months after taking them. I’d rather that than something blowing up my heart and making me feel absolutely terrified or downright suicidal but hopefully I’ll be okay. I’ve taken a variety of antibiotics before in my life. This is the second time since the 90s. I was in way too much pain to give a shit about my medication phobia anyway. I told Tom, who has a phobia of dentists and hasn’t been to one since he was a kid, that if he ever gets this, he too would be running to the dentist real fast.

I asked about the laser and it’s actually a type of water gun. Dana said it’s a lot like that and it does make a sound sort of like a popping sound but the kids love it. That was comforting to know because I know that at least one of my cavities is going to be lasered.

Also, according to my research, the county quack who pulled my other molar nearly a decade ago lied. The teeth aren’t lodged in the bone. Instead, they’re attached to the bone by what’s called the periodontal ligament.

Anyway, I’m a little stressed out right now. I’m thrilled and relieved that I’m starting to feel a little better, but I have a decision to make and either one I choose is not going to be fun at all. Do I go the cheaper route that can potentially cause additional problems? Or do I take the more expensive route that can be a bigger pain in the ass but safer? Well, hopefully safer.

I just worry that this is the start of many problems to come that could delay us from moving. The more money we have to shell out, the more it could very well hold things up. He did get his first retirement payment, I’m happy to say, but still. We’re not getting nearly as much as we need to cover the basics, let alone dental issues, and there’s no saying how many months it could be before he’s working again. It’s like something is trying to deplete our savings!

Woody appears to be dying. I noticed he started getting skinny and lately, he’s been sleeping more and eating less. I don’t even think he’s been up in the hammock recently. He seems to spend all his time down below in the plush bed that I put in there. I’m wondering if he’s got cancer or something.

Right after I got up, turned the sound machine off, and headed into the bathroom after just 6 hours of sleep after being up 21 hours, I heard the motorcycle blast out. My guess is that as long as it doesn’t go by the bedroom, it shouldn’t wake me up. After all, it didn’t wake me up coming in. It usually comes in after midnight at leaves between 3 and 4 a.m. They’re rude fuckers, whoever they are, and I don’t care if motorcycles are their only means of transportation either. You shouldn’t be coming and going in any neighborhood but especially in an adult community in the middle of the fucking night.

We’ve been having Walmart deliver small orders every few days. I wonder what free goodies they’ll bring today. I love how they’ve been adding extras. The last time around it was 15 plastic food storage containers. Plus, they gave me two tubes of M&M’s instead of one.

SUNDAY, MAY 3, 2020 This doesn’t hurt but I have this strange throbbing/tingling sensation in the center of my left thumb tip where the nail meets the nail bed. That nail has always been the worst too, as far as the discoloration goes. No idea what the hell is wrong with my nails, but I have a feeling it’s not going away anytime soon and that it’s not a simple matter of too much nail polish.

Anyway, yesterday was the first time I didn’t have to take Ibuprofen just to sleep. Just when I woke up starting to think maybe I killed my tooth infection, I was in the worst pain ever trying to eat my delicious home-cooked meal of garlic tilapia and seasoned broccoli. It was so bad I almost cried out in pain. So I’m back to a mix of ibuprofen, ice, and this new mouthwash Tom got with analgesic and astringent in it. The only thing that really does me much good is to not eat or drink anything too cold or too hot. All it takes is something like that hitting the nerve since the root is exposed and it’s like OMFG! Tomorrow morning can’t come fast enough.

I haven’t noticed the lump at the lower base of my neck lately so maybe that was a case of occasionally swollen lymph nodes and had nothing to do with my thyroid. I don’t know.

I totally see what Christine and so many others mean when they say that sex over 50 is nothing like when you’re younger. If you can get in the mood in the first place, you don’t even get off like you used to. You do but you don’t. It’s almost like you start to cum and then your body changes its mind at the last minute. If this is TMI for some people, sorry! Happens to the best of us, though.

SATURDAY, MAY 2, 2020 Watched a quick video clip of the Huntington Beach protesters and I can’t believe how stupid so many people are. I really can’t. Fun in the sun is more important than saving lives, apparently, so I hope that every single one of these dumb-ass protesters gets the virus. You deserve to die and rid the world of your stupidity if you’re going to be this insanely reckless and dumb.

Anyway, I’m still having some fatigue and a whole lot of pain, but the good news is that my dentist is going to see me Monday morning. Still no fever but my fatigue and pain suggest the tooth is infected. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.

Sometimes I really don’t get Aly. She’s quick to discuss Kim but for some reason, she’s been very reluctant to discuss Molly and I wonder why.

Had a dream I went into some kind of fast food place, but no one was at the counter. It seemed the entire place was deserted. So I took a seat and started voice-typing some handwritten notes I’d taken, and eventually, a few other people entered the place. Together we tried to get someone’s attention, but no one was around. One of the guys in the small group gave me a number to call to see if I could find out what was going on but all I got was a busy signal. So a woman sat down with a magazine and said with confidence that somebody would be by soon.

FRIDAY, MAY 1, 2020 My teeth are still hurting like hell. The pain radiates along my entire lower right jaw and part of the upper jaw as well. You could say it’s really struck a nerve! Going to call the dentist later this morning and hope she’ll get me in. Really worried it’s gotten infected. I don’t have a fever, but I do have fatigue even though I slept fine.

I took a 45-minute nap though I’m not sure I actually fell asleep. After I finish this entry I’m going to have to lie down again.

I also got an automated call to call a number from Dignity Health I’ve never seen before and to provide the code they give. I called the number and it does go to Dignity. They probably want to get on my ass for not going to the GYN. Or maybe not. After listening to it again and the fact that it’s a toll-free number, I’m thinking it must have to do with our new insurance.

Anyway, between the ibuprofen and possible infection, I’m tired today but I don’t have anything that requires me to be more physical than usual planned for today. I went on a 15-minute bike ride and if I have the energy for it, I’ll ski later on while I watch TV. Of course I saw a skunk, too. It could have been a cat since we do have some roaming around, but I don’t think so. It was running by Lawrence’s place.

Instead of being up a pound, I found I was down half a pound when I got up. I was a little surprised since I did have some processed things yesterday and around the usual 1500 calories I naturally tend to have most days. It could be because of the extra activity. My total exercise time yesterday added up to just over an hour.

I trimmed the pigs’ nails yesterday since they were getting long and curvy. I only did the front paws as that’s pretty much all that was needed. I could have cut them a little shorter but didn’t want to risk getting too close to the quick and springing a bleeder and putting them in pain.

There was a huge spider in the kitchen yesterday as the sun was coming up. Of course, Tom insisted it wasn’t huge. Well, either way, it’s the time of year to bomb the place but where the hell can we go for 4 hours with everything shut down? Instead, he’s going to get some indoor spray.

Tom was looking into the prices and while it varies from time to time, it would probably be cheaper to have Candy shipped to Florida rather than get a new used electric car there. We got a hell of a deal on Candy that would be hard to find again, and electric cars seem to be more expensive in the East.

Cam has the virus. A reminder that if Tom were to go to work now, he could get sick. He’s been battling every symptom that comes with it for a week. Fortunately, he doesn’t have asthma. I wonder if it’s going to go away on its own and how long it will take. Really hope the guy doesn’t end up in the hospital!

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the-daily-dreamer · 2 years ago

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Alicent and her kids have ZERO claim to the Throne. Rhaenyra was named heir. Alicent hasn’t followed any rules, she’s actively trying to break the laws and she feels like she deserves the throne because she was manipulated by her dad. She isn’t right about anything. Y’all are absolutely ridiculous when you try and make her behavior okay.

Funnily enough, I actually find you absolutely ridiculous for your bad takes AND for coming into my inbox to complain about my posts that are properly tagged. You don’t even have the courage to come off anon and put your blog in association with your actions because you know you’re in the wrong.

Anyways. Legally speaking, yes Rhaenyra is the heir. I never claimed in any of my posts that she isn’t. I also never claimed that Alicent or her kids take precedence over Rhaenyra in the line of succession. However, I will say that Alicent’s children do have a claim to the throne (as the current king’s legitimate children) and especially have a higher claim than Rhaenyra’s bastard sons.

While legally Rhaenyra’s sons are recognized as true born, they are very VERY clearly bastards. Like it literally couldn’t be more obvious they are not related to Leanor. The issue is that because it’s so obvious they are bastards, their claim to the throne is built on shaky ground. Many nobles who have prejudices against bastards will oppose them taking the throne. Many people will see them as illegitimate rulers with illegitimate claims, legally recognized as legitimate or not. It’s clear they are bastards. Everyone knows it. When the time comes many will bring up the factor of their parentage and it will be used against them to delegitimize them. Because in reality, they do not have a claim. They are bastards.

Meanwhile, Alicent’s children are true born children of the current king. Aegon’s parentage is 100% clear. He is the legitimate child of the king and his wife. After Rhaenyra, her half-brother has a HUGE claim to be next in line. If most people know Rhaenyra’s children are bastards then they won’t support them. They will support and recognize the next clearly legitimate person in the line of succession: Aegon.

Sorry, if you can’t understand the nuances of the time period. But it’s pretty clear. Rhaenyra’s sons are considered bastards by many. This means that even if they are legally seen as legitimate, most nobles will not recognize this. And thus, many will defer to the next legitimate heirs. And that is Alicent’s kids. They have a claim. And it’s strong as hell.

And your other point...what? I’m genuinely curious to know what on earth Alicent has done at this point? What laws did she go out of her way to break? What did she actually do illegally?

Alicent’s only crime she has actually committed at this point is taking a knife to Rhaenyra. Which I 100% understand because if anyone ever excused mutilating my child and then asked for further torture to that child for stating the truth...it would be hands on sight.

Otherwise she has followed every. single. rule. She married the king because she was told to. She birthed him sons because it was her duty. She kept every secret asked. She tried to create a compromise to protect her kids and herself. She has done everything right, and she’s still villainized. And no, saying the truth that Rhaenyra’s sons are bastards was not illegal. It’s the truth. It’s only illegal now because Viserys decreed it in the last episode (because he’s too far in denial to admit reality).

Alicent doesn’t want the throne. She’s not fighting to put herself in that ugly chair. She is fighting to keep herself and her children alive. And why is she fighting for that? Because they are a threat and have a legitimate claim to the throne.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #anti rhaenyra #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti viserys #anti viserys i targaryen #anti targaryen #anti targ stans #alicent hightower #pro alicent hightower #alicent hightower defense squad #team alicent #team green #anon hate

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manifestingnoobie · 3 years ago

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Manifesting Away Major Depression

When I manifested away my depression before I knew about the law, I constantly held the assumption “Life and its circumstances are transient. They never last forever.” And it’s a logical assumption to have because, I mean, before knowing about the law, life’s always changing. I didn’t ALWAYS have depression. The bad days don’t last forever. Mind you, I consistently had suicidal ideation, felt like life was a drag, and on top of that I was so numb, empty, and detached. But I kept the faith and knowing. You don’t need to pretend to be happy and be in denial, like I didn’t fucking affirm “I am so happy and fulfilled!” when I wasn’t.

Anyway, eventually the doors were opened for me, I found free therapy at my college which helped a lot, and later on my parents offered to take me to a psychiatrist who prescribed me medications.

I didn’t really think of the how, honestly. My subconscious took care of it for me. It wasn’t an overnight change, but I made gradual progress and before I knew it I became a person who doesn’t even need the assistance of therapy and medications anymore.

So for those who are just starting out, like I emphasized before, try telling yourself neutral affirmations. I hate to say they’re more “logical” since we don’t use logic in the law of assumption, but honestly, for me personally, they just sink in easier and feel more comforting. Like they’re not as big of a shock. Again, do you think I affirmed “I’m so happy and fulfilled with my life!” when I was feeling like shit all the time?

Honestly, it’s all up to you though, if you can easily make that jump telling yourself affirmations that are the complete opposite of what you’re feeling, more power to you! But I just wanted to share for those who are like me who can’t make that jump right away and who need to ease into it.

But yeah, if I can manifest away depression that I’ve had since I was 13 years old (I’m 26 now lol), anything is possible. :’)

edit*: here are some links to neutral affirmations you can use!!

My post

Manifesting in Hard Circumstances (this is where i heard of neutral affirmations for the first time hehe)

more neutral affirmations

#LOA #Law of Attraction #law of assumption #manifest #manifesting #joseph murphy #neville goddard #law of assumption success #success story #loa success story

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erenscherub · 3 years ago

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i know that it’s explicitly stated throughout the series that eren and the reader’s parents mutually hate dislike each other but was this true at the beginning of their relationship? or did it gradually get to that point? i always think about eren going to your parents’ house to ask for their blessing and they’re just like “… uh no” but he just proposes anyways 😭

did he ask for their blessings? what was their first impression of him?

Hi, Nonnie!! ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Ok this has to be one of my favorite asks so far. I can go on a tangent of the ups and downs of Eren’s relationship with his in-laws.

When you first started dating Eren, your parents tolerated him. Though Eren was your first serious relationship, they tried their best to be cordial with him since they thought it was a fling. Something along the lines of, ‘Oh this is just a phase Y/N is going through. They’re just dating and Eren isn’t actually serious about our daughter. She’ll actually settle down with Colt, or Marcel, or anyone else soon enough.’

But a few months turned into a year which then turned into several years. And then your parents were in full stop denial and were thinking this was a some long-ass fling until Eren asked for their blessing one day.

Your parents: ‘Shit, we might be stuck with you forever? Why not Marcel? Colt? Someone—like anyone else??’

So Eren had to propose multiple times. But after you said yes, that’s when they weren’t as polite and cordial with Eren. You even stopped speaking to them for a period of time because of how torn up Eren was that his future in-laws didn’t like him. Carla and Grisha welcomed you with open arms into the family. His older siblings, Mikasa and Zeke, have always been fond of you.

Your parents do show up to the wedding but after you decide to move to New Hampshire with Eren, they put on their best behavior and are cordial again with Eren. They don’t call him ‘son’ or greet him with hugs. But they’ll at least say ‘hello’ and won’t start comparing him to Colt or Marcel as soon as you’re out of ear shot.

The time from when Eliza is born until her third birthday party is the best the relationship between Eren and his in-laws have been. Eliza is the only grandchild so far on both sides of the family so your parents begin to cut him some slack and their opinion of him begins to improve.

They are almost on friendly terms with him and try to give him the benefit of the doubt until all shit hits the fan when Annie, Colt, and Zeke had let it slip to the in-laws how pissed they were at Eren for not being there for you at any of the ultrasounds and when you lost the baby. And then Mikasa adds more to the fire when she also calls them ahead of time to pick you and Eliza up from the airport when Eren stood you up at your already twice-rescheduled wedding anniversary dinner.

You’re actually pretty tight-lipped about what’s going on between you and Eren until something bad happens and you can’t bottle up your feelings anymore.

So initially, it’s not as if your parents actively hated Eren. Even Eren can’t fault them for wanting the absolute best for you. But your parents should have just toned down how much favoritism they held towards Marcel and Colt and how much they wished things could have progressed between you with either of them. But after the affair starts between Eren and his co-worker, and it gets to the point where all your mutual friends and even the kids began picking up how rocky your marriage had gotten and relaying that shit back to your parents how they’re concerned over how Eren treats you is when they no longer hold back on how they wish you and Eren never got together.

#[☆彡] — seasons #[☆彡] — tiresome ted talks #[☆彡] — anon

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vitalpen · 3 years ago

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Psychonauts: Mental Blocks

(so @upperstories made a Psychonauts character that’s a psychologist (she’s pretty rad, you should check her out) and there was a post about how the entire Aquato family needs therapy, which... true. Frazie is an interesting character to me. She’s older than Raz and is in almost complete denial of her psychic abilities. So the idea of masking and repression came into my head and I wrote this thing out over the course of an hour. Not sure if I’m gonna take in anywhere yet, but hey, enjoy anyway.)

“So, did you figure out the problem?” Raz asked.

“I believe so.” Sasha removed the substantial headgear from his cranium and set it down on the table with a resounding clang.

“And?”

Sasha took a drag of his cigarette as he looked down at Frazie, whom he’d just finished his mental scan of. “It would appear that the years of repression have created a substantial number of advanced blocks in your mind. They are preventing you from using your psychic abilities for more than a few moments.”

“Great,” Frazie hopped off the table ran a hand through her hair. “We finally get the go-ahead from mom and now this happens.”

“So what do we do about it?” Raz asked as he approached the table.

“A good question.” Sasha stroked his chin. “Mental blocks are dangerous business. They are created by our mind as a self defense mechanism, blocking out thoughts that we consider dangerous.”

“Oh!” Raz’s face lit up. “So they’re just like censors! That doesn’t sound too hard.” He took out his favorite little, tiny door. “All we gotta do is go in and bust them up.”

“Ohhh no!” Frazie spoke up, leaning in close. “Pooter, if you think I’m letting you into my mind, then you’re out of yours.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like I’m gonna find anything that I can’t handle in there.”

“No, Rasputin, she’s right.” Sasha put an easing hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Going into a family member’s mind is almost always a bad idea. It can easily lead to seeing things you were never meant to see.” He walked to his desk and ran his finger along his bookshelf. “What’s more, while a censor and a mental block are alike in concept, in reality, they are quite different.”

“What do you mean?”

Sasha’s finger tapped a specific lime green text and he pulled it out, handing it to Raz. The cover read Free Your Mind: a comprehensive summary of research on mental barriers by L. & L. Wachowski. “Open that to page ninety-seven and read the first paragraph under ‘Structure’.”

As Raz flipped through the pages, Frazie rested her elbow on his head and glanced at what information she could. When they came to page ninety-seven, Raz started reading aloud. “It is prudent now to discuss the differences between mental blocks and censors. Upon first glance, the two constructs might seem nearly identical in function. However, they differ in several major ways. Chief among these are their focus, the form in which they manifest, and the way in which their carry out their function.”

Frazie took over from there. “Censors are more akin to law enforcement officials or white blood cells. They move throughout the mind to seek out misplaced thoughts, foreign ideas, and other counterproductive mental constructs. Once found, they eliminate those constructs. Mental blocks, on the other hand, more resemble prisons or security systems. They are created to block off natural parts of our mind that, while normally healthy, may currently create ongoing, acute stress for a given situation.”

With that, Sasha took the book back and returned it to the shelf. “Mental blocks are specialized constructs that are often only employed when adjustment in our thought patterns is a matter of survival. Unlike censors, they are built into our brains very intricately. Simply going in and destroying it would likely take parts of Frazie’s mind with it, causing untold destruction to her psyche.” He sat down in his chair and folded his hands. “To put it simply, the alterations could very well dwarf what you saw with agent Forscythe.”

Raz gulped and slowly put his little door away. “Oh.”

“Forscythe? You mean the lady with the stick up her butt?” Frazie gave Raz a raised eyebrow. “What’d you do to her?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Raz replied.

“Oh boy,” Frazie laughed, “now I have to hear it!”

“Another time, perhaps,” Sasha interrupted, clearly regretting bringing it up. “For the moment, we should focus on the issue at hand. So long as those mental blocks are in place, your progression with your abilities will continue to be stunted at best.”

The blunt assessment hit Frazie a little harder than she was expecting. She folded her arms and shifted on her feet. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Mental blocks usually must be deconstructed by the person who made them.” Sasha stood back up. “You will have to learn to accept the parts of you that you’ve shut out until now, whatever those may be.”

“But,” Frazie paused and growled in frustration. “But I’m here. I came to the psychonauts. Doesn’t that show I’m ready to be a psychic?”

“Frazie,” Sashe walked back to the girl and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eye. “There is a saying that acceptance is the first step to progress.”

“I thought it was ‘recovery’.” Raz interjected. Neither Sasha nor Frazie answered him, only glared. He shrank back, gave a sheepish smile and pointed off to the side. “Sorry, I’ll… go stand over there.”

With that, Sasha resumed. “Mental blocks are highly complex and fortified mental constructs. They often preserve themselves by being forgotten about and hidden through repression. We become so used to them that we have no idea they’re even there. Your coming here was no small step; it is likely what allowed me to find them in the first place.”

“But…” Frazie’s eyes dropped to the floor. “How am I supposed to get rid of them?”

Sasha let go of her and stood up straight once more. “There are those who can do so themselves, but such is very rare. In most cases, it calls for a specialist. The kind that can enter the mind of another without astral projection.”

“Whoa!” Raz’s eyes lit up. “What kind of technique lets you do that?”

Sasha gave him a raised eyebrow for a moment, then sighed. “Therapy, Rasputin.”

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #now to disappear for several hours so I can better resist the urge to immediately delete this

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rrasado · 4 years ago

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Hello! Its me hearts-chan! Hope your having a wonderful day rras ❤❤

May i request a headcannon for the first years with an mc who is pretty much a grim reaper (like ones in black butler if you have watched it) and make it platonic 😊

Again have a great day! 💘💝💖💗💓💞💕❣❤🧡💛💚💙💜💟

Met at Scythe point

I’ve only ever watched book of circus from Black butler so I’m gonna rely on my research for the accuracy of these headcanons kddkn. BE PREPARED-

When you’re a reaper

The guy was probably on another routine for the sake of the rules of the queen of hearts. The gardens of Heartslabyul needed tending to and it just so happened he saw the tool he needed- well goddamit it ace you should know by now that there is more to what meets the eye-

Suffice it to say, the way you just seemingly come out of nowhere to snatch back your precious weapon made him realize a lot of things on the spot. One of them being how you’ve always been faster than most.

Whether you tell him yourself or not, Ace is gonna figure out on his own how you’re not...purely human. But hey- If you do tell him yourself- he’s gonna ask you one thing and one thing in particular-

“Oi...who’s gonna die soon-“

and then you hit him. It’s not like you’re actually there specifically for someone heck you just winded up here after a mistake in the dispatching process. But overall ace would go from care free to careful.

He’ll try to goof around less and use that energy to just- observe you as much as he can, because admit it or not yknow he himself has more than meets the eye. Friend or foe which one are you to eachother I wonder...

Deuce well...oddly enough he’s already noticed something from you from the start.

Call it solidarity or whatever- but he’s sensed that air of subdued superiority on you since day one, that’s coming from someone who’s surrounded himself with a diverse bunch of people in his ruffian days.

But he never dared question your hyphened abilities, maybe you were just like him or the others who are born athletic? No there’s really something irking him whenever you jump...as if defying gravity itself.

“Trey senpai said there was a mower in need of fixing...ah-“

...wrong mower deuce- no even better the way you just swung the mower out of his reach over your head like it’s nothing is just- please explain before the bb gets even more confused about the laws of life, he doesn't trust himself about anything anymore after the egg incident-

Hm...you broke him. No but on a serious note- he’s gonna have a hard time wrapping his head around the concept of...his friend being a supervisor of death. But hey, you’re both learning in the process right? He’ll try too maintain the prior dynamic you already had but...god remind him to be cautious around gardening tools-

It was fine he was fine we were all fine- great seven did you just leap off the school building- wait you’re fine? You were just reviewing something? WHAT IN GREAT SEVEN’S NAME DO YOU NEED TO REVIEW ON THE CASTLE SPIRAL-

Jack takes it the hardest in terms of accepting it. By that I meant- you...keep tabs on the cycle of life and death... he does not hear he does not hear-

The first year savanaclaw student takes a good few days to process the news. In that duration he wonders whether his view on who is good and who is bad kinda...topples. But when he talks to you again and continues your already established friendship, he’ll learn that one’s character doesn’t always align with what they do.

“Hey...do you enjoy your duty.?”

It was an innocent question one he meant well in, he just wanted to confirm many things but the way you became reluctant just...told him that it’s not a good conversation topic in broad daylight.

Overall, he’s gonna put his faith in you as he continues to stay by your side, you are after all still his friend...despite being probably able to surmise the lives of those near their end but- that's Not something he should be worrying right now.

Epel...took it the wrong way- No dear, as much as it seems cool it’s not...all power and glory.

The initial admiration quickly turns into abstract fear when it finally sinks into him how you’re not...a glorified guide to the afterlife with a cool oversized blade. The stories painted your kind wrong in this world huh?

In short- be prepared for having to catch him before he stumbles to the ground- fully denying his terror when you ask him if he’s alright while shaking a bit in your arms. You’ll have to explain it very slowly and lightly to him how no you’re also not the type of reaper that forcefully reaps out souls from bodies in a spur of crimson

“E-eh-...you’re still our friend right?”

Assurance is key with him, so treat him slowly but surely whilst not hiding every single fact from him. It’s a fickle balance but it’s definitely something that’ll pay off once he comes into terms with the fact.

And when he does...you can bet he’ll use your status as a cool threat to others. Not everybody has a Grim Reaper as a buddy right? Take that you cunts-

I pray for this boy’s soul, literally- the moment you accidentally reveal your true status he just- instantly feels the need to channel all his faith into his one and only waka sama.

Like Epel, sebek would take it the wrong way...thinking of your revelation as a pathetic attempt at a prank, he's seen how most students at school do such childish ministrations. How would you be any different?

By all means you are on every level different, the diasominan resident's denial diminishes when he slowly recounts every instance with you. You weren't his everyday ruffian were you...there's certainty in every action you execute, and when you act on your goals your drive is unstoppable.

"Huma- n-no...you..."

The way he attempts to keep up his boisterous personality with you is both amusing and pitiful. Honestly...his perception of those with power and those beneath become blurry. Heck he wonders where you truly stand compared to the young master.

You're gonna have to assure him that despite your inhumane nature you aren't some omnipotent being like he thinks... Omnipotence born from tragedy is not a blessing of authority, at least.. that's what you thinks anyways.

#hdkjfherhfuhf gomen if this wasn't what you meant #but imagine chasing them with your scythe-#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst #twst headcanons #twst ace #twst deuce #twst jack #twst epel #twst sebek #ace trappola #deuce spade #jack howl #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt #twst first years #rras writes #writings from the eclipse

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qqueenofhades · 4 years ago

Note

Did Ivan and Fedyor ever have, like, one of those big first fights where there is this uncertainty of "are we over now?" ? I mean, they would be alright in the end, but between Fedyor's overthinking and Ivan probably not having a lot of experience with relationships, there would be room for them worrying for a time after it.

Sequel to this and prequel to this. Set, as usual, in Phantom!Verse.

Moscow, 2013

June 30, 2013, is not a good day. In fact, it might be the worst of all the days of Fedyor Kaminsky’s life to date, and it is made absolutely no better by the fact that he’s long known it was coming – he just hoped, however vainly, that it wouldn’t. Three weeks ago, on June eleventh, the Duma unanimously passed the law formally entitled “For the Purpose of Protecting Children from Information Advocating For a Denial of Traditional Family Values,” with only one abstention and no dissenting votes, and President Putin is going to ceremoniously sign it into law today. It’s more pithily known as the “anti-gay law,” and it basically prohibits anything related to acknowledging that homosexuals exist in Russia. Fedyor has been anxiously following its progress with his activist friends in their group chats, all of them praying for some last-minute miracle to swoop in and knock it off course. Now that’s not going to happen. He has no idea what is going to happen, but to say the least, it won’t be good. He’s taken some body blows before, but this one sucks.

Fedyor vacillates wildly between wanting to watch the signing ceremony just to scream obscenities at it, and wanting to hide under the covers with the pillows over his head and cry. He texts frenetically with his friend Lyosha, who lost his position at Perm State University a few months ago for daring to do research about LGBTQ people, and is already planning to head into exile abroad. Does he have to do that too? Fedyor has lived in Russia his entire life, even if he has traveled internationally and has lots of foreign friends. He could stay. He could try to fight this thing somehow. He could do more. He should do more.

But how?

When Ivan gets home from work at six o’clock that night, that’s where he finds Fedyor: sitting on the living room floor under a quilt and neurotically eating chocolate biscuits, texting and crying. He drops his backpack and rushes over. “Fedya? Fedya! What’s wrong?”

“He signed it,” Fedyor says flatly. No more elaboration is necessary. “So now we’re fucked.”

Ivan looks troubled. He rocks back on his heels next to Fedyor and searches for the words. Then he says, clearly trying to be helpful, “Maybe not. Nobody has to know about us. If we just keep on like before, go about our daily lives, it will be all right. We are not important people. Why would they bother with us?”

“What?” Fedyor wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and lurches upright, shedding the quilt and a shower of cookie crumbs. “What are you talking about? Just – deny ourselves and go back in the closet and pretend we’re not here, that those assholes won? Go out, but make sure I never hold your hand walking down the street or dare to pretend that we are together? I don’t want to be afraid every second we’re out in public, Vanya! I don’t want to be wondering if maybe they’ll look at my emails or cook up some other reason to come after us! Lyosha already got fired before this even officially passed, and – ”

“Lyosha was a radical beforehand,” Ivan says dismissively. “It wasn’t because of this, I’m sure. So what? He’ll get a fancy position somewhere else. The West will love to take in the gay Russian, persecuted by the barbaric Putin regime, to show off how humane and enlightened they think they are. He will be fine.”

Fedyor looks at him as if he has two heads. “That’s how you’re reacting to this?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Ivan shrugs. “We have to make the best. What else are we going to do? Leave Russia?”

“Maybe we have to. What other choice do we have?”

“Stay?” Now it’s Ivan’s turn to sound like he’s talking nonsense. “Russia is our home!”

“Look, Vanya. I know you and I think differently about things, and we’ve gotten used to that. But I can’t – I physically cannot – stay in a place where I am criminalized for existing, for loving you, for being afraid that something will happen to us. We have to go.”

“No.” Ivan’s voice is colder than Fedyor has ever heard it. He sounds like a stranger. “No, we don’t. That’s crazy talk. Where would we go? America?”

“At least America doesn’t have this law!”

“America has no law that is helpful for us!” Ivan shouts. “And I’m not going there. The end! You make that choice, Fedya. Exile, or me?”

There’s a horrible silence in the wake of that pronouncement, as they stare at each other and Ivan instantly looks like he wants to bite it back, but it’s too late. Fedyor turns on his heel and marches away in frozen silence, refusing to utter a single word to Ivan for the rest of the night, even as Ivan tries to apologize and coax him into speaking again. Finally, taking the hint, he takes his things and silently goes to sleep on the couch, and Fedyor lies in their bed, staring at the ceiling and tossing and turning. Ivan didn’t mean that, right? Or maybe he did? Flee Russia, start a new life somewhere across the sea, but leave his boyfriend behind? Until recently, he thought Ivan Sakharov was the love of his life. Maybe he isn’t. Or even more terrifyingly, he is, and Fedyor will have to give him up anyway.

The rest of the week is just as bad. Ivan leaves early for work and keeps to himself when he gets home, while Fedyor starts Googling the U.S. asylum-claim process and reaching out to North American-based friends who can help with logistics. He spends hours on the computer, takes reams of notes, and doesn’t feel any better. Is he planning this for them or for him? He needs to answer that question like, now, and yet the prospect fills him with sickening dread. He cries himself to sleep with the bedroom door shut, and hears awkward shuffling in the corridor outside, like Ivan is listening and desperately wants to come in, but doesn’t think Fedyor wants him there. That’s even worse.

Finally, on Saturday night, Fedyor decides that they can’t go on like this. He drags himself out of his cave of blankets and cooks a nice supper, while Ivan goes for his usual afternoon workout at the gym, and when he comes back, he blinks. “Fedya? What’s this about?”

“We need…” Fedyor’s throat is a desert. “We need to talk about us.”

Those six little words are usually the kiss of death in any relationship, and he has no idea what’s about to happen next, but Ivan’s face wrenches in half like a torn piece of paper. He opens his mouth, shuts it, shakes his head furiously, and comes to a sudden and unassailable decision. With that, still in his gym clothes, he drops his bag and goes to one knee on the creaky wooden floor of their kitchen, in this humble sixth-floor Moscow flat that is the first place Fedyor ever knew pure and perfect happiness. “Okay,” he says. “How is this for a start. Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, will you marry me?”

Fedyor stares at him, utterly blankly, seized with the horrible fear that Ivan is making fun of him. “Have you – are you – are you serious?”

“Yes.” Ivan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. “I wanted to do this in a different way, but maybe this is better. Fedya, I don’t – I can’t – I don’t want to live without you. I’ll even move to America if you want to. I’m no good without you. I can’t. Please.”

Fedyor continues to stare at him. Then finally he moves closer, as Ivan holds out the ring with a look of utter, silent entreaty, his heart wrung out and raw in his eyes. “Are you – ” Fedyor’s voice is a whisper. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Ivan says again, strong and steady. “More than I have ever been about anything.”

Fedyor starts to answer, and simply can’t. He starts to shake from head to toe, and Ivan scoots forward, still on his knees, and wraps both arms around Fedyor’s waist, burying his face in Fedyor’s stomach. Fedyor clutches hold of him and sinks down, the two of them barely making a sound. Finally, he whispers, “You hate America.”

“I don’t,” Ivan says. “Not really. But either way, I love you, Fedya. And I’m choosing that.”

Fedyor grips Ivan’s face in his hands and kisses him thoroughly, then remembers that he still technically hasn’t accepted his proposal, and he should do that. He holds out his right hand so Ivan can slip on the plain band, with the promise to buy him a nicer one once they get to wherever they’re going. He’ll help with arrangements, he promises. Whatever Fedyor needs him to do.

They board an Aeroflot flight, Moscow Sheremetyevo–New York JFK, on the evening of August 3, 2013, with all their worldly belongings either in the cargo hold or waiting to be shipped over by Fedyor’s parents. They hold hands in the terminal, unobtrusively, and when they get on the plane. And even as the jet engines roar into takeoff and the lights of his homeland fall away into the clouds for what might be the last time in who knows how long, Fedyor Kaminsky can’t help but feeling, once again, ready to start anew.

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #a phantom in enchanting light #pel asks #anonymous #ask #fivan ff

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happyandticklish · 4 years ago

Text

Unusual Interrogations

Notes: For the ask by @ticklish-sidekick who requested villain/hero tickles with Percy Jackson. It gets a little angsty at the end, fair warning. I hope it lives up to expectations! :)

Summary: Luke kidnaps Percy for information and uses unorthodox methods to acquire it.

When Percy first opened his eyes, he found blank walls staring back at him, grays and white blending in and out of each other. Some of the walls were peeling, and as he glanced down he could see the remains of debris covering the ground, indicating some kind of ongoing construction.

It took him a second to realize he was in a warehouse. It took him an even longer second to realize he was still in boxers, his preferred apparel each night. He shivered, wishing he could somehow cover himself. Unfortunately, it seemed as though his arms and legs were tied securely to either side of one of the many supporting beams in the building, stretching his exposed body out.

He tried to think back on his most recent memories. The last thing he remembered was going to bed the previous night, safe and secure at Camp Half-Blood. How he got here was a mystery.

He struggled for a moment, attempting to somehow wriggle his way out of the bonds, but whoever had tied him here certainly knew their way around a knot. He exhaled in frustration. He didn’t have Riptide either, as the pen/sword was stored securely in the front pockets of his jeans, thrown haphazardly on his cabin floor. Not that a sword would have been much use anyways, with his hands out of commission as they were.

“Hello?” he called out warily. “Who’s there? Is this some kind of prank? Ha, ha, very funny. Tie the great Percy Jackson up, see what happens. Well, you’ve had your fun now, I think it’s time you let me go.”

“This is no prank.”

Percy startled as a figure emerged from behind him, stalking around the pole slowly to face him. A scar ran jagged down his features, and a shock of blonde hair crested his forehead. Percy frowned. “Wait. Luke?”

A smirk tugged up the corners of his lips, and Luke spread his arms wide in welcome. “Bingo.” He glanced down in amusement. “Nice underwear by the way. Is that… Nemo print?”

Percy flushed, bristling at the comment. He had almost forgotten about those. He wished now that he had chosen to wear something more dignified, but admittedly nobody really prepares for a kidnapping. “It’s for all ages. Look, forget about that, what’s going on? Where are we?”

“Do you like it?” Luke asked, surveying their surroundings. “Very roomy, spacious. This building has been ongoing construction for years now. I believe it’s supposed to be a law firm, but the plans for it fell apart and now I have the place all to myself. It took a while to find somewhere we wouldn’t be interrupted, but I pulled through—as always.”

Wouldn’t be interrupted. The words sent a chill down Percy’s spine. Despite his apprehensions, he didn’t want it to seem like Luke was getting to him, so he tilted his chin up and spat, “What are you gonna do to me, then? Torture me? Kill me?”

Luke shrugged, calmly approaching him until they were inches apart. “No, no, no. I can’t kill you, remember? You have that pesky curse that prevents me from doing so. What I want is information. I know you and your little camp is planning and attack, and I want to know what it is.”

“I’m not gonna tell you that!” Percy exclaimed indignantly. “You’re crazy!”

“Obviously you’re not,” Luke agreed dryly. “I figured you weren’t going to just hand over top secret plans willingly. But—” Luke placed hands on either side of him—“I have ways of making people talk.”

“So you… are gonna torture me?” Percy confirmed hesitantly.

“In a way,” Luke agreed. “See, I figured normal torture wouldn’t be enough. Anyone can hold out against pain—it just takes endurance. No, what I’m going to do to you is much worse. The kind of torture that needles away at your sanity slowly, an itch you just can’t scratch no matter how much you want to. The kind of torture that has left grown men begging for mercy within seconds. Do you know what it is?”

Percy slowly shook his head, feeling almost hypnotized by Luke’s words.

Luke curled his fingers in slightly on either side of Percy, smirking at his sharp inhale. “Tell me Jackson... are you ticklish?”

Instantly, nerves flooded Percy’s stomach at those three words, words that had foretold his doom many times in the past though usually he was at free to at least defend himself. He scoffed, though the sound came out more nervous and giggly than he had intended. “Really? Tickling? This is your hardened torture method?”

“You never answered the question,” Luke reminded him, his fingers ever so slowly wiggling against his sides, though it had the effect of making Percy want to crawl out of his own skin. “Are. You. Ticklish?”

Percy tried to answer but the second he opened his mouth a volley of laughter attempted to escape and he slammed it close again. His lips tugged up into an unwilling smile, and he squirmed underneath Luke’s touch.

“No answer?” Luke asked, raising an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll have to assume that’s a yes.”

Percy shook his head rapidly, his smile growing wider with the other’s words.

“You’re not?” Luke preformed a rapid squeeze attack on his sides and Percy shrieked, breaking into a fit of hysterical giggles. “What was that then?”

“I-I’m nahahahat!” Percy insisted, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to somehow block out the sensations. “Iihihit dohohohoesn’t tihihickle a-ahahat ahahall!”

“You’re not a very convincing liar, Jackson.” Luke gave him a brief break, letting the other breathe for a moment. “You know, I almost feel bad for you. If you’re that ticklish after only a couple seconds of this, I can’t imagine how you’re going to last an hour.”

Percy’s eyes bugged out of his head. There was no possible way he could last another couple minutes like this, let alone an hour. “A-An hour?” he repeated nervously, desperately hoping maybe he had just heard him wrong.

“Or longer,” Luke mused, running a finger slowly up his sides and watching him flinch away. “Maybe days. However long this takes, really. It all depends on how quickly you break.”

He had to be bluffing. There was no way Luke would risk keeping him that long; his friends would eventually come to his rescue and his entire plot would be unveiled. It would be ludicrous to keep him longer than a day. Still, as Luke’s finger made its slow path up his side, just brushing against his armpits before darting down again and sending shudders down his spine, Percy couldn’t help but doubt his own assessment. His friends wouldn’t notice he was missing till morning at least. That gave him hours in which to suffer under the assault of the torturous sensations.

“C-C’mon,” Percy stammered, panic writhing sudden and quick through his stomach. “You don’t need to do this, really—”

“So we know your sides are ticklish,” Luke interrupted, ignoring his protests. He traced his fingertips lightly over the spot as he spoke, sending the other into a round of reluctant giggles. “But I wonder if there’s somewhere else that would get a better reaction out of you? Do you want to volunteer any information? No? I guess I’ll explore on my own.... Maybe this soft little belly of yours is ticklish?”

“Ihihit’s nahahat sohoft—ahAHAhaha, nohoho!” Percy’s laughter jumped an octave and quickly shot through his own denial. Quick, nimble fingers scratched gently against the skin, a delicate tickle that was quickly driving though his inhibitions. He jerked on his arms, but the bonds held as tight as before and no matter how much he squirmed and writhed to get away from the touch, he found himself ultimately helpless to stop it. “Nahahat thehehe stohohomahahach!”

“Hot spot, is it?” Luke taunted. “You know it’s strange—in all the time I knew you I never realized how ticklish you were.”

“B-Behehecause yohohou wehehere ahahalways t-trying toho k-kihihill mehehe!”

“It seems so silly now. All my past trouble could have been solved if I had just tried tickling you instead of trying to kill you.”

“I-Ihihi wohohould hahahave preheherred ihihit!”

“Oh?” Luke’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead and he leaned, a shark’s grin glittering on his teeth. “Is that a confession, Jackson? Do you actually enjoy this torture?”

Percy’s eyes widened as he realized the connotations of his statement and he desperately tried to backtrack. “N-Nohoho, Ihihi juhuhust—ehehe, ahaha, Ihihi juhust—fuhuhu—nohoho—Ihihi dihihidn’t mehehean—pfft, aha, lehehet mehehe ahahanswer!”

“Gladly,” Luke agreed, changing his gentle touch into a series of rapid pokes that made Percy jump.

“T-Thehen stahahap tihihihickling mehehehe, ahaha, nohohohoho!”

“Ah, see, I’m afraid I can’t help you there,” Luke informed him sympathetically. “See, that’s the thing about torture—it doesn’t exactly end when you want it to. But feel free to talk. All you have to do is resist a little bit of tickling. Should be easy for the famed demigod, hmm?”

Percy, quite possibly, was going to kill him. At the very least slap him. Certainly give him a stern talking to or write a note to his mother. All of those options were proving rather difficult at the moment however. “Fuhuhuhuhuck, ahaha, shihihit!”

“Such strong language,” Luke noted. “Feeling anymore like talking?”

Percy squeaked at each poke of his finger, shouting out obscene phrases that in the normal light of day he would never dare utter, but otherwise refused to answer.

“Still holding out?” Luke said, shaking his head in disappointment. “You know, you’re only hurting yourself with this petty resistance. Sooner or later you’re bound to give in; it’s only a matter of time. It does make me wonder though—is your upper body really the best place to tickle you?”

Luke momentarily stopped his attack, circling around the pole to the other side. Percy allowed his eyes to flutter open once more, breathing heavily. His relief was short-lived however, as soon as he realized where Luke was headed. “No,” he ordered, a giggly panic lacing his words. “No, absolutely not, no fair, not the feet, c’mon, please!”

Luke kneeled down by his feet, slowly sliding one and then the other sock off. As the cold air whistling through the ware house hit his skin, a shiver of anticipation coursed its way through Percy’s limbs. Goosebumps scattered down his flesh and he curled his toes preemptively.

“Just to clarify, not your feet?” Luke repeated, grasping one of his feet in a firm grip that left the sole completely exposed.

“Yes,” Percy agreed, squirming in his hands. “Please, I can’t handle it, you don’t understand—pfah!”

The involuntary noise left him before he could stop it as one nail dragged slowly down the length of his foot. A slow smile made its way over his features and he stiffened, letting out a soft, “No. No, this isn’t f-fahair.”

“It’s perfectly fair,” Luke contradicted, keeping up the light teasing. For the moment, anyways. “I want information and you’re keeping it from me. Sometimes you have to resort to drastic measures to get what you want.”

Percy stammered out a response that was lost as Luke’s pace changed from a single finger into many spidering down his arch and onto the ball of his foot. He squeaked, giggling uncontrollably as his foot shook in the other’s grasp. “Nohoho, stahahahap!”

“Are you gonna tell me what I need to know?”

“Thihihis ihihihis sohohoho uhuhunfahahair!” Percy repeated instead through babbling laughter, clenching and unclenching his toes as he fought to somehow control his reactions. “Thihihis ihihihis—thihihis ihihis—gahahaha!”

“I’m hardly even touching you,” Luke informed him, amusement dancing through his words. “Is this a bad spot?”

Shakily, Percy managed to flip him the middle finger.

“Ooh, bad move,” Luke said, clucking his tongue in disappointment. “I think you’re forgetting the power dynamic here. Maybe this will help you remember.”

Without preamble, Luke raked his nails quickly up and down his foot, digging into the skin in a way that made Percy near lose his mind. He jerked forward, arching against his bonds though he knew it was useless now. He squeaked and snorted at each and every touch of Luke’s fingers, the ticklish torment racking his body. “Nohohoho, gahaha, ehehe, stahahap! Thihihihis ihihihis sohohoho ehehevil!”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yohohohou’re ehehenjoying thihihis tohohoo muhuhuhuch!”

“Maybe,” Luke admitted. “I have to admit it is sort of fun to get back at you, for wrecking my plans so many times now. Do you know how many times I’ve been scolded for your interference? This is kind of therapeutic in a way.”

“Ihihihihi hahahahad tohoho!” Percy protested, struggling to get out coherent sentences as the intense tickling on his feet drove him slowly insane. “Y-Yohohou wehehere, ahaha, shihihit—ehehe, uhuhum—nohohoho—yohohou hahahahad tohoho behehe stohohohopped!”

Luke’s smile dropped a little, a dark shadow crossing over his eyes. “I did what had to be done. No one asked you to get involved.”

There was something about his tone that made Percy want to inquire further, but he found that speech was quickly becoming impossible. The upper body tickling had been bad but ultimately bearable. This was something else. It was hell. It was torture. It was exhilarating.

He had no idea how to feel about that.

In an attempt to distract the other from the earlier course of their conversation, Luke decided to switch up tactics. He momentarily stopped his attack and Percy sagged against the rope, breathing in much needed breaths. A silly grin was plastered to his features, and even the slight breeze wafting through the building seemed to tickle. There were shuffling sounds from behind him as Luke reached into a bag of supplies Percy hadn’t noticed from his vantage point. Unseen by the other, Luke pulled out a bottle of skincare oil and a simple hairbrush—both seemingly harmless from the outsider’s perspective. Unfortunately for his bound captive, the objects were far more intimidating than they appeared at first glance.

Percy frowned when he first felt the cool oil being applied to his feet, flinching a little when Luke’s finger pressed in to rub it into the skin. “What is that? Is this a massage now? Because I would much prefer that.”

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it? No, this is something much better.” Luke smoothed the oil out, gently sliding it in-between his toes. Percy twitched and giggled throughout the process. “Not many people know about this method, strangely. But trust me, it’s very effective.”

Though Percy couldn’t imagine how simple oil could make things worse than they already were, a crawling anxiety spread throughout him regardless. He tried to plead once more, in the hopes that maybe this time it would be somewhat effective. “Why are you doing this? Aren’t there better ways of getting the information?”

“Maybe,” Luke conceded. “But this method seemed easiest. You’d be surprised by the number of people who will talk under the influence of a mere feather.”

“Even you?” Percy challenged.

A hot pink tinged the ends of Luke’s ears, though the sight was invisible to Percy. “That is for me to know and you to never find out. Besides, I’m not the one tied up am I?”

It was an obvious lie, but Luke was right in that there was little the other could do about it in his situation. “Well what is your ingenious method then?” Percy said instead, a sarcastic lilt to his voice as he attempted to brave through his fear. “Because I hate to break it to you Luke, simply smearing oil over my feet isn’t going to—shihIHIHIHIT!”

The expletive broke from Percy suddenly as hard bristles were dragged back and forth quickly over his soles. It was a new and rough and intensely, unbearably ticklish in a way Percy hadn’t known could exist before. “AhAHAHAHahaha, whaHAHAHAhat thehe HEHEHELL?!”

“Isn’t going to what?” Luke inquired, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t going to tickle? Is that what you were going to say? Tell me Jackson—does this tickle?”

He dragged the brush over the ball of his foot and Percy went ballistic with laughter, shrieking and twisting like a madman in an effort to somehow, someway, get that damned brush away from his foot.

Thus far, he was entirely unsuccessful.

“OHOHO MIHIHI GOHOHOD!” Percy exclaimed, throwing his head back in ticklish agony. “THAHAHAHAT’S SOHOHOHO BAHAHAHAD! PlehEHHEHEhehease STAHAHahahAHAHAP!”

“Are you gonna give me the information?”

“IHIHI CAHAHAHAHAN’T!”

“Sure you can, it’s very simple,” Luke assured him. “Just tell me your attack strategy and the brush goes right back in my bag where it’ll stay for the rest of your future. But first I need you to talk, okay? Do you think you could do that for me?”

“PLEHEHEHEASE! IHIHIHIT TIHIHIHIHIHICKLES!” Percy choked on uncontrollable giggly shrieks, every swipe of the hairbrush sending him into a whole new level of hell. Every inch of him pleaded with himself to just talk already, to make it stop even for just a moment. The only thing that made him resist was the thought of everyone back at camp currently asleep in their beds. He thought about what would happen if he let Luke win, if he had to face each and every one of their disappointed faces. So he held out. Despite the fact that he had never experienced tickling like this and each second that ticked by felt like an eternity, he held out.

“Percy,” Luke said, a bit of hesitation creeping into his voice. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

Percy could only laugh in response.

“Because I could keep doing this,” Luke insisted, narrowing his eyes. “Hours of just this, just this hair brush on your feet. Is that what you want?”

Percy threw his head back, eyes shut in helpless mirth.

Luke was getting irritated by this point, the other’s reluctance to speak bothering him for reasons he couldn’t explain to himself. “You would rather endure this—” to emphasize his point he started attacking the other foot with spider tickles and sending Percy into hysterics—“than rat out your friends?”

Percy squealed and writhed, the tickling to such an intense degree at this point that he hardly allowed himself to even focus on the words coming out of Luke’s mouth.

“Fine then!”

With a flourish, the tickling stopped as Luke dropped his hands, sitting back in annoyance. Leftover giggles spilled from Percy’s lips, his feet tingling from phantom sensations. A strange euphoria clouded his brain, similar to that of staying up for days on end or winning a battle. His nerves were exhausted, his mind rattled, and he couldn’t erase the stupid smile from his face no matter how hard he tried.

Luke shoved the bottle and the brush into his bag, which he slung over his shoulder jerkily. He grabbed a knife from his pocket, resolutely and suddenly cutting the ropes holding Percy. The boy dropped to the ground, his legs feeling like jelly and unable to support his sudden weight. Percy threw a confused glance up at the other, managing a frown. “What are you—”

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” Luke snapped, holding the knife out to him threateningly. Percy’s eyes widened at the weapon, though he was too exhausted to try to move out of the way at all. Luke looked like he was going to say something else, but after a moment he just closed his mouth into a firm line and stalked off, the assumption that Percy was not to follow him.

Percy slowly made his way to his feet, his legs shaking underneath him. He made his way through the ware house cautiously, though at this point he was too tired to care much about anything. As he exited the building, sunlight blinded him and he realized it was probably early morning by this point.

For a moment he considered what would happen if he told the others about what had happened to him that night. In the end though, he decided that it would be better, for him at least, if no one ever knew about the events of that night.

With a sigh, he raised his hand to call a taxi and resolutely made his way back to Long Island Sound.

#tickle fic #percy jackson #luke castellan #fic request #requests #tickling #pjo #fanfic #fanfiction #tickle interrogations

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thanksjro · 4 years ago

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More Than Meets the Eye #30 - The Cybertronian Judicial System is a Friggin’ Joke

Have I mentioned that I’m not a huge fan of court case stories? I think they’re pretty boring, on average, so the last couple of issues have been slightly dragging for me.

Anyway, back to Megatron’s trial.   Our issue opens up with a full back shot of Ultra Magnus.

Artists take note, he really is built like a capital T.

As Magnus reads out Megatron’s statement retracting his “guilty” plea, we get some decent points as to why. See, telling a guy that you’ll stab him in the brain, so his trial can be over as quickly as possible, maybe isn’t such a hot idea. Megatron wasn’t a huge fan of that, or of how those memories they would’ve yanked outta him would have been used to fuel the Autobot propaganda machine. Why, you may ask?

Well, I don’t know if you knew this or not, but Megatron… doesn’t particularly care for the Autobots, nor the rhetoric they uphold.

I know, I was surprised too!

There’s also the fact that Optimus Prime is the judge on this whole thing. You know. Optimus Prime. Off and on leader of the Autobots, whenever it suits him. The guy who fucked off into space for a year after the war. The guy who threw a hissy fit when someone pointed out that he was compromised the last time they did something like this with Megatron. This guy:

Yeah, there might be a slight conflict of interests here. Remind me again why this had to be a military trial?

Anyway, enough of that, it’s time for a fight scene.

A swarm of Decepticons storm the arena, going after Megatron so they can help him escape. Magnus, though acting as Megatron’s defense, cannot abide by this disorder in the court.

Wild to think there’s a tiny little Pringles man with anxiety in there, isn’t it?

Optimus joins the fray, because there really are, just, so many guys to deal with here. A dude goes to collect Megatron, stating that they brought teleport packs for this little shindig. Megatron isn’t super jazzed about that though, not bothering to grab on before the dude gets shot to death. There’s a brief recess, I guess so the janitorial staff can deal with the mess of corpses littering the courtroom.

Meanwhile, in the present day, Rung’s building a model spaceship in Swerve’s, which is a very brave thing to be doing, seeing how sticky and gross bars can be. Brainstorm’s brought a flask to the bar, and proceeds to pour the contents into a funnel sticking out of his arm.

Our bartender for the evening- I’m assuming it’s evening, but I doubt the concept of time has any real weight in space- is Bluestreak. Bluestreak was stationed on Earth for a while, which is some Phase One stuff, and took a liking to human media while he was there. He’s the guy who handles movie night these days, seeing as Rewind’s too busy being dead to do it, and I doubt Chromedome has the emotional bandwidth to take over for his late spouse.

Bluestreak’s favorite movie is Zulu, a film glorifying the colonialism of the English over the native populace of an African kingdom. Make of that what you will.

Whirl wants to watch À Bout de Soufflé, or Breathless, as it was translated for the English-speaking world, which is a French New Wave film about a criminal who shoots a cop, hides from the police in a journalist’s home, who he seduces and likely impregnates. She eventually finds out what he did, reports him to the police, but then has a change of heart and lets him know what she’s done. He runs, but is shot, and dies in the street. The film is notable for its final scene, in which the following dialogue happens, between the dying criminal Michael, his lover Patricia, and an officer.

Of course, any poignancy would almost certainly be lost on the average comic book reader, and is also somewhat nullified by Whirl praising the film with internet lingo.

Then again, I suppose Whirl would be the type to dismantle any deeper reading of his interest in such a film, lest he be subjected to the horrifying ordeal of being known.

Over with Skids and Riptide, it’s revealed that Megatron’s been teaching classes on the Lost Light, specifically on the Knights of Cybertron. Riptide’s getting an education, because he’s been feeling pretty lost since the war ended- we’ll get to the potential whys of that later on. Swerve isn’t a fan of this community college thing that’s going on, stating that Megatron’s using it as a distraction, so he can devise plots most foul.

Back in the past, Autobot high command is having a talk about what Megatron’s demanding, and man is it a doozy— turns out, since the trial’s happening on Luna 2, the trial proceedings are subject to the laws of the moon. One of these moon laws is the right to request being judged by the Knights of Cybertron. Now, this is a problem, seeing as the Knights of Cybertron have been AWOL for the last several million years, but the law is the law, and you can’t just go ignoring it when someone’s pointed it out.

Bro, your SIC just suggested y’all pull the trial so you could slap it on Cybertron, thus negating any need to pay attention to the Knight law. That’s such a gross miscarrying of justice, it’s genuinely baffling. You’ve got bigger issues going on than flouting. My god, Optimus, you were a cop—

Oh wait, that’s right. Carry on, then.

Back on the Lost Light, First Aid’s checking to make sure that the coffin Rodimus they revealed last issue is true and proper dead. Now, this may seem like a given, but you’ve got to remember that Brainstorm was mostly dead for over a year and a half, and nobody fucking noticed, so it’s probably for the best that they’re checking.

First Aid’s been pretty withdrawn since Ambulon died, so this autopsy is really good for him, since it got him out of his room. Pretty fucked up that it would take a dead body to get him out and about. Has Rung checked in on his poor son of a gun, or has he been spending the last six months getting his professional rocks off psychoanalyzing a genocidal warlord?

Our coffin Rodimus died from having parts of his brain removed, and potentially died screaming.

Yes, that is a Furmanism, thank you peanut gallery, moving on—

Ratchet hands the phone over to Ultra Magnus, saying that a call has to be made, and it can’t be by him, because the callee is mighty upset with Ratchet at the moment.

Oh, I guess he’s fine after all. This must be where the sci-fi bullshit really starts kicking in for the series.

Because seeing your own dead body is likely very traumatic and awful, Rodimus is taking a while to string together his thoughts on the matter. Megatron doesn’t particularly care, because he’s not terribly sympathetic to this sort of thing, and the two get into a spat, where it’s revealed that they’re co-captaining the Lost Light.

Because things weren’t chaotic enough on this fucking ship. Need to mix in some peacocking between the McDonalds twunk and the man who killed half of Beijing.

Back in the past, Optimus Prime visited Megatron in prison to have a little chat. It’s not about that little rescue attempt, though the fact that those Decepticons may have been released from the Lost Light’s brig is certainly interesting. No, Optimus is here to sit way too close to his mortal nemesis on the floor of his room and talk about how Megatron is a sneaky bastard.

You remember the Hellraiser puzzle box from a couple issues back? Yeah, that was a communicube, one that was passed to Optimus to suggest that the trial be held on the moon, so the arena there would be able to hold all the people wronged by Megatron. This seems pretty damn convenient in hindsight, but Megatron swears that the legal loophole wasn’t his only intent when he sent the cube.

Because it’s all about you, isn’t it, Megatron? It’s all about how you’re perceived by future generations. Fuck the guys who had to actually deal with what your personal choices caused to happen.

Megatron wants to make amends with all those who were wronged by him. This doesn’t include being acquitted of his crimes, which, y’know, good- at least he’s being slightly realistic about how this is going to turn out for him.

What he wants to do is find Cyberutopia, so the Cybertronians have a replacement planet, since Cybertron kind of sucks now.

Oh, sorry, did I say realistic? I take it back.

In the present, Rodimus is still bummed out about being dead. Still, the day doesn’t stop just because it’s a bad one, and he calls in the experts.

CHROMEDOME YOU PROMISED TO STOP THIS SHIT

Yeah, no, Chromedome’s fallen off the wagon again, and does his thing on the coffin Rodimus. As he does, Megatron suddenly gets squeamish, Brainstorm pulls out his early early-warning device to lean on the fourth wall, and it’s revealed that the coffin that coffin Rodimus was in was built in the fashion of the Spectralist faith.

All Chromedome can suss out of coffin Rodimus’ memories is the really big important stuff, which includes the speech at Rivet’s Field inviting folks to come join the Knight Quest. Aww, that’s sweet.

With the analysis of the innermost energon complete, the results are in— the coffin Rodimus is a Rodimus. A real one, from the near future. Bummer.

I suppose denial is one of the seven stages of grief, isn’t it?

As everyone argues over whether or not Rodimus is going to die, Nightbeat brings up a good point— there aren’t any numbers carved into the coffin Rodimus’ hand. Rodimus is about to reveal some Ratchet-original wisdom, when things start getting really weird; whole sections of the Lost Light are disappearing.

Over at Swerve’s, Tailgate is regaling his peers with the story of his derring-do against Chief Justice Tyrest. Everyone is very impressed, and this includes our good buddy Getaway.

Jeez, think you’ve got enough antagonist shadows on this guy? It’s almost as if the art’s trying to tell us something about him.

Getaway lays it on real thick, saying that Tailgate could totally be the next Prime, with how courageous and awesome he is, all while completely ignoring Tailgate’s personal space and having a weirdly tiny hand. This seems to seriously bother Cyclonus, who is watching this shit go down from the doorway. Our purple space jet leaves once the drinks start being poured and conversation starts happening. God knows he hates talking about his insecurities.

Then the Pipes is Friggin’ Dead alarm goes off. But Pipes has been dead for a while now, so that must mean something else awful is happening.

Back during the trial, I guess because Optimus has a soft spot for Megatron, he allows him to join the Lost Light’s Knight Quest… even as he says that he could keep the guy locked up until Rodimus and pals find the Knights. However, there are rules to this, and one of the rules is that Megatron must publicly denounce the Decepticon cause.

It is a slow and painful experience for everyone involved, as he reads the statement he was given. It’s an immediate call to action- or rather, inaction.

Geez, think they could’ve made it any more obvious that this was being ghostwritten? I can’t wait to see how long it takes for “Megatron was blackmailed into saying this by the Autobots” to be a plotpoint.

Outside the prison, Ratchet and Rodimus are taking in the brand new Rod Pod, which is genuinely ridiculous in how large it is. Rodimus admits to having taken Atomizer’s list, though he knows that trying to use it to keep those who voted him off would be a pretty shitty thing to do.

Also, no one’s told him about Megatron coming along on the trip. As captain.

Or you could, I dunno, lock him up from the start. Or, if you want to give him a chance to prove himself, slap him into a bottom-rung role, like bilge cleaner, or sewage mucker, or whatever the equivalent would be on a spaceship full of giant gay robots. We don’t have to give the guy any power to hold him to scrutiny— any minimum wage worker will tell you that scrutiny comes far harsher for those who actually carry out orders than those who give them.

But what do I know? I’ve never fought in a several million year war, and I don’t plan to.

Getting back to the list, it seems as if Ratchet and Rodimus are on the same wavelength, in that both agree it’s only going to cause trouble and hurt feelings to keep the thing around. Rodimus destroys it with his usual flare, only to be blindsided by the fact that it was fake this entire time. How does Ratchet know this?

Because his name wasn’t on it.

...Man, that’s gotta sting. No wonder Rodimus was upset enough to not take his calls.

In the present, everyone’s in a panic, as they all bolt for the shuttle bay and start pouring into shuttles. The Lost Light is disintegrating around them, which is sort of a problem. Despite this nightmare scenario happening, Rodimus and Megatron still find the time to be assholes to each other. That’s dedication right there.

As the two bicker, multiple shuttles zip away from the rapidly disappearing ship, including the Rod Pod.

Man, now it really is the Lost Light.

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #world shut your mouth #issue 30 #Hannzreads #text post #long post #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #comic script writing

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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9.8k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, sex toys, bondage, blindfolds, use of safeword (yellow, not red), aftercare, pet names, praising, degradation, controlled orgasm - delay/denial/forced, oral (m receiving), masturbation, face fucking, loss of virginity (wink wonk it’s our namjoonie), however not full sex just a bj

DAY FIVE

“Going outside again today, Namjoonie?” Yoongi questions with a teasing grin.

Namjoon sighs morosely at the thunderous downpour of rain visible through the kitchen windows. “It’s over for me,” he announces sullenly. “I’ve lost.”

You pause, spoonful of rice hovering in front of your open mouth. “So your prompt was ‘the outdoors’, huh?”

A miserable cry leaves his throat before he buries his face in his arms, slumped at the dining table where a few of you have gathered for breakfast. “Damn it,” he whines, muffled by the thick cable knit sweater he’s wearing.

You’d woken up early to a crack of thunder; the weekend storm apparently descending upon the villa earlier than expected. For once, you’d had to help Jungkook work out the heating system, cranking it up until you could smell the quickly-heating dust that had gathered from lack of use.

Yoongi, also an early riser, had announced that a day like today required a hot breakfast, and you’d helped him prepare a basic stew and some steamed rice as you were gradually joined by Namjoon, Jin and Hoseok. You’d waited a bit for the remaining two contestants, but the wafting aroma of beef and potato quickly broke your patience.

You finish your mouthful with a chuckle, leaning over to rub his back. “But now that you’re already going to get the penalty, you may as well do whatever you want.”

Namjoon’s body is still for a few moments as he considers this, before the faded purple of his hair jostles with a nod. “I guess so,” is the reply that comes from the crook of his arm.

You grin. “It’s okay, it’s not like you’re the last one. Hoseok hasn’t gone yet, and I swear Jimin doesn’t even wake up before midday.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes at you challengingly but before he can retort, the youngest makes a noise of disagreement in his throat.

“Oh, he’s not sleeping,” Jungkook answers breezily between cheeks stuffed with rice. “What? Yesterday I wanted to ask if I could borrow one of his shirts for my stream this week - you know, that see-through pink one he wore over a white shirt? - and he didn’t answer when I knocked so I opened the door-”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi and Jin cut in simultaneously, faces turned down in disappointment.

“Wait!” Jungkook protests. “It’s not as bad as it sounds! I just stuck my head in the door and he was in the bathtub-”

“He gets a bath and I don’t?” Hoseok asks incredulously.

“Hobi-hyung, please,” Jungkook whines. “Not the point. So like, his hair was covered in white stuff and he had this bright green clay mask on his face and a black one all over his hands and the water was like pink, but still see-through and I could kinda smell rose and maybe tea tree oil but then he was yelling at me to get out and then I got a text saying if I told anyone he’d-” Jungkook pauses, his excitement fizzing out suddenly, replaced by a look of pure fear. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said all that. Let’s pretend that never happened.”

Jin looks like he wants to ask for more information, but Hoseok huffs, shuffling in his seat impatiently. “Who cares,” he spits petulantly. “He isn’t fucking Edward Cullen; just because he’s mysterious doesn’t make him hot. I can be mysterious.”

Yoongi gasps, pointing at Hoseok’s feet wordlessly. That alone is enough for the younger man to let out a pealing yelp, stumbling up out of his chair and jumping on his feet, frantically patting himself down as he wide-eyes the floor. Yoongi begins chuckling, a dry cackle that spreads to the others at the table, and Hoseok deflates, sending him a withering gaze.

Sitting back down in defeat, though not without glancing down one last time cautiously, Hoseok huffs at Yoongi, mouth sticking out in a pout. “You’re lucky I’ve already found my arch nemesis or it would be you, Yoongi-hyung.”

“What a relief,” Yoongi replies in sarcastic monotone.

Hoseok frowns, before cheering up again to send you a bright grin. “Hey, Y/n, are you gonna go out to the confessional booth today?”

“Real subtle,” Yoongi murmurs lowly.

Ignoring him, you shake your head. “It’s raining,” you reply, “I’ll get wet.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Hoseok tuts, the dull thud of his foot stomping making Yoongi fight to prevent a smile. “Stop it, hyung! You’ll give it away!”

“It’s okay, Hoseok,” you assure, “it doesn’t really matter if you lose. The penalty is just spending the week in the bunk room. If you think about it, it’s like a sleepover.”

The doms eyes slide back and forth as he considers this. “Okay!” he announces cheerily. “My prompt is the confessional booth! If everyone else says theirs, we can all hang out together!”

You swear you could hear a pin drop. Namjoon looks like he’s feeling sorry for himself again, Jungkook and Jin are both avoiding his entreating gaze, and Yoongi just stares at Hoseok unabashed, smirk deepening as the silence stretches out.

After a minute of dead air, Hoseok frowns. “Fuck you guys. I wanted to sleep on the bunk beds anyway.”

Feeling bad for him, you stand up, collecting the empty bowls around the table and taking them out to the kitchen. “It’s okay, Hobi,” you chime, “if everyone else succeeds for theirs then I can keep you company.”

Hoseok’s eyes go wide, before he turns to Namjoon. “Buddy, you gotta fuck her outside. Let me have this.”

Namjoon pales, staring at the rain outside which continues to bucket down. “We’ll catch a cold.”

“Fine, I’ll just make sure I don’t lose,” Hoseok insists, standing up himself.

You walk back towards the dining room. “What are you gonna do, ma-Hobi!” You squeal as your body is suddenly lifted, swung over a shoulder.

“Woah, hyung, you’re strong!” you hear Jungkook gush as Hoseok carries you without so much as a grunt. “That’s so cool!”

“Hey!” you try to snap, but with your body folded over a bony shoulder and hair dangling on end, you can’t imagine the heat of your comment is felt by anyone. “This is kidnapping!”

“Not really,” Jin calls out in a bright tone, “he’s not taking you off the property.”

You kick your legs in the air in frustration, blood rushing to your head. “Fuck you! You can go fuck Yoongi without me next time!”

“As far as threats go, that’s not strong,” Jin retorts, his voice carrying over the three shocked parties. “Fucking Yoongi would be a pleasure.”

“Thanks, Jin-hyung.”

“No problem.”

You feel your cheeks heat up with the added blood and your eyes ache, so you give up the fight, instead batting your fists against Hoseok’s ass in protest. “Hurry up, John Cena,” you grumble. “Either let me down or take me to the confessional room before I pass out.”

“So demanding,” Hoseok tuts, but before you know it you’re shifting, getting tugged down and up and sideways, vision spinning sickly until you’re resting, bridal style, in Hoseok’s arms.

You pout up at the dark-haired man. “Hobi, I feel seasick now.”

He grins, lips quirking into a heart shape. “Are you that wet already?”

Your head lolls back as you kick your legs weakly in his hold. “Stop it,” you whine. “Being mean.”

“Poor baby,” he jibes, and calls out a cheery goodbye to the others, walking you out to the outside dining area where you’d spent that first night, and following the house around until you arrive at the garden shed that houses the confessional room. Once he lets you down, he checks his phone, wincing at what he sees. “Shit. Producer Shin is getting impatient.”

Even with all the excess blood in your head, you pale at the thought of the friendly middle-aged man that operated the camera in the room. “He’s not waiting there, is he?”

“No,” Hoseok dismisses distractedly, typing out a reply, “I exiled him to Sejin’s caravan out front. He just doesn’t like leaving his post for too long in case others want to film.” After he pockets his phone, he glances up at you, a strange dark flicker in his eyes. “Get inside and sit on the stool. Wait for me.”

Your mouth drops at the sudden change in his tone, his demeanor. “Why should I have to wait?” you protest. “You’re the one that wants me in-”

You jump when a sudden smacking noise rings in your ears, sharp and thin. In front of you, Hoseok has simply clapped his hands together once, but the fright as well as his sudden seriousness has your words dying in your throat.

“I don’t appreciate subs that talk back,” he says slowly, each word enunciated and clear, like he’s reciting an important law. “So go inside, sit on the stool, and wait.”

“Yes, sir.” The honorific is meant to be a final sarcastic sign of defiance, but you find yourself meaning it as you say it. This isn’t Hobi that you can joke and laugh with. This is a glimpse of what he’s like at his job at the dungeon. Of what he’s like when he’s Master.

His back straightens and his face clears in approval, but he doesn’t praise you for it, simply standing in stoic expectation for you to follow his order.

When you get inside, you feel his eyes on your back like two hot pinpricks, but you don’t dare look back, leaving the door open a crack as you sit on the stool.

The room itself is cramped, with just enough room for the stool, the camera, and a seat behind it, empty for the first time since you’ve arrived. You’re used to seeing a producer sitting behind it, open from eight in the morning until midnight; Producer Shin doing the early half and Producer Kang in the evening. Both were friendly, middle-aged men. Shin was divorced and Kang was happily married with two kids in primary school, and after you’d gone through whatever thoughts were on your mind and whatever questions fans had sent in, both men would often switch off the camera and chat with you about whatever topic felt interesting at the time.

Though it wasn’t broadcasted like your interactions with the other guys, you really had found good company in the two of them, as well as Sejin. On the Tuesday after Namjoon had walked out on you, you’d even gone out the front door to the caravan where Sejin resided, joined by Shin as the two ate dinner. While the two of them, Sejin especially, preferred not to know any extra information about the game just to maintain a professional distance, but that didn’t mean they didn’t give you a hot cup of tea and a portion of the Chinese food they’d ordered in and distract you with chatter about a k-drama Sejin was watching.

Used to them, it feels strangely empty in the confessional room with that empty chair, more so now that you’re restless with anticipation, eyes straining to see outside the sliver of door you left open.

He leaves you for a long time. Whether it’s on purpose or not, or whether you’re just feeling the drag as you wait, you don’t know, but it seems like hours of being on full alert before the sudden metallic screech of the door opening gives you a fright, heart racing as he steps inside.

You gape as he casually steps behind you, a hand on the back of your head locking you in place when you try and look back at him. The glimpse you got was enough to see that he’d changed clothes slightly; bright yellow sweater replaced with a black leather jacket open over a see-through black shirt. The sight of him in your mind flashes every time you blink like an afterimage. Beyond the all-black ensemble, the tight ripped jeans and the heavy boots, perhaps the picture that stays behind your eyelids the longest is that of his hands. You didn’t have enough time to see, but he was holding what looked like a small rucksack, like the kind you’d take swimming or to play tennis. Somehow, you imagine what it contains isn’t so innocent.

You swallow as his fingers press on your scalp, splayed out. “Face the front,” he commands, and his voice brooks no protest. Once his hand leaves you, you remain still; hyper aware of the effort it takes to keep your eyes ahead, staring at the wall behind the Producer’s chair. “Arms.”

Pausing, you stare dumbly down at them as they rest on your lap. “What?”

Hoseok lets out a light sigh, like he’s exercising great patience, and taps your elbow. “Behind your back. Both of them.”

You follow his order, a shiver running through you when his hands, calloused but limber, grasp your wrists tightly. He ties you up in silence, the cool caress of silk making your eyes slip shut in bliss. While you definitely have an interest in it, your experience in bondage isn’t particularly vast, and you marvel at how such a simple tie changes you. With every swish of fabric against the delicate skin of your wrists, your nerves all over your body sing out, need pooling between your legs. Your shoulder blades are tucked back, opening out your chest, and even in a thick hoodie and leggings, you feel deliciously exposed. Your forearms are crossed over in the hollow of your back so that the tie binds your wrists together. Instinctively, your fingers wrap around your opposite forearm for support, and knowing that there’s no back to the chair, that you’re now open on all sides, has your heart-rate picking up.

You feel your arms tugged as he tightens the knot with a flourish, before slipping two fingers under.

“Wiggle your fingers,” he instructs, and you obey. “Try to get out.” You pause for a moment, but then pull in opposite directions, attempting to wiggle yourself out, but to no avail. “Good.”

You swallow again, fighting against the dryness of your mouth. “What are you-” Your eyes fly open wide as his hand claps over your mouth, pulling your head back to rest against his chest as he looks down at you. You make a noise of protest, but he shushes you, brows in a straight line of disapproval.

“I ask the questions, princess. You see that chair?” He points ahead, and you try to nod but fail as his hand keeps you still, your breath coming hot through your nose. “That’s where the producer sits and asks you questions. So the only thing I want to hear from you are the answers to my questions, and your safewords if you need them. Understood?”

You try and nod again; this time, he unwraps his fingers from over your mouth and lets you catch your breath. “Yes, sir,” you confirm, voice small.

“Do you remember your colours, princess? Can you tell me?”

You lick your lips where they’ve gone dry. “Green for go, yellow for slow down and red for stop... Sir.”

If he catches the pause where you almost forgot to say his title, he lets it slide. “Good. Let’s begin.”

You’re left dazed when he lets go of you and steps away in one swift motion, stepping to the side. You force yourself to keep your gaze ahead, unsure if the command from earlier is still in effect, but your eyes strain to make out the peripheral of him bending over the rucksack, rifling deep inside it. Your stomach curls at the sounds that emanate; the soft thuds of glass and silicone, the jangle of metal, the rustle of fabric.

Finally, he stretches up again, and you suck in a breath when his hand finds its way to your mouth again, this time wrapping tightly around your jaw and turning your face to look up at him, at the small device he’s wiggling in his fingers.

“Do you know what this is, princess?” Hoseok grins, and your eyes focus in on the small metal object. It’s short, a stubby cylinder. On closer inspection you notice a small remote tucked in his palm. A remote-controlled bullet vibrator. You nod as much as you can in his iron grip, and his eyes twinkle. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me and let me put it in?”

Your heart stops, blood rushing south as your desire skyrockets. “Yes, sir,” you gasp needily, unable to help yourself rocking your hips against the smoothed top of the wooden stool.

Hoseok tuts at your movements. “Good girls stay still,” he chastises, and you freeze, feeling your jaw ache once he lets go.

As it turns out, ‘in’ doesn’t mean inside of you, but rather in your panties. Your fingernails dig into your forearms with the effort to not move, biting down hard on your tongue. He steps in front of you, hands dipping shamelessly to the front of your leggings, fingers tugging at the elastic and releasing, letting it snap onto your front. You hiss in a breath through your nose but don’t speak, remembering his rule. Going back, this time his hand slips under both layers, and you can’t help the whine that comes out when you feel cold metal against the heat of your core, sliding over your clit. Frustratingly, he himself doesn’t touch you, only placing the vibe before removing his hand, patting over your crotch where you can see the obscene bulge, straight down the middle.

You let out a breath, brows furrowing with want, but he simply walks away, leaving you tied up and waiting as he sits behind the camera.

He looks entirely in his element, legs spread and leaning back in the chair, fingers running over the control in his hands. In front of him, slightly to the right so his face isn’t blocked, is the camera. It’s still set up, black lens staring you down from its position on the tripod. You watch with baited breath as he leans over and turns it on with a little electronic beep, Your pussy clenches at the thought of him filming this, not for the show but for himself.

How he’d take it to his room, booting up his laptop and locking his door. He probably sat much like he is now when he jerked off; legs wide to make room for his hands. Watching you moan and writhe, hands trapped behind you and chest pressed out as the metallic whine of the vibrations is just barely audible through his speakers. Would he drag it out, wanting to savour every last minute of the video, stroking himself slowly so as not to cum too soon, or would he be frantic, desperate, panting alone in his room as he tries to orgasm in time with you, spilling all over himse-

An unbidden cry leaps from your throat as you’re taken off-guard by the sudden voltage between your legs. Your thighs snap shut but the pleasure continues, Hoseok watching raptly as your shoulders twist, the instinct to pull your arms forward even as soft silk holds firm. “Hobi,” you whine imploringly.

He ignores you, ramping the vibrations up enough that the noise fills the room; a constant high-pitched whirring that rings in your ears even as you clench your thighs around it. Though you’d enjoyed the odd vibrator yourself, you were sure Hoseok knew full well that there were always a few high settings that were quite simply too much. It overstimulates you before you’ve even orgasmed, so much you can’t take it.

“Hobi!” you cry, curling over yourself as if you can escape it. Belatedly, in your electrified brain, a puzzle piece clicks into place. “Sir! Sir, please, turn it off! It hurts, please!”

You go lax, shuddering when it stops suddenly; the only sound in the confessional room coming from your heavy breathing.

“Oh, princess,” he soothes in a warm voice, “don’t worry. Sir will help you learn. Think of this as training, hm? I want our time together to be enjoyable, but it’s important that you know how to behave. Sir would rather reward you than punish you. That’s fair, don’t you think?”

You straighten up awkwardly, the weight of your arms crossed over your back making it difficult. He’s patient, smiling once you face him upright again. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

His eyes glimmer at that, and your core clenches, all too aware of the powerful motor resting over your clit. You wanted him to be happy with you, not just because you want a reward, but because you know just how unbearable his punishment would be. “Here’s the plan: I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. If I don’t like your answer, you know what happens. Understood?”

You feel your arms and thighs break out in goosebumps at the thinly veiled threat. “Understood, sir.”

“Then let’s begin. We’ll start with an easy one, hm? How do you address me?”

“Sir.”

“Correct. When should you speak?”

“When spoken to,” you answer automatically, but his head cocks to the side, raising the remote meaningfully. Your mind scrambles. “Wait! And if I have to use the safewords, sir.”

The hand holding the remote lowers again as he nods. “That’s right. I can punish you for forgetting the other rules and move on, but if you ignore that then we can’t play at all, princess.” Hoseok smiles placidly. “Those are the ones we’ve already learnt. Let’s see how good your instincts are.”

You take in a deep breath, eying up the remote warily. This was uncharted territory, so the chance of you making a mistake just went right up. Rather than making any comment, you bite your tongue and wait for him to address you.

“When do you get to cum?” Hoseok asks in an authorial tone.

You pause for a moment, not wanting to blurt out something wrong. “When Sir gives me permission?”

He smiles placidly. “Good. Now; normally with my subs, they come only by my say-so. But I know for you, that isn’t reasonable given you have to play with the others. However there is still something I expect to have control over. Think for a bit; I’ll give you time. What can you not do without my permission?”

You stare at him imploringly but he just waits for your answer. You rack your mind for some clue, running over his words. He only wanted you to cum with his permission, but he was saying sex with the others was fine. So it wasn’t like you couldn’t cum at all without him around... You blink, feeling cold dread settle down your back as you come up blank. “I don’t get it, sir, I’m sorry.”

“That’s disappointing.” Even as you brace yourself, the powerful vibrations shock you to your core, more intense than you remember them. Hoseok’s eyes remain on you as you rock your hips and wiggle your torso, body trying to escape the overwhelming sensations even as you know you can’t. He holds you like that for what feels like an eternity, though it can’t be more than a minute or two. Finally, just as you feel like you’re going to fall apart, he takes mercy, and the vibrations cease, leaving you gasping.

“The answer I was looking for,” Hoseok explains coolly, “is masturbate. You are not allowed to masturbate as long as I am in the show. If you want that release, you’re to come to me, and I’ll decide if you’ve earned it. Is that clear?”

You open your mouth for a disingenuous yes, but he beats you to the bunch.

“And if you break that rule, don't think I won’t notice. I have mercy for mistakes but I don’t take well to direct disobedience.”

You deflate, lips turning down in a frown. It takes you a moment to commit. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” His eyes glint proudly at the power you’ve handed over to him, and you clench your thighs together, not wanting to admit just how much that look affects you. “I have one last question for you. What would you like from me?”

This feels like a question with no right answer, but still you hesitate. Ask for too much and he might chastise you. “A kiss, please, sir,” you try tentatively.

Hoseok’s eyes crinkle slowly as he smiles, standing up. “How romantic, princess.” You turn your chin up in anticipation, toes curling as he sidesteps the camera and moves closer, leather jacket shifting to reveal tantalising slips of skin, covered by the black sheer mesh. Once in front of you, he bends down painfully slowly, close enough that your eyes slip shut, the lightest brush of his lips on yours and-

He chuckles above you as the vibrations reappear with a vengeance, making you jerk violently and curse.

“Sir! Please!” you cry. Each time the vibrations come, they’re more insufferable, like they’re breaking down your defenses one pulse at a time. “Sir, please stop it, it’s too mu-uch!”

Hoseok turns it down, but not off, so that a gentle thrumming keeps you shuddering. He reaches behind you to tug your hair, pulling your head up to face him as he stands above you, tutting. “Why would I give you what you want?” he asks rhetorically. “You didn’t answer all my questions correctly. Maybe next time, hm?”

The vibrations are now the exact opposite of before - too low to bring you close to your high. “Hobi, plea- Sir, please, make me cum! I tried my best!” You round your eyes and pout, trying to plead with him.

Though he tries to hide it, his poker face falters for just a second. Just a twitch of his eye, a softening of his jaw, but you know you have him.

You let your voice soften even more, the sweetest begging. “I’ll be good for you, sir. Please just let me cum.”

Hoseok lets out a sigh, eyes melting. “Just this once, princess,” he allows, “Sir will go easy on you since you’re just learning.” He smiles at the way you moan in relief once the vibrations pick up again, the divine middle ground between too much and not enough. With your senses so heightened, it’s no surprise to feel the coil in your stomach quickly tightening, egged on by the fond way he strokes your hair, brushing it off your face to drink in your reactions. “Are you going to cum for me?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you breathe, hips rocking as much as you can without compromising your balance. It’s an overwhelming feeling having your arms still tied behind you. The thought that you aren’t in control of your own pleasure. Considering his prior rule, it doesn’t surprise you that he started with a scene where you didn’t even have the choice to cum without permission. Every time the silk tugs at your wrists or the metal vibe slides slightly with your grinding, it just reminds you of how you’re fully at his mercy, and you can’t wait to feel what that’s like once you finally cum. It’s not quite enough though; so wet, the metal slips more than you’d like and it frustrates you when the pressure isn’t enough, or is in the wrong place. You hiccup a sob when he turns the vibrations up just one more level, so close to your edge you could cry. “Ho-hobi, please, I need more.” You sniff at the way his brows tick. “Sir,” you cry desperately, legs widening in invitation.

Hoseok lets out a low grumble as his jaw flexes. “You’re lucky I’m going easy on you,” he announces, before dropping a hand down and cupping it over your center, pressing the vibrator right over your clit. “You better cum now, princess, I’m getting impatient. You wouldn’t want Producer Shin to walk in right now, hm? Poor man just wants to do his job, not deal with whiny little girls like you who just want to cum. Do you know why I’m not fucking you right now, princess? Because I know you couldn’t help yourself from making a mess. I bet you’re sopping wet in those panties of yours.”

With every sentence, Hoseok grinds the heel of his palm over you, jostling the vibrator against your swollen clit and before you know it, you’re cumming, leaning forward and burying your head in his chest as you latch your thighs around his hand, cresting the high.

He holds you there the whole time, vibrator jumping up another level to make you let out a squeal. As your vision begins to clear and your body returns to normal, the vibrations make you jump and whimper against him, arms flexing aggressively as you fail to pull your hands in front of you, no way of stopping the assault of sensation- unless; “Sir! Turn it off, sir, please!”

Hoseok takes mercy on you and the vibrations cease. As you gasp for breath, the sheer fabric of his shirt itching your cheek, you feel his palms slide over your shoulders and down your back, warm even through your hoodie, and reach for the length of silk. You make a low noise of disapproval at the feeling of being untied, not wanting the scene to be over, but he just shushes you gently, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

Your shoulders twinge once your hands fall to your sides, and you follow his instructions to roll them out as he massages the muscles. While his fingers aren’t as heavenly as Taehyung’s, it does ease the ache, and you let him sit you up as he fishes the slick metal bullet out from between your legs, smirking at the way you shudder when his knuckles brush against your sensitive clit.

“Now, princess,” he announces lowly, “Shin will be coming back soon, so we need to head out. But I still have one last lesson for you. Are you able to keep going? It’s nothing too crazy, I promise.”

You swallow the dryness in your throat that’s come from your heavy breaths and nod, a soft smile gracing your face with the satisfaction of a good orgasm.

Hoseok hums, pleased, and pats your cheeks warmly before holding up the black silk. “One of the most important things in a scene,” he explains, brushing your hair back with his free hand, his knuckles light against the sensitive skin of your neck, “is trust. So we’re going to take a walk back to the house together, princess. Only you’ll be wearing this.”

Your breath hitches as the silk comes over your eyes, cool on your lids and temples as he ties it in a knot at the back, tight enough that it won’t slip but making sure it isn’t catching your hair or digging in. It’s a new kind of vulnerability, having your hands free but your sight prohibited, and you find your head tilting up blindly, seeking him out in the void.

“Oh, Y/n,” you hear him chant in a whisper, “you have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

You shiver, hands clutching at him, slippery fabric and sharp teeth of a zip scratching your palms. “Sir,” you say, no words coming to mind but his title as his hands grasp your sides, lifting you off the stool. You stumble a but, hands flying out to steady yourself in the darkness. Your heart races when you realise your hands are empty, and as you wave them around, it’s all open air, feeling deep like a crevasse. “Hobi?”

Hoseok ignores the slip, his voice coming slightly to your right, but at a distance. “Follow my voice, princess. I’ll keep you safe. Come.”

Your mouth hangs open and your feet feel leadened to the floor. As fear begins to roil in your chest, you slide your feet forward, shuffling closer, hands scanning the air in front of you. With no sight, every inch feels like walking up to the edge of a cliff, hands grasping for contact that never comes. Your breath hitches, lungs not expanding fully. “H-hoseok, yellow,” you gasp, eyes tearing at the fear that grips your heart. “I don’t like it.”

“Okay, shh, you’re alright, I’m here,” Hoseok comforts, his voice closer, and you let out a sob of relief when your hands touch the mesh of his shirt, elbows buckling as he pulls you into a tight hug. The restriction on your ribs falls away the moment his chin rests on the crown of your head and his hands rub soothingly at your back. “I’m so sorry, princess,” he murmurs gently, “too far, hm? Are you still okay with the blindfold?”

You sniff and nod, bottom lip trembling so much that you don’t dare speak.

“So not being able to touch me was too much? That’s okay, don’t get upset, we don’t have to do that. Do you think you could walk to the house with me if I hold your hand? Would you like to try that instead?”

As he speaks, he slips a hand into yours, squeezing tightly. You take a steadying breath, feeling those sickly stresses fade away. “I wanna try, Sir,” you decide, voice only wobbling a little.

“Are you sure?” You hum in confirmation, and he rewards you with another soft kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s go, princess. Walk this way with me.”

It’s still scary stepping out blindly, but Hoseok reassures you every few moments, and his hand is like an anchor in the black ocean, keeping you steady. His hands are surprisingly slender, but they just fit into yours all the better, warm and strong and tugging you along slowly.

The first thing you feel once you leave the shed is the spots of rain on your cheeks, air fresh with moisture. Rather than be a negative, however, the lighter downpour soothes you, as well as gives you an incentive to walk faster.

There’s a slight lip where the patio begins, and once Hoseok guides you to step up on it, the rain ceases to hit you, now a soothing patter against the eaves of the house and the roof over the outdoor dining area. The swish of a glass sliding door, and finally you’re led inside, Hoseok warning you about furniture you’re close to so that you don’t trip.

Even as it gets easier with time, you still let out a heavy breath of relief once he slides back a chair at the table and helps you sit, unwinding the knot and baring your eyes to the world once more.

You blink, wincing at the bright lights of the kitchen and dining room, feeling Hoseok’s hands on you, warm voice praising you. Strangely, your mind feels more fuzzy now that it’s over, and you tell Hoseok, rubbing your eyes to try and get your vision to focus on his face.

“Probably subspace,” he answers, taking the chair next to you and holding out his hands, palms up. You frown blearily at him and he just laughs, reaching out for your wrists. You look down and let out a noise of surprise. All your struggling has left harsh red lines circling your wrists, and you hiss as Hoseok gently rubs them, pressing in an almost clinical manner like he’s making sure you haven’t hurt yourself. “Typically the trust exercise alone wouldn’t make someone fall that much, but I suspect cumming first had gotten you halfway there.”

“Okay,” you answer dumbly, making his lips quirk in a smile, letting your wrists down.

“I’m going to get you a drink of water and something sugary and then we’re going to sit down at the couch and watch a movie together, okay?”

“Okay,” you say again, head feeling heavy. Perhaps you’d lie rather than sit on the couch, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You did so well for me today, princess,” he praises. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” you slur happily, waiting for him to duck into the kitchen and retrieve the supplies.

And so for the rest of the morning, the two of you curl up together on the couch, gradually joined by the others, until all eight of you are watching Paddington 2, Jungkook furiously playing a game on his phone to hide the fact that he’s tearing up at one of the climaxes.

It’s easy to let time pass like this; long after you feel fully clear and coherent again, you remain safe in Hoseok’s lazy embrace, his head resting against yours and his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Jin and Yoongi bicker about the movie choices as the day goes on, and Taehyung demolishes enough snacks to clear the pantry, but you and Hoseok just relax, enjoying the mutual comfort after your scene.

In fact, you barely notice the afternoon drifting by until Jin stands up and announces you order in some dinner, because it was too late to cook. True to his word, it was almost 8pm, and you didn’t fancy waiting until 10 or later to eat.

It’s not you, or even Jin or Yoongi, but Jimin that notices Namjoon’s change in demeanour. The eight of you are crowded around the coffee table cross-legged (or, like Taehyung, lying on his stomach) in an uncommon silence founded by the delicious food you’re all stuffing into your mouths.

Not all, apparently, as Jimin’s voice breaks the silence. “Namjoon-ah, why aren’t you eating?”

The silence changes, then. No longer the contented hush of eating, but the frozen uncertainty of a social faux pas. You’d only known each other five days and already Jimin was using a very familiar term, one that normally you wouldn’t dare use to someone older than you. Namjoon, however, doesn’t seem offended, but rather sends the younger man a grateful look.

“I’m just not hungry,” he weakly explains, staring mournfully at the steaming dishes in front of him.

“You didn’t eat lunch either,” Jimin points out, making you raise your brows. You’d seen on many occasions that Jimin was an observer - the memory of his hand around your throat still makes you shiver - but to hear it directed at someone else’s wellbeing impressed you.

Namjoon just shrugs. “I wasn’t hungry then.”

Abandoning his own meal and ignoring the gawking stares from the others at the table, Jimin reaches out with his chopsticks, piling food from all of the dishes into Namjoon’s bowl. “You’re going to sit here and eat with us, Namjoon, and then you’re going to tell whoever you feel comfortable telling why you’re upset.”

Namjoon’s face falls, guilty. His fingers fiddle with the hair tucked behind his ears as he watches his portion grow. “I don’t want to be a burden,” he mutters softly.

“You aren’t a burden,” Jimin says firmly, sending him a firm look and sliding a set of chopsticks his way. “Just say thank you and eat.”

“Thank you, Jimin,” Namjoon says in a small voice, grabbing a piece of pork cutlet first, biting into the crunchy crumb.

With a quiet smile, Jimin turns back to his own food, continuing to dig in. As if that’s the signal for the rest of you, the group returns to their bowls, a satisfied silence falling once again.

After a few mouthfuls, Jin sets his cutlery down, wiping his mouth on a stray napkin. “I think all of us are probably facing some challenges in this situation. No matter who gets voted out and when, we’re the only ones we have right now, so let’s be honest with each other and support each other. We shouldn’t expect Namjoon to be vulnerable with us without being able to do the same. So I’ll start; one thing I’ve been worrying about is that I’ll get my own feelings in the way - whether that’s affection or jealously or competitiveness - and not be able to give you all objective advice. I want you all to see me as a person you can talk to and a shoulder to lean on, so I’m worried if I get too in the game I may no longer be able to do that.”

Finished, Jin returns calmly to eating, pulling a long trail of cheese ramen into from the bowl into his waiting mouth. To your surprise, it’s Jungkook that speaks up next; the boy having kept quiet this whole time.

“I’m worried-” he begins, before his nose twitches violently like he’s fighting the urge to tear up. “I’m worried that I’ll miss you guys. If I get voted out or any of you get voted out. Like; once the competition is over we can still hang out at stuff sometimes, and we can still talk, but it won’t be the same.”

You coo as he presses the back of his hand to his nose, blinking hard. Sitting beside him, you leave your own food and wrap your arms around him in a sideways hug, resting your head on his shoulder. He sniffs, but his head tips to the side to lean against yours, and you feel his body relax into the embrace.

“I worry about that too, Jungkookie,” you admit. “Though my biggest fear is that whoever I vote out each time will hate me for it. I know it’s hard not to take things personal. It’s going to be an impossible decision every week, and I don’t think I could handle it if you got angry and didn’t want to speak to me again.”

“That won’t happen,” Taehyung answers certainly. “You’re so cool, Y/n, and getting a bunch of hot people to fuck you every week is the dream, but I would never want to be in your decision. We all know it’ll suck more for you than it does for us.”

You smile as the other guys at the table nod in agreement, letting out a low hum as Jungkook’s shoulder jostles beneath your head, the boy reaching forward to grab his bowl. As he lifts a hunk of white rice to his mouth, you poke him in the ribs, opening your own lips.

Though you can’t see his face, Jungkook scoffs and you can picture the reluctant grin he must sport as he changes angles, lowering it to your mouth instead. You hum happily once the warm rice fills your mouth, but it soon turns into an indignant squeak as Jungkook pulls out a cut of cooked pork with his chopsticks, eating the much better morsel. He chuckles, feeding you the next strip, and the two of you sit contentedly like that, feeding each other as the conversation continues.

It seems like it’s Hoseok’s turn. He has his gaze internal, biting at his lip. “I’m terrified that I’m gonna fuck up and say something wrong or do something wrong and then people at my work will think I’m a bad dom. I swear I’ve read Y/n’s limit sheet a million times but I still messed up today.”

“Hobi,” you sigh, voice soft with empathy, “that wasn’t your fault. And you handled it perfectly. Please don’t feel bad.”

Though you know the others have questions - Jimin especially is staring hard at Hoseok, not angry but burning with curiosity - nobody asks, simply letting things move on. Yoongi pats Hoseok on the back from beside him and looks towards the center of the room.

“My concern is with the editing team,” Yoongi explains. “We don’t really have any way of knowing how much is going to be shown in the episodes on the website, and I don’t want people to watch this and get altered perceptions of things. I’m sure it can’t be avoided, but I do sometimes wonder how much the audience even sees.”

“I bet if one of us takes our clothes off, they’ll air this part,” Jin offers between mouthfuls of meat. “If you ever want to make sure something gets on the show, just remember it’s a porn website. I bet I could get five minutes of me talking about the economic state of Poland on the show if someone was going down on me at the time.”

Namjoon chokes on a sip of his water and you laugh heartily at the satisfied grin on Jin’s face. Always one to lighten the mood, the eldest seemed relieved at the way Namjoon blushes, but still chuckles, looking less anxious.

“Alright, then,” the virgin announces shyly. “I’ll get it off my chest. I’ve wanted to make my move this whole week but I keep chickening out. I’m worried that I’ll get to Sunday and not have done anything.”

You straighten up off of Jungkook. “That’s easy, Namjoonie. I’ll just make a move for you. After dinner, let’s go to your room.”

He chuckles nervously, but the whole room burst into a joyous cheer when he nods at you.

“Namjoonie, you casanova!” Hoseok jokes, but you can see how his eyes glimmer with pride, all the guys genuinely happy for him.

Namjoon senses it too, and some of his nerves seem to dissipate. He laughs, rocking his fist like a small punch of victory, and sends you a grateful smile. “Anyway,” he says once the celebration calms down, “we still have Taehyungie and Jimin to hear from.”

“I’ll go first,” Taehyung insists, jumping up from his spot lying on the floor to sit instead, placing his hands palms-down on the table like he’s divulging state secrets. His eyes narrow, his voice lowers. “My deepest, darkest fear is that either I or Jimin-hyung will get voted out before I get the chance to give him a massage.”

Jimin rolls his eyes as everyone oohs at the confession, but he can’t hide the upwards twitch of his lips. “Go on, then,” he allows, cheeks plumped as they fight to hold back his grin. “I need to be loosened up to admit my feelings anyway.”

Taehyung hoots, springing up and stepping around limbs and bodies until he’s sitting on the couch behind Jimin, legs on either side of the older man’s body. “You’ll have to take off your sweater,” Taehyung announces, fingering the cream-coloured fabric around his shoulders, “it’s too thick.”

Once again Jimin surprises you by actually removing his sweater, delicately slipping the ends of the sleeves over his wrists before lifting it up. He’s not shirtless - underneath the sweater is a thin cotton tank, tucked into his white jeans - but it’s the most skin you’ve seen on him, and you gape at his bare arms, lithe and pale.

The atmosphere in the room has changed very suddenly, everyone’s eyes on the pair as Taehyung rubs his palms together, warming them before laying them over Jimin’s shoulders with an excited grin. Jimin sighs almost inaudibly, lips parting as Taehyung begins to work his magic.

“Tell us then, hyung,” the masseuse requests, “what’s eating Park Jimin?”

Jimin’s lids flutter, the tension returning to his face with a frown. “That none of you would like me. That I’d get voted off just to make things less awkward for the rest of you.”

Taehyung’s hands freeze, his face falling. “We love having you here, hyung,” he insists lowly. “You’re a tough egg to crack, but I bet you’re a softie deep down. We’ll get there.”

“Thank you,” Jimin replies shortly, feeling considerably uncomfortable with the eyes on him for once. “I do hope that wasn’t the end of the massage, Tae, you barely sat down.” His tone is flat, but he lifts his head up to send the younger boy a sidelong grin.

Taehyung winks back at him, gently turning Jimin’s head back to face the front. “Of course, not, that was just the warm-up. You’ll be so relaxed when I’m done, you won’t be able to walk up to your room.”

Jimin lets out a little laugh as Taehyung begins pressing his fingers in more deeply, the flesh rippling beneath his touch. The masseuse, however, glances up to the rest of you, jerking his chin away like he’s asking you all to leave. Privacy, he mouths, and you fight the urge to nod in understanding.

Jimin probably wouldn’t let himself relax like that if all of you were just sitting there staring at him; you can see the way he nibbles lightly on his bottom lip that he feels out of his comfort zone.

Jin takes the first iniative, letting out a satisfied sigh and standing up. “I’m full,” he announces, “who’s gonna come help me do the dishes?”

And like that, you all clear out and leave Taehyung and Jimin behind, Jimin’s shoulders dropping in relief when he thinks nobody can see. Instead of helping clear up, Jin tells you to take Namjoon upstairs, and before you can really comprehend it, the two of you are sitting on the end of his bed in his room, kicking your legs out awkwardly.

“Well,” you say after a moment, Namjoon jumping slightly like he hadn’t expected you to speak, “how would you like to do this, Namjoonie? Lying down, sitting up, standing?”

He swallows, fiddling with the ends of his hair. “I think sitting,” he answers. “Could we, um, do it under the covers?”

“The blowjob?” you ask in surprise, and Namjoon nods, cheeks bright red.

“Nobody’s seen me naked before, and it doesn’t matter if I get disqualified for not showing everything because I’m going to get the penalty anyway for not doing it outside.”

“That’s fine,” you coo, “whatever makes you comfortable. How about I turn away while you get undressed?”

He nods, and you face the wall, listening to the sound of him hastily undressing, like he was worried you’d get impatient and turn around.

“You do realise I’m going to see you naked anyway?” you call out. “I can’t suck your dick with my eyes shut. Well-” Your voice lifts up as you consider it. “I suppose I could.”

Namjoon laughs, and you let yourself smile proudly at the sound. “You can turn around now,” he instructs, and you do, smile widening at the way he sits up in bed, pulling the covers up over his chest cutely.

“Namjoonie,” you sigh, stepping over to perch on the side of the bed, “I don’t want to push you if you aren’t ready. Are you sure about this? I don’t mind waiting.”

He mulls it over for a moment, chin pressing out as he tenses his jaw. “I think I’ll be fine once we get into it, you know? I’m ready.”

“Then let’s get into it,” you announce, fishing out your phone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Namjoon’s shoulders deflate. “What are you doing?”

You smile softly, selecting a romantic playlist to set the tone a little; a slow, soothing guitar and husky male vocals emanating from your phone. “Setting the mood,” you answer, placing it on his nightstand and turning to him. “You’ve kissed before, yeah?”

Namjoon nods, his eyes widening once you stand up, shimmying out of your clothes. “I- y- mhm. Oh, god.”

“What?” you ask innocently, like you didn’t just get naked in front of him. This whole ‘being filmed 24/7’ thing had done wonders for your body confidence, and so you boldly straddle him, the duvet being the only thing that separates you. “We’ll just start with something you know, then.”

He makes a little muffled squeak of surprise when you press your mouth to his, but it shocks you just how quickly he seems to calm down and kiss you back. Perhaps he was a natural, or he had more experience than he’d let on, but in few short moments he begins to take control of it, deepening it and making your mind hazy with slips of his tongue.

“Wow,” you gasp out between kisses, “how did you learn to - mmph! - kiss like this?”

“Sorry,” he replies, voice already husky with arousal, “I’m excited.”

“Good,” you chime with a light giggle, “are you excited all over?”

“N- Yes,” Namjoon admits, stricken.

“So soon?” you question teasingly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, pulling away and clenching his eyes shut like it pains him. “You’re really pretty.”

To hide your blush, you slide a hand down his chest and stomach. “Do you want me to touch you now?”

He nods quickly, jerky motions as his hands fist at his sides. “Shit, can you- This duvet was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have-”

“Hey,” you interrupt softly, standing up off him. He makes a low noise of loss and opens his eyes, widening when he’s visually reminded of just how naked you are. “We can take the duvet off, don’t worry. It’s easier this way, too.”

Once he nods his consent, you flip the covers back, revealing his naked body.

Your mouth drops open. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Namjoon frowns, brows knitting together. “That’s not a good reaction,” he says unsurely, hands tucking over his hardness. He’s huge - big enough to rival Seokjin’s - and he’s practically leaking precum like a faucet, his tip looking so red it must be painful.

“Oh, I can assure you it most definitely is,” you gush. “God, I’m so lucky. How did I get this lucky?” you ask yourself in wonder, stradding him again. This time, you sit lower so that you can bend over and take him in your hand, marvelling at the weight of it.

With that simple touch, Namjoon’s head falls back and knocks loudly on the headboard, making him hiss. “Y/n, if you don’t put your mouth on me now, I swear...”

Your eyes widen, mouth in question falling open in shock. “So Namjoon’s a baby dom, hm?”

He lifts his head off the wall, staring at you like he can’t believe the words that came from his own lips. “Sorry, was that rude? I’m going crazy, I want you so bad.”

“Don’t apologise,” you croon, running a single nail lightly up his side, “I like it. I’m going to suck you off now, okay? Tell me what feels good.”

He nods, a small amount of his prior nerves returning, but before they can take over, you dip your head, wrapping your lips around his tip and simply sucking off the precum that pools there.

“Fuck! God, oh my god,” Namjoon all-but shouts, and you can’t help but chuckle around him. “Don’t laugh,” he chastises, a hand winding its way in your hair to pull it back from your face.

You glance up at him, lips still on him, and slowly sink down, letting his hardness fill your mouth all the way to the back. He’s barely halfway in, but when you flick your tongue against one of the veins on his underside, it looks like he’s reached nirvana. You pull up, licking your lips, and use your hand to spread the wetness around his length. “Good?”

“Good, just keep - fuck - keep going.” You grin when his lips press together and he visibly forces himself from saying please, now that you’ve said you liked his dominant streak.

Always one to please, you drop your mouth onto him again, this time building up into a bobbing rhythm, a salty tang hitting your tongue as sweat and precum mingle. As you jerk off what can’t fit in your mouth, Namjoon curses lowly and his hips rise off the bed, pushing himself deeper so that his tip begins to breach your throat. You gag in shock, but he just groans louder at the obscene noise.

Expecting him to do it again, you try and relax your throat, but instead you feel tugging on your scalp as he pulls you up by your hair. He’s still slow enough to be painless, but he seems more comfortable taking some control and it makes you grin when you get pulled up off him, sucking air into your lungs.

“I want to try something,” Namjoon admits with wide, lust-ridden eyes. “I won’t push if you don’t want to.” He swallows, fingers tightening in your hair. “Can I fuck your face?”

Your mouth drops open even more, but your grin only broadens. “Fuck, yes,” you enthuse. “Is like this okay, or do you wanna change positions?”

“Like this,” he says, and his other arm moves down so that he can hold your head with both hands, fingers brushing back the hair that’s fallen in your face. “Just hit me if it’s too much?”

Your heart warms at the thought of him worrying about your safety, and you nod, taking the initiative to lean down, opening your mouth to rest his tip on your tongue, glancing up at him.

“Okay,” he breathes, and begins.

Rather than fucking up into you, he first starts by guiding you up and down on his cock with his grip on your head, each time a little lower, a little deeper down the back of your throat like he’s readying you. After only a few pulls up and down, his head tips back again, smacking noisily against the headboard as he speeds up, eyes shutting in pleasure.

It’s only once his eyes have closed that his hips begin to thrust up too. Like he’s letting himself get lost in the pleasure and just feel. You get lost in it, too. It’s easy to go passive like a doll, just focusing on the way he fills your throat. The way he hisses when you gag, and moans when you swirl your tongue in time with his thrusts.

Your eyes tear up with the intensity of it, breathing through your nose and trying not to cough on him, but you’re in heaven, a hand slipping down between your legs to give yourself some much-needed friction.

It’s once you start touching yourself that everything suddenly happens much faster. The rush of pleasure makes you moan around him, which makes him open his eyes blearily to look down at you, slowling his thrusts when he sees your hand between your legs. Once he realises what you’re doing, he curses again, and his hips pick up their speed, surpassing it until you’re gagging on every thrust, your jaw aching and tears streaming, but still you rock against your hand and moan onto him, caught in the pleasure of feeling, watching, and hearing him fall apart as you fall apart yourself.

As you grow close, a hair’s breadth away from orgasm, you reach your free hand between his legs and cup his balls, softly rolling them in your grasp.

Namjoon shouts as he reaches his orgasm, and suddenly he’s pressing you still against him, cumming down your throat with a stream of intense groans, thighs shaking.

You can’t catch your breath; his cock triggering your gag reflex but staying deep inside you, and it’s that desperation, that lack of control that brings you over the edge yourself, soaking your hand and the sheets below it with the force of your orgasm. He lifts you up as you’re riding your high, spent himself, but the sudden rush of oxygen to your lungs only heightens your pleasure, and you collapse, face pressed against his stomach as you cum and suck in air and cum some more.

Your own legs are shaking by the time you finish, core throbbing with aftershocks, and it takes all of your energy to push yourself up beside him so that you can lie against his bare chest again.

The room is filled with nothing but panting for a few moments, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest as his arm wraps around you, holding you tight.

Namjoon is the first to speak, his voice low even in the silence of his bedroom. “Will you stay?”

You swallow back the hoarseness in your throat, using your foot to hook the duvet back up and over your lower halves, snuggling closer to him. “I’ll stay.”

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eutaerpe · 5 years ago

Text

the escapades (m)

pairing — jimin x reader

genre/warnings— smut (oral, fingering, orgasm denial) & college!au, fratboy!jimin, brief e2l, brief ewb, acr universe

summary — the one where there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension, until there isn’t.

notes — 8.3k words of the happiness before the storm i couldn’t write. i realised halfway through this there’s a slight plotwise change in comparison to what i wrote in acr so. yeah. sorry. kudos to you if you find it lol

The first time it happens, you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.

You’re sitting near the end of the table, crossing your legs and playing with the hem of your dress, your lips twisted into a frown. The real reason lying behind the simple decision of having a single, almost infinite table of guests doesn’t, in the slightest, cross your mind; why your idiotic brother would see this as a delightful idea really is above you, but you suppose the valuable genes in the family runs all in your DNA.

You’re playing with the table decorations while waiting for the guests to come, and it’s so fucking boring you regret telling Seulgi no, babe, what the fuck - you even shook your head and decided to sound extra mad at the idea - I won’t sneak in weed.

Too bad for you, she had answered, a cute pout on her lips, I’ll give you an hour before you’re bored out of your mind.

The truth hangs above your head, with a sheepish grin: you just needed ten minutes to be absolutely, drastically bored.

In hindsight, sneaking in weed wouldn’t have been the worst idea: your mother is talking to the in laws, gesticulating excitedly at the idea of kids right after marriage. What the fuck, you text Seulgi, at home trying to get out of bed, my brother has been married for an hour and there’s already baby talk going on at the table.

Seulgi

[12.49]

With the baby talk comes the dick talk

You

[12.49]

Oh no the dick talk

Seulgi

[12.50]

man how can you survive your relatives talking about nonexistent boyfriends without my weed, damn???

You

[12.50]

option a: I’ll tell them I’m dating you

Seulgi

[12.50]

we kissed ONE time

You

[12.50]

option b: I’ll tell them I’m in a relationship with Jeon jungkook

Seulgi

[12.50]

bitch we both know you’re not in a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. he has dimples and long hair and piercings. my sources can even confirm he has a big dick. what do U Have

You

[12.51]

i was talking about my vibrator but go off lmao

anyway I’ve had that D ;)

Seulgi

[12.51]

you’re officially cancelled

when did this happen? I can’t believe you’re telling me over text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.51]

last semester!!!!! why do you think I’ve named my vib after him!!!!!!

Seulgi

[12.52]

because you’re lusting after him like the rest of us mortals!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.52]

I’ve upgraded since then. I’ve leveled up. I’ve seen things People Can’t Even Imagine

Seulgi

[12.52]

just say he got u off and go

You

[12.52]

anyway option c: I scare them away by saying controversial things. Id est: I don’t believe in love. I am choosing my partner solely judging their abilities to finger me under a table when people are around. I am secretly lusting after my brother’s wife. I am trying to get impregnated like in The Sims 2 aka I am waiting for that alien dick.

Seulgi

[12.52]

hate to break it to you babe but that’s literally who you are

You

[12.52]

I literally compliment joohyun’s boobs once and this is the treatment I get

Seulgi

[12.52]

are we not gonna talk about your alien dick kink

You

[12.52]

no kink shaming in this house lady

option d: I listen to their complaints and run

Seulgi

[12.53]

option dick

man sorry I meant option d

You

[12.53]

you didn’t

Seulgi

[12.54]

ur right I didn’t

Option e, also known as I’ll entertain the other guests so I don’t have to talk to you, presents itself in the form of one very hot, very ripped young man sporting the most expensive shirt in the room. You’re only human when you admit to yourself, mental sigh, that he ticked all the let’s get y/n horny requirements in less than fifteen seconds.

You can’t believe Joohyun has kept him hidden for so long from you. Such betrayal ends when your brother, Kim fucking Seokjin, hugs him tight and brushes with utter affection the nape of his neck, gracing him with a warm smile and a heartfelt laugh.

You can’t believe Seokjin has kept him hidden for so long from you.

Well. Scratch that. You can.

Suddenly, the ticked requirements disappear and a giant neon sentence with a very cheap background music impose themselves in your head. WHAT A TURN OFF! they read, the neon red words mocking you; you steal a glance at your brother’s acquaintance one more time - one last time - before slipping your phone in your hands and dedicating yourself one more time at your Instagram feed, scrolling through the most recent pics.

(You stumble upon an extremely rare Jungkook selfie, and you hate to admit you spend the following thirty seconds admiring him before tapping twice on the quality content you’ve signed up for when you joined the social)

You suppose that, even though your brother’s friends with fuckboy tendencies are signed off your let’s get to know each other better ;) list, it doesn’t mean the same goes for them.

So, when the dark-haired young man with a jawline sharper than Seulgi’s retorts after her third beer sits next to you, you reckon you shouldn’t be that surprised.

He acts all casual, you notice while discreetly looking at him; he’s busy taking off his jacket and flexing his muscles, all of this while pretending not to notice you, and you find it immensely cute.

Ah, fuckboys.

“Fuck,” he rasps, lips twisted in a crooked smile, “I didn’t think it would be this hot today.”

“Yeah, sorry, the heat is on me.”

He chuckles in disbelief at your words, eyes turning into crescents.

“Right, there’s always the girl stealing the bride’s spotlight at weddings.”

“Oh! That’s me,” you nod enthusiastically, “That’s one hundred percent me.”

“Groom or bride?” He asks, pointing at the couple with his chin.

“What do you think?”

He looks at you funny, pressing his back on the seat, pondering in silence. Cute.

“Bride. One of Bae’s sorority sisters, maybe? You seem too young to be her age, though.”

“Damn,” you exhale, crossing your arms under your chest, “I can’t believe you got it all wrong. The expectations were low, but I’m still disappointed.”

He ducks his head, still smiling. “Then it’s the groom. How do you know Seokjin?”

Your eyes twinkle with excitement at your next words, but honestly, who can blame you? You’re having fun with this lost, cute chick.

“What’s your take, officer?”

He erupts into a laugh, and you drink in his handsome features; fuck you, Seokjin, for being friends with fuckboys only.

“Alright,” he punches the bridge of his nose, scanning the room, which is slowly filling with other guests. “I’m his friend, and I know all of his friends, which can only mean one thing: option a, you’re one of his ex-girlfriends; option b, you’re one of his secret hook-ups; option c, you’re an old friend from high school.”

“Oooh,” you beam, unrealistically intrigued, “You really suck at guessing, don’t you?”

He laughs, passing a hand through his dark locks, messing his perfectly styled hair. “Ok, fair. Which one was the closest, then?”

“Option d, of course.” You nod, relaxing your features into a sheepish grin, “I’m his much more beautiful and smarter sister.”

You exam his face, now twisting into some sort of what the fuck, such betrayal look, and you take in, for the last time – really the last, this time – his attractive, sculptured face, his full lips, the smoothness of his skin. It’s awful and unfair knowing you two won’t cross paths ever again in your lives, but at least you had some fun messing with him before things could worsen.

“I’ll be sitting in the middle of the table, with my family, if you want to avoid me.”

You wink at him for good measure, and you swear to god he blushes.

Half a wine bottle and two flutes of prosecco down, you realise you underestimated your resident fuckboy.

It happens when you’re grabbing your napkin and channelling your dreamy, happy looks towards the newlyweds, dancing in the middle of the room, their eyes gravitating only towards the love of their lives.

You sigh, pouting for the smallest of fractions, when you feel someone sitting at your side.

“You know,” Fuckboy begins, and you picture him licking his lips as he pauses, “Now I get why he never told us anything more than: I’m not an only child.”

“I know,” you exhale, turning to face him, “Seokwon is the real catch of our family. We’re really protective of him.”

“He’s married. With kids.”

“I was there when the twins opened their eyes, thank you.”

“We thought you were either a small kid or a forty years old woman.”

“Wait,” you tilt your head, “How did you know about us then? And who’s we?”

“We dug into his stuff and he caved in, admitting he had a brother and a sister.” Fuckboy looks at you, eyes dark but reflecting the dim lights of the function room, “Us. The frat guys.”

“Right, the fuckboys.”

He looks taken aback by your statement, bewildered, and you take advantage of his reaction to stand up and head away from him. It’s his words that stop you from doing so, though.

“You don’t know us—”

“—except I do know your pledges and your brothers.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “I prefer to steer away from my brother’s friends, though.”

“Right,” he says, tightening his lips in a hard line, almost hurt, “So, who am I to interfere with your judgmental thinking?” He clicks his tongue, then, a resolute exhale slipping past his lips, smothered by his own tingling despair.

The words hurt.

You don’t know what exactly pinched your senses hard, if the tone or the wallowing sadness swimming in his expression, but, as he stands up and leaves, you’re left facing the cold, hard truth.

The words hurt, you hurt, and you feel guilty.

You say nothing, glancing in the direction of the first alcoholic beverage around, and you fill yourself a glass.

Had it been someone else – had it been another sentence, another less sickening scenario, you would’ve felt proud, righteous. You’re, instead, on the other side of the feelings spectrum, all filled with crippling guilt and a nauseous, pervasive feeling you can’t quite name and pin down.

The guests are dancing around you, moving hand in hand to the rhythm of the pop love song now playing; the ballroom is packed when you let your impulsive side make a choice, eyes following the guy’s composed figure. You can drastically feel the sweat, and the heat the people are radiating, when you stand up and move towards him, the only smiling boy passing his glass from a hand to the other.

You’re close enough to tap his wrist and brush your fingers, which you do; it elicits a gasp from him, all soft, not scathing around the edges yet able to bite you, anyway. It’s the guilt, you remind yourself, looking for a sign of some sort of inclination to accept your apologies between the crease of his brows and tight jaw, and everywhere in between.

It’s sickening—this boy didn’t exist four fucking hours ago. It didn’t even cross your wildest dreams, someone like him. His shape – his silhouette – has left a print in your mind, and no matter how hard you try focusing on something else, someone else, your mind keeps going back to the shape itself.

But you’re a coward, so, while he lets you intertwine your fingers, you admit, voice loud: “I wanna dance.”

He handles you properly, kindly, before pushing you in the crowd and brushing your hips with his hands, all rings and jewellery adorning them.

He blinks twice, biting the insides of his mouth, but he manages,

“Who says I wanna dance?”

Which is a bit stupid, or hypocritic if you might, because he’s swaying you to the rhythm of a ballad the pop love song turned into. You break into the smallest of smiles.

“I want to apologize.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know you,” he says, funnily enough, “But that seems almost unlikely, coming from you.”

“Yeah, you got me there, officer. I was, uhm,” you stare blatantly at his neck, and you suppress the desire to stroke your fingers’ pads on his soft skin, “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t know you. I do know your frat brothers, my own brother, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”

He hums, moving for a small fraction of instants his thumbs on your hips and it’s enough for your breath to catch into your own throat. He nods, which could mean anything, from I accept your apology to go fuck yourself, this is bullshit. You prefer the former option, if you’re being honest, which is the answer you settle for in your head, hazed and absolutely hazed and madly hazed because of his small physical contact.

To put this into the simplest terms, Seulgi’s words, you don’t like this.

“I like dancing,” his eyes tower you and gaze at the other people dancing; you wonder if he’s thinking about them, who they are to you, what role they played in Seokjin’s life, if they’ll show up to your wedding, too. These thoughts popped into your mind unannounced, before, at the table, before the not-really-fuckboy sat next to you and made you feel guilty. Such absurdity; yet here you are, in his arms. Oh god, what would Seulgi think of you if she saw you?

“Good to know, I’m awful at shoulder-hips coordination.”

“Shoulder-hips coordination?” he inquiries, lips parted.

“Uh, body rolls?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I see, you mean classy grinding.”

“I don’t do classy grinding, sorry,” you retort, head tilted to a side.

His smile his amused. “Too bad, shoulder-hips coordination is a nice trait to exhibit sometimes.”

“I prefer hips coordination. Well, hips rotation.”

“Hips rotation?”

“Riding? Is the term somehow unfamiliar to you?”

He flushes, biting back a grin and fixing his gaze somewhere in the crowd. How cute.

“Not at all, it’s nice to meet a hips rotation enthusiast here, though.”

“Statistics say at least a member in each family is a riding enthusiast, did you know?”

“Shit, talk dirty to me,” he licks his lips, pointing at Jin with his chin, “Didn’t peg him for a rider, though. Not at all.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not a STEM major, are you? You’re lacking basic intuition, my friend.”

“Is this your attempt of discovering my major?” – he eyes you, a flick of amusement burning in his orbs – “You’re not very smooth, you know?”

“I have my moments.”

He snorts, placing both hands on the small of your back. You’re at height level with the base of his neck, and it’s fun how your mind betrays you in such moments, providing mental images of your nose brushing against his skin, and you nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Such taunting, invasive pictures. Fuck off, you reprimand your own mind, fuck off.

“I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you taste the name on your tongue, hitting the back of your front teeth. “Jin never talked about you. I’m Y/N.”

“Jin never talked about you either.”

“Of course he never did, I’m prettier than he is.”

His little dimples make an appearance. “You know, you could really steal the bride’s spotlight.”

“That was my ultimate goal all along, even though I prefer the dark side.”

“I,” he licks his lips, and you don’t know why you’re following the gesture, “I meant to say you’re beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyebrows raising, “Are you a charmer?”

“I mean,” he begins, sheepish smile on display, “I never kiss and tell.”

“Touching.” He smirks. “How sweet of you.”

“You know what else is sweet?”

“Please,” you beg, meeting his eyes, “Don’t say my pussy.”

“Please,” he repeats, same mocking tone, “The possibilities are endless. Your mouth,” he scoots closer, words whispered on the shell of your ear, “Your mouth around my dick,” he almost nibbles your ear, “Your mouth screaming my name.”

“My pussy,” you add, trying not to lose your mind.

“I would never call sweet something I’ve not tasted.”

He raises a brow.

“Are you offering? You’re not very smooth, you know?”

He ignores the last question, tightening his grip. “In the middle of your brother’s wedding? Seokjin’s wedding? I’m not a dick, even though you sitting on my face would be a sight to see.”

“Right?” your voice doesn’t falter for a second, “That’s what I always say”

“Nice to see how we’ve got much in common. But I was thinking of something else, actually—” His face is once again inches away from yours, ear to mouth, hot breath fanning over you bare neck. “I wanna finger you.”

Oh.

“Under the table. Right behind you. Wanna make you whimper.”

It’s almost like being tongue-tied, fumbling for words, body flushing, but you gather somewhere the strength to form an actual sentence, which makes him smirk devilishly.

“I can be very quiet.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Bet you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“When I win,” you say, lying your words on an unrealistically high vote of confidence, even for yourself, “What do I get?”

He licks his lips, slow, savouring the moment. “You get to ride my face.”

“Not your dick?”

“I’m not a fuckboy, baby.”

A comeback of some kind is already on your tongue, but – there’s a kiss somewhere in the following seconds, all wet and tingling and perhaps filled with too many lip bites, but he can’t really blame you when you’ve been brushing your thighs together for the past minute, heat pooling down your belly. It’s enough for you to silently pledge for more, and for him to tease, because he takes a step back, smirk in place and lips reddened, and guides you towards his seat at the end of the table with a hand on the small of your back.

Downhill begins as soon as you sit down, legs barely parted, a minimum space not fitting for his plans, apparently, because the crease between Jimin’s eyebrows grows when he nudges them apart with his hand, the cold metal of his rings cooling down your flushed state. You want to gasp at the sudden intrusion, but the sound is swallowed entirely by his hot mouth on yours, distracting once again, incredibly soft and alluring. This kiss is slow, this time, like he’s taking his time tasting you and learning about the hums he draws out of you, the shyness of your previously biting tongue, and how fast you get lost in the kiss itself. You press a chaste kiss on his mouth, before creaking a space between you.

“I’m starting to think you’re all bark and no bite”

He doesn’t answer, but stares into your eyes with his hooded gaze, and he manages to sneak a hand furtively under your dress not breaking the contact. His skin is warm, but you’re warmer, and his destination is even hotter. He cocks his head, fingers brushing against the soaked, sticking material you used to call panties up until fifteen minutes ago, and he must notice—his eyes grow wider, his jaw tightens and his hand gains courage.

Fuck. This should be embarrassing, getting worked up over dirty innuendos and a kiss or two, but you’re instead feeling flushed and more. More sensitive. More open to the idea of him ruining you, even though that’s not what he’s offering. Or— is he?

The question lies unanswered when his digits rub with a sparkled intensity over both your clothed sex and your inner thighs. It’s a continuous, mellifluous melody, his fingers dancing between the two until he settles on your panties only, and that’s when you almost let out a soft moan; you don’t, he raises his brow, challenging, but you don’t, and instead glance around to notice if someone has his eyes on the both of you, sitting in the furthest region of the fucking smart, endless table.

He raises the stake, flushed: Jimin pushes your panties on one side, petting with his index your exposed self, and you suck in a breath. He continues to do so, face still, closing the distance between you two.

You don’t question the sudden kiss, instead you angle your face and close your eyes and let him press his lips on you. This feels like being drunk, or high, stretching underneath a sky dripping with stars. You cup his face with your hands, his lips so terribly soft and inviting, the smallest of smiles meeting your own chapped and curved upwards lips.

It’s when you’re merely inches away from him that he thumbs at your clit, sensitive and tingling, circling with utmost peace and no speed whatsoever. You pout at little, you realize, which makes him melt either cause of your cute frown -oh, how the tables have turned- or simply because he’s the devil himself, pressing a finger against your entrance and delving it into your heat.

“Cute,” he purrs, kissing you, “Is this okay?”

The crude, hot, nerve-wracking fingering has begun, which makes you, quickly enough, putty in his hands and ablaze with ardour for this man whose rasping voice could kill you.

“Yeah,” you breathe on his mouth, eyelids drooping closed, “Yeah, all good.”

You hum to yourself as he starts pressing kisses on your jaw and your neck, a trail of treacherous flames lighting up your skin, and you have the audacity to sigh under his ministrations, a tiny, strained sound not quite a mewl.

If he hears, he doesn’t show it. You’re biting your own lip when he enters a second finger, filling your searing emptiness.

“Want three?” he asks, voice husky and as desperate as you are under his touch. He adds it when you nod, the squelch louder than before, and you moan, rocking your hips against his fingers.

“Shh, baby,” he coos, placing his other hand on your hips, slowing your movements, “Be a good girl.”

He fucks you deep, fast, fingers clashing against the silky dress you’re wearing and sweat sparkling on his forehead. He swallows another moans of yours, sucking your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You’re close. You’re so close, and it’s only been a couple minutes. You can’t hear anything that isn’t your wet pussy clenching around his fingers, his rhythm ruthless and burning.

“Too bad you’re not coming on my fingers, today,” he says before kissing your neck and emptying your dripping pussy, then proceeding to taste and lick his own fingers in his mouth. He lets them out with a small pop, and it’s the most terrifying sight you’ve ever had in front of your almost watering eyes. “I’m sorry I won the bet, though, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

That’s the high and dry story of how you first met Jimin.

The second time it happens, it’s under completely different circumstances, and, substantially, against your every predictions, it really happens. It takes place, like a once in a lifetime event: there’s an orgasm involved, not due to the very charming and never disappointing Jeon jungkook the robotic version, and instead it involves a rather attractive asshole with a persistent smirk plastered on his face.

Except it’s a lot more complicated than what it sounds, and most of it is Seulgi’s fault.

Your roommate had pouted all evening, because that’s what semi adults do when they’re denied a companion for the night.

“I just wanna get wasted. It’s been one hell of a month, and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”

“I can suggest you a vibrator and a bottle of vodka. Do you settle for that, your honor?”

“The more you talk like this,” all self-absorbed and assertive and cautiously, like when talking to a kid, she begins, hands in her long, mahogany hair, “the more I just wanna push you up against the wall.”

“Sounds to me you just wanna get laid.”

“Maybe I do,” she huffs, hands on her hips, the light of your abat-jour highlighting her golden skin. “Maybe I don’t. What I know is that I wanna get wasted. Come with me, pretty please?”

“Look,” you raise your eyes from the book you’ve been holding, stretching a leg onto the unmade bed of yours, “I just wanna get this fucking paper done. I need,” you grip the phone on the bed table, checking for the white, large numbers on your lock screen, “an hour. An hour and half to edit it and I’m all yours.”

“This paper is due on Thursday, though.”

“Yeah, but I have a reputation to uphold in the family. Have to be the most beautiful and successful.”

“You’re full of shit,” are her last words, muttered with a smile as she grabs her jacket.

“Hey,” you call, stretching your neck towards her, “I don’t care if it’s two am and you’re already wasted. Call me and I’ll come to you with a whole bottle of vodka to make it up to you. Hell, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.”

“I don’t wanna make out with you, you freak.”

“You didn’t say that last time, baby!”

Seulgi

[2.13]

wassup bitch

make out with meeeeeeeeeeeeee

[location shared]

com n get me littl nuggrt

Not Sober Seulgi is probably the worst Seulgi you have ever dealt with. You let out a sigh, eyeing the frat dorm all lit up and vibrating to the trashy trap music the insiders are jamming to.

Of course, when it comes to Not Sober Seulgi, there’s boys involved. Frat boys involved. At first, you don’t pay attention to the details, the signs, surrounding you like blinding traffic lights signalling stop stop stop, all red and striking. The thought doesn’t cross your mind, the dots connecting in some hidden part of your brain not making your insides short circuit—instead you’re knocking on the door, then banging on the very wooden entrance until a face shows up; the dorm is dimly lit, and the face is partially lightened by a soft, hued red and, that, too, Future You pinpoints, should have been a sign.

It’s useless, anyway, because you hear the insider talk and you’re burning instantly, like after touching a steaming, hot cup of coffee, except that bitter coffee is still good coffee. Smug Jimin plus bitter you isn’t really sweet, nor a match made in heaven. It’s chaotic, a caustic explosion, and you both know it, judging from the sharp smile he offers you, after blinking lazily at your figure.

“This is a mixer party only,” his soothing voice welcomes you, “Do you have an invite?”

You press your tongue on your teeth, mouth carefully closed.

“Yeah, from Hell, I’ve come to take a fallen angel.”

“Sorry to break it to you, oh-kind-lady, but we didn’t give any invite to poor, damned souls.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about your policies, then,” you move towards the small space between the door and Jimin’s body, but he interferes, placing himself right between the two. “Look, I don’t give a single fuck about this party.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “My friend is here. She’s most certainly not sober and I’ve come to pick her up. That’s it. Do you think I want to be here, among these drunk, perverted jocks?”

He turns around, stretching his neck, his eyes darting through the crowd, inhibited by alcohol, smelling like cheap beer and weed. The moment his eyes bore into yours, though, it’s terrifying; it’s a rustled reminder of Seokjin’s wedding Jimin, and you don’t like it. You loathe it. You dread it.

“Maybe only some of us.”

He tips his head, lips curving into a timid, small smile, and you tear your gaze from his lips in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, keep dreaming of it. I just want my friend back.” You point your chin towards the amalgam of drunk party animals, “I’ll leave you to your immensely interesting activities, then.”

“What if,” he begins, “You don’t. Or—even better scenario, you leave with me.”

“Best case scenario, I leave with my friend. You stay here.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario, then?”

You cock a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest. “I leave with my friend, you stay here. Sometime before me leaving, you’re punched. Or kicked. I don’t know. There’s a high chance I’ll throw a drink on you.”

“That implies you’ll be here long enough to grab a drink, doesn’t it? And you don’t have to ruin my shirt to get me naked, babe. Just ask nicely.”

You huff, and you’re mildly tempted to shove him against a wall. Or ruin him. Not in the funny way. More like the high and dry way, the one he knows so well. “I changed my mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Ask nicely?” His teasing tone makes your cheeks flush, and you hope the shitplace with subdued lightening can cover it. His expression shifts into an arrogant one, full smirk and little dimples out, so your cute guess is that he can see. He sees his effect on you, albeit completely unwanted and full of hatred from your side, and he enjoys it. Actually lulls in it, letting out a small laugh which, in turn, makes his eyes turn into crescents, all warm and cute—all things he’s not. All things you know he’s not.

“Ask nicely,” you repeat, rolling the words on your tongue, “Okay, babe. Let’s do this, babe. What do you want from me, babe?”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the answer is you?”

“Yes, actually,” you sigh, fingers brushing his neck, face comically close to his perfect, chiselled one, “That’s exactly what I thought when you stopped fingering me.”

“Right,” Jimin has the audacity to smile, craning his neck as if to close the distance between you in order to meet you for a kiss, “I’m a man of word, thought. You should be impressed.”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s impressed is your face under the orgasm denial definition. Google it, babe, I guarantee you the meaning comes with your name and a brilliant review of one star.”

“Unlike you.” He licks his lips, eyes on your pretty pink ones, smeared with venom, “You’re not coming.” He explains, to further ignite your rage.

“And whose fault is that, babe?”

Jimin nuzzles into your neck, cupping your other cheek with his rough palm, and his thumb stills on your throat, right where your breath is stuck. He adds pressure on it, lips fondling your burning skin, his usual smirk plastered on them.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re not fucking me,” you spit back, mouth now millimetres away from his, gently inviting you to kiss it, and cherish it, and biting it until you’re satisfied with the hot result.

“I’ll eat you out? Until you come.” He hums. “You’ll come.”

His voice is a mere strangled sound, wanting and dripping with need, and you snap out of it with a small smile.

“Nice offer,” your smile is wicked as you scrape his nape with a feathery touch, the slow movement rousing a flutter in your lower belly. “But get in line, babe.”

His shell-shocked face is the last thing you see before you fulfil the let’s rescue Seulgi! party.

(“Why do you smell like softener?” Seulgi sniffs you, arms looped loosely around your neck, eyes completely shut down. It’s a nice sight, all things considered. You’re no angel, no saint, no perfect person, but you’re a nice friend, and that’s probably the most Seokjin trait you recognize in yourself. It’s your shared apartment, and it’s past 3 am and you’re the one good friend who keeps her promises. “It’s strawberry vodka, you heathen.”)

The line turns out to be a real line, queue line, let’s get this coffee line, which, well. How can one word it, how can one phrase it fully catching the irony of it all, the distinctive je ne sais quoi of life without—

“Nice to see you here.”

It’s the perfect set for a rom-com, you notice, taking in the warm scenery around you. What else can one dream of, right? The campus coffee shop, the campus hot not-really-but-also-kinda fuckboy Jimin, partial jock to give him credit, full time attractive idiot with a tendency for orgasm denial. Really.

“What are the chances?” You exhale, voice devoid of emotions. For the sake of your parents’ integrity, you suppose, because they raised no impolite woman, of course, you turn around to face the angel-like human being, black hair partially covering his forehead, little dimples on full display. That’s—that is lack of integrity, or indecency or au-fucking-dacity. It might as well be a mix of the above-mentioned possibilities, all fitting and nurturing you because he’s gorgeous. He’s handsome. Jimin’s the most attractive human being you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s not fair.

(Beside the fact that you’ve lived with Kim Seokjin, for fuck’s sake)

He pokes his own cheek, and you bask into the otherworldly scenario that takes place right in front of your caffeine deprived eyes. It’s a sight for sore, soft eyes, and it’s the end of the world as you know it, because it’s morning, too early to properly function like a normal human being, but there he is. There he is, Jimin, channelling his inner boyfriend material aura, oozing off boyfriend smell, nice, fresh, aftershave smell, rocking a stupid sweater and the messiest black mop of hair.

It’s honestly a tragedy, and you won’t stand for it. You will make a move—

“You’re squinting your eyes, like, real tight. Are you alright?”

Just ogling you, your drowsy mind offers, the fucking cheater.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing a lump in your dry throat, “Just need coffee. A latte. Anything.”

You move forward in the queue, and as you blink you realize it’s your turn, until it’s not anymore. Jimin carefully and gently moves you out of the way, brushing with the softest touch your side.

“A latte and an iced americano, please.”

The sweetened order for two turns into a hushed thank you, a tipped smile, a flutter of you heart. It’s drinks still half full, his curious gaze darting on your lips, your defences down. It’s unfair, because in a hot second all this pent-up tension shifts into a light, chaste kiss, your back pressed against the coffee shop’s restroom; your chest heaves under his tantalizing make-out session with your neck, followed by his frantic lips pressing on yours, his tongue licking lazily into your mouth, a gasp easing its way out of your warm and eager mouth. It’s a hot-blooded supercut, each frame announced by a starving moan, a content sigh, and, before you realise it, you’re on your bed, Jimin hovering on top of you.

It’s Saturday morning, you hum to yourself, fingers sliding into his hair, all’s in check. There’s a warm body slumped on yours, his tongue swerving on your lower lip and his hips shyly bucking between your open legs. Your panties are drenched, you can feel his hard on through the jeans and, really, all’s in check.

He nudges your nose with his. “Lemme eat you out.”

The answer lies sitting on the tip of your tongue, right next to an obnoxious remark that you hope will rile him up enough for him to rip your underwear, which you definitely won’t complain about. However, the words don’t come out, they slur in your craving mouth the second he gets up and shoves you toward the end of your unmade bed, spreading your naked legs open with his calloused palms.

“Nice skirt,” he comments, voice a rasp, eyeing the drenched, lilac underwear, skirt at this point gone up to cover your stomach. “I just want…”

He shuffles closer, enough for you to feel his hot breath on your core, and that’s when Jimin pulls the panties on a side, teasing you with little licks to your entrance. You’re responsive, too eager for anything to quench your thirst that you sigh happily at the barest of actions, gripping strands of his hair. Jimin chuckles, engulfing the throbbing clit in his mouth in one go and drawing desperate moans out of your cute, devilish mouth.

“Fuckboy move,” you emit, voice cracking at the pressure of his warm mouth, “Oh, oh. Fuck…”

He replies flattening his tongue on your core, then licking and lapping against your dripping folds. Jimin positively glows at the cries you let out, face slobbering with your arousal while driving you insane, fucking with his tongue like his life depended on it. It’s almost a spiritual experience, a crescendo of wails and sobs, his face drown in your pussy and his tongue paying reverence to your approaching orgasm. He can feel it in the way you writhe, in his hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you still while he eats you religiously, forehead beaded with sweat.

You come with a trembling hand in his hair, the other flicking your bare nipple, back slightly arched and a lewd mewl; Jimin takes in the way your body trembles, your breath all staggered because of him, and the sight alone is enough for him to cum in his pants with a grunt, completely untouched.

The second time it happens is, coincidentally, the first time Jimin knows there’s no turning back from this.

Complicated is a big word when it comes to relationship, you reckon, emitting something akin to a gasp, truly soap operas worthy material, but, for the first time in your life, you decide to name it this way.

Being with Jimin is… complicated, for starters. Especially because you’re not with Jimin, in the strict, relationship-wise meaning. He knows your favourite colour (“Why the fuck you only own purple underwear?” “It’s lilac, dick, watch your mouth.” “Watch your own mouth, babe. You’re the one on your knees.”), your favourite food (“But you like having your mouth stuffed with my cock, honey.” You sigh, blushing. “First of all, I’m talking about real food. That amazing steak kind of food—“

“I’ll show you real meat, babe.”

“Gross. Gross. How can I cancel the last five seconds of my life?”

“Come here, Jared, nineteen,” he half smiles, tilting his head, “I’ll get us fries.”), your favourite movie (“We can’t get each other off every time your ugly paper cap fits—oh,” you suck in a breath, Jimin flicking his tongue on your turgid nipple, “oh, god, don’t stop.”), your best friend’s name (“I condone you dicking her so good she sometimes cries, you know, I just don’t when I’m in the room next to hers and all I can hear is my best friend trying to formulate a single coherent word but failing because you’re pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.” Jimin chuckles, grabbing his jacket before holding the doorknob. “She begged, Seulgi.”)—so what? It’s not like you sat down and decided not to ask each other dumb questions, so that you could find out in the funny, kinky way. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even decide on anything, didn’t even talk about talking, because the relationship related shit didn’t even cross your mind.

It’s even quite fucking hard for it to cross it, because half the time you’re together you’re either both naked – except for the time he pleaded for the tartan mini to stay – or stuffing your mouth with food—because, if there’s something you’ve learned after one too many hook-ups with him is that this kind of sex requires strength. Like, actual, physical strength, if we’re not talking about the this test is draining me please fuck me until I can’t walk sex. Which, yeah, 10/10 would recommend. That was the day Seulgi decided to invest in ear plugs while muttering capitalism, here I come.

You also came.

Funnily enough, guess who also came. Not in the funny, kinky way. Think about the grossest thing, imagine the beyond the bounds of possibility, sprinkle it with Jimin earnestly shoving his dick down your throat, stir it with a poor Taehyung brushing his teeth next to the both of you, a step away from the shower, and serve it on the most expensive plate in the kitchen, a recipe not approved by Kim Seokjin.

Yeah, you mentally roll your eyes, licking your lips clean, at eye-level with your sorta enemy with benefits’ pretty dick: the married brother of yours, former fratboy, taller than your current will to live.

In hindsight, maybe it is Seokjin’s fault. Once you’re married, you’re supposed to be committed to the cause, and sometimes, an angry little crumb in you finds the audacity to speak, the cause is made up of your four walls: ergo home, ergo your married life, miles away from the absurdity that once filled his university days. You’re being hypocritical, you realize, skin wet, body trembling. In the simplest, most hedonistic terms, you’re done with the chaos in this fraternity and just wished that hooking up was easier. It’s more than a stolen orgasm, a random spur of pleasure and free de-stresser; it’s also something not quite like art but just as peculiar. Sex with Jimin is more than nice, more than a fast rummage of clothes on the floor and panties teared, or condoms stuffed in every single pocket of his jacket.

It should also be noticed that it’s been one hell of a stressful week, okay, which means that it’s one of those times you seek for naked intimacy, in its least literal meaning. You’re looking for something sure, something silent, something earnest. Jimin gives you that in the simplest of forms, in the easiest of ways. It’s not fair for your brother to come unannounced and burst into the house with his adorable laugh and love for his own brothers. Way to ruin the moment, bro.

Jimin blinks attentively when Taehyung laughs, clapping his hands all happy and following the elder’s voice outside the bathroom.

“I’m getting you my clothes.”

“Wait, what?”

His lips part just enough for his tongue to wet them, and your eyes follow in silence the gesture.

“I mean,” he starts, grabbing a towel, “You either come out with me from this bathroom or you don’t.”

He’s concise, yet harsh, words uttered with those soft lips yet are just as hot as a slap in your face. He’s telling the truth, but you soon find out you don’t really like it.

There’s something abrupt and severe in those chosen words, so well picked out because they’re not meant to hurt, but at the same time they’re so worrying. So terrible, practically as hard as a punch in your guts.

You either come out of the bathroom with him — you had been blowing minutes before, hadn’t you? Quite the intimacy, huh? — or you don’t. You stay behind. Different rooms, a whole door to separate you while he’s out with the people he cares about.

Seems legit, but. It’s unfair. You know Jimin isn’t choosing for you, but it’s obvious he’s inclined towards an option between the two, and you’re terrified to discover whether it’s his own desire pushing or what he thinks you want.

You, instead, push the thought aside when you nod, taking the towel from his hands and covering your body from this terrific half hook-up.

Because that’s what it is—that’s what you are.

It dawns upon you like a cold breeze hitting your face in full December, suddenly, and that’s when you realize winter is near. In your mind, this hooking up scenario seemed nicer. Sounded softer, a cute bubble moving slowly in the air.

But now—well, now the bubble has burst, and it feels wrong, and this unexpected wrong doesn’t feel right in your chest, and that’s the story of how you leave the house escaping from his window, in his clothes, with vision blurred by hot, stupid, idiotic tears.

Seulgi is the first one to notice, and, obviously, the first one to speak.

“Something’s been bothering you,” she says, head tilted in a way that’s supposed to be emphatic and worried but comes off as stiff and terrified. “Care to share?”

It’s just a wholesome amount of terrifying stuff, isn’t it? First the shower incident, now Seulgi’s ways not working around you anymore. What’s next? Avoiding Jimin for a whole week? Blocking his number? Losing the smart and beautiful title to your obnoxious brother?

You wouldn’t be surprised, really. Shit like this always happens at the same fucking time.

“It’s nothing. A stressful couple days, maybe? Or maybe I’m getting sick. There’s a guy always coughing during Physics. Maybe it’s his fault, who knows.”

Seulgi unlocks her phone, an unreadable gaze studying you. She gives up a second later, though, her weak maybe reaching your ears when you’ve already looked down on your book.

One simply cannot be annoyed because of a half hook up. Christ. You deserve better than that. You have some dignity left, tainted by everything that’s not Jimin and his harsh, stupid words.

So, your mind offers, while you squint your eyes, I suppose there’s nothing else you could do about it.

Nothing else besides acknowledging it and moving on.

Sounds like a plan. A fireproof plan, an escape plan, something detailed and precise. Planned to work out smoothly; planned to be executed without pain or mistakes.

It’s seven sharp when he knocks, takeout in his left hand, eyes bulging because it’s fucking freezing outside.

“It’s fucking freezing, what the fuck.” He says out loud, indeed. What he receives as an answer is the sound of your tongue clicking, the biggest amount of interest you’ve shown towards him the whole week. He would finally exhale, weren’t it for the fact that this is still pretty traumatic, because if there’s something he’s learned while orbiting around you, is that you’re constantly awake and aware of your surroundings. Your body language says that you pay attention to him, or Seulgi, or whoever you’re talking to. You follow the guy with your eyes, and you listen and nod in all the right places during a conversation, and you search for his dark gaze when he’s fucking you in the dimly lit bedroom, the bed creaking under your sweaty sex making. He’s not admitting it, he never will, and he’ll pretty much deny this to everyone who will ask but: there’s something hot about it. Something burning with the way your body reacts to him, when your eyes follow his actions, while your voice falters when he fucks you right, and it somehow pushes him to the edge every time. It’s the equivalent of Jungkook getting a boner in the gym while catching girls and boys drooling at him, except he’s talking about you and your crazy moans, your magic aura.

And yes, okay, fucking blame him, the realization alone made him jerk off in his room like a teen, twice, yesterday. That’s a fact. That’s barely a fact, alright? This is a truth; a statement soon forgot by the knowers. Obviously.

You look spent, he thinks, if he had to choose a word, dared by some arrogant deity to define the current mess you were. He glances at your barely done ponytail, at the tiredness written all over your face. He takes in your baggy sweater, your quiet beauty, knowing this is gonna be one of those nights you take a step back.

He doesn’t say anything though, instead he brushes the hair on your forehead, not even making contact with your skin.

You grab the bag from his hands, shivering instantly and hoping he doesn’t read the signs. They’re—they’re there, you know, you’re collecting them slowly, one after another, grabbing one and looking cautiously for the following one, hoping it’s not there. Hoping it doesn’t exist.

You exhale a sigh, disguising it as cough, a noise, something distracting Jimin from his silent staring, which is, funnily enough, loud and cacophonic.

“Hungry,” you state, the single word weighting more because of the soft pout on your lips. Jimin hates that he knows what it means, that it’s gonna be just the two of you this time, no chill whatsoever, no bodies touching and melting against each-other. He’s not complaining, what the fuck, he’s not an idiot. He’s not even mad, he’s just—accepting, on a level. This is the point of no return, he guesses, following you on the couch and admiring the laptop’s screen reflected on your face.

He doesn’t say anything when you search for Brooklyn 99 on Netflix, because he’d say everything, otherwise. He’d mumble something along the lines of this feels real, we could do this all the time, or, worst of all: I like this. I like you.

So, in order: he tugs at your sleeves and scoots you closer to him, and you say absolutely nothing at the gesture. He’s ecstatic on the inside, partially terrified, mostly delusional. He pretends he’s something more when you lean on him, the slightest pressure of your head on his shoulder. He cares zero fucks about the show when he’s breathing your scent in and feels how warm you are and shuts his eyelids down when he pictures you adoring him. Liking him. Liking him a whole lot more—

He’s fucked, he realises, hours later, when you doze off and he has to carry you to bed, something you claim of loathing, which—what on earth. It’s an unfathomable absurdity, that’s what it is.

“You can stay.”

His voice falters. “What?”

You cough, eyes closed as you speak sinful words: “The night, I mean. It’s fucking freezing outside.”

His lips form a small o, and it’s hot all of a sudden. “Alright,” he manages, staring at you on your bed, hands fidgety and heartbeat accelerated for some reason, “Make space for me. Hey, fucker. I’m serious. Let me in.”

You do.

(to be continued. ily)

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