#except it is all on December 31 and then nothing else

[transmascfemfreak]

Hello! I need medication for life to prevent my lungs from collapsing, this implies permanent treatment with steroids, oxygen therapy, control of oxygen in the blood and antibiotics to prevent the development of bacteria in the lungs.

I'm afraid I have to insist on this because it may be the only way to get my treatment.

I need medication for life to keep my lungs from collapsing, this costs around $700 per month.

Things are really tough on me,I can’t afford. Please donate🖤

hi! I think it's pretty shitty to come into a disabled person's inbox with a very likely fake fundraiser.

1) your account has only existed since December 31

2) the header image has been used in various other similar fundraiser scams

3) you don't have a name in your bio and your bio is very oddly worded - and is also phrased the same as the top result, who is definitely a scam / bot of some sort, especially since the account went from "fundraiser for my cystic fibrosis medine" to "my sister is dying and needs cystic fibrosis medicine" as well as very oddly worded tweets

anyways. do your research followers. i know we all want to help people on here, but some people like to take advantage of that.

-sincerely, a genuinely disabled person who's tired of scams

[elvisabutler]

need a hand

summary: lazy mornings are few and far between with you and your boyfriend and they're supposed to be about the two of you. this particular one has been interrupted enough by his work that you take matters into your own hands- by using his. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m. pairing: austin butler x plus sized female reader word count: 1266 warnings: somewhat public sex ( someone is on the other end of a phone call ). fingering. implied/fade to black p in v sex. waxing poetic about austin's hands. author's note: this is the double dip for day thirty one: hand kink with austin butler. so after i had decided to go the professor route with day 31 i got an ask from an anon asking for hand kink for kinktober, now it was after i had already started, about midway through october but i was like you know what anon, you've given me a prompt and shit why not. hope you're still around anon and you like this. as for everyone else, hope you enjoy too and lord have mercy, i really only have one more double dip and we're done with kinktober. in december. gold star all of us. also saints preserve me if there's any typos. pretty sure i caught them all but who even knows.

The thing you first noticed about Austin, beyond his blue eyes that you could drown in and his height and how he looked like every lanky tall boy you had ever fallen for in your life, was his hands. It makes sense that he has large hands because he's a rather large person, a rather tall person. So you should be used to it by now except you're not- you're pretty sure you're never going to get over how his hand actually spans a good portion of your entire ass cheek and each hand can hold a breast with an ease that not many men- or women- in your life had managed. You're pretty sure you're never going to get over how his hand could grab under your chin and force you to look up at him even when you're being bashful under his compliments of how you look like a goddess in your jumpsuit or in your dress or on one particularly memorable occasion, your pjs-a shirt that was far too oversized for him but he wore anyway just to get you to be able to say that you stole his shirt for your pjs.

The point is Austin's hands are a thing you mildly fixate on sometimes and in particular when he has rings on his fingers it makes it worse. You don't act instead choosing to spend your time saving the world one case at a time- or so you tell yourself- practicing law. It takes your mind off of the long stretches of time you don't have your boyfriend with you and- well you like to think even with him as your boyfriend and perhaps your future husband no one will mind when you go into politics with him by your side. Changing the world can only happen so much when you're on the outside, sometimes you have to get in the midst of things. He's finally home for a fair chunk of time despite him gearing up to fully hit the award season press junket. Bikeriders has wrapped and you for once have an entirely free weekend. He still has to do a virtual interview or two but it's fine.

At least you thought it was until one interview dragged into another and suddenly Austin is answering the phone yet again and you find yourself watching him. It's supposed to be a lazy morning so you're wearing the oversized shirt and nothing on underneath it as far as underwear goes. You watch as his hands gesticulate with the occasional glint of a ring you gave him on his left ring finger. God, his hands shouldn't do as much for you as they do and yet you find your legs falling open just a smidge as he continues to talk. Lazy mornings are meant for you and him to reconnect both emotionally and physically. Emotionally you were fine but physically in this moment you found that you were lacking, you could just start to touch yourself with your own hand but that felt so silly considering you were right next to your boyfriend who conveniently has one of his hands near your thigh. Your eyes focus on his face as you subtly grab his hand and move it up your thigh until you can feel his fingers start to press ever so gently against your cunt. He stutters for a moment before looking at you and down at his hand in confusion.

"Keep going." You mouth before you fully have his fingers inside of you. A sigh leaves your mouth at the sensation and you can see Austin biting his lip as he listens to whatever question the interviewer hsas on the other end of the line. You're wetter than you have any right to be with no real preparation but you'd like to blame that on being as attracted as you are to Austin that even the simple act of being near him like you are today that has you aroused. It's hard to figure out how to move Austin's hand in the way you would normally want it to be moving when he's doing it but you make it work. He gets the clue that you need some help and looks questioningly at you as if to ask if he can move his fingers only to have you nod.

His fingers curl and shift, brushing against your g-spot as you feel his thumb press against your clit, forcing a hiss out of you. He continues to talk to the interviewer as if nothing is happening though you can see his cock pressing against his boxers, a small wet spot forming on the fabric the longer the interview goes on and the longer his hand moves within you. Normally when Austin fingers you it's a bit of a quick affair, a means to an ends as far as foreplay goes but this- no this is you and him trying to get you off while he's preoccupied. You bite your lips trying to swallow your groans and moans as your toes curl. Austin's eyes narrow just a hair at one particularly loud noise that escapes your lips that has him apologizing to the person on the other end.

"Quiet." He mouths before his fingers continue their onslaught in your cunt. He puts the phone against his shoulder and leans his head onto it to keep it in place before he has the genius thought to put his fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet. It has the opposite effect though, as you groan around his fingers, your tongue swirling around the digits in a way that's reminiscent of how you suck his cock. You swear you hear the interviewer- or maybe it's Austin- apologize but your heartbeat is too busy rushing through your ears for you to register it fully. Instead, your body focuses on the feel of his calloused fingers against your clit, as he had abandoned just using his thumb to do it. The rubbing motion would be enough- feels like it's going to be enough before he practically yanks his fingers out of your mouth and grabs one of your breasts and just pinches the nipple at the same time as he rubs just so against your clit. Your teeth dig into your lower lip so hard you swear it's about to bleed with the force as you cum, your orgasm cascading over you as you shiver just a bit from the sheer force of it. At some point your eyes had shut and you open them to see Austin's chest rising and falling quicker than it had been. You see his cock peeking out from his boxers just a hair and you see his hands holding the phone.

"I hope to talk to you again soon as well! Call me later if you had any follow ups, I know that isn't protocol but you seem nice. Bye and thank you!" He finishes off the conversation with a flourish of the hand that had previously been on your breast before he looks at you, tossing the phone on his nightstand. The look he has reminds you of a predator seeking his prey, you should be scared but you're not, instead choosing to smirk.

"Ready for more, Mr. Butler?" You ask, moving to pull off your shirt before he stops you and pulls you closer to him allowing himself to squeeze your hip as his fingers dig into the ample flesh.

His lips catch yours in a bruising kiss before he answers. "My hands were just getting started, babe."

[mania-sama]

rule #33 - pyre

Rule #33 - Pyre - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Jujutsu Kaisen ❧ Pairing: Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi & Fushiguro Tsumiki & Gojo Satoru ❧ Tags: veteran! gojo, gojo has ptsd, parental! gojo, no curses au, ptsd, heavy angst, implied/referenced child abuse, russian ballet references, gojo adopted the fushiguros, flashbacks ❧ Summary: Gojo Satoru, a young, decorated veteran, is petrified of fireworks. ❧ Word Count: 2,721 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 27 December 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 31: PTSD ❧ Previous Day ❧ Masterlist

Festivals are, generally speaking, the worst times of the year.

Gojo isn’t a killjoy. He enjoys the colors decorating the streets and adorning the yukatas, kimonos, or whichever traditional clothes are being worn in accordance with the celebration just like everybody else. Venders add extra spices and seasonings to their food, the prices are lowered, and the overall atmosphere buzzes with childish joy.

And, despite his best attempt to keep up his indifferent exterior, young Megumi’s eyes light up when Gojo informs him of the special occasion. Toji’s children love festivals like the rest of civilian Japan. Excitement is rare to see in a child like Megumi, so he always arranges for someone to take him and Tsumiki out to experience the fun in Tokyo.

Instead of spending time with Toji’s little goblins that he’s doing his damn best to raise into decent human beings, he sits in the tiniest closet in his penthouse with thick sound-proof headphones to maximize the noise-canceling effect. He brings a weighted blanket to drape over his body so he won’t have to feel any reverberations, either. It has the added use of making him feel secure and grounded.

It isn’t the principle of missing out on the festival, it’s having to answer Tsumiki’s imploring question, “Why can’t you take us to the festival?” with a flippant laugh and a lie. He wants nothing more than to lie on the grass or stand in the streets and watch the dazzling fireworks with them.  But as soon as the first fireworks explode, followed by smaller pops and shattered lights, he thinks that the dirt and grass shards are hiding landmines, or that snipers are blowing off his comrades' heads from the broken-glass buildings. The streets are empty save for the scared civilians holding automatic rifles and enemy soldiers with orders to leave no one alive.

Gojo can’t go to festivals. He can’t listen to the sound of fireworks in his own home without diving under his kitchen table and plugging his nose to hide his panting breaths. Experience has taught him to stay in his closet and keep his headphones and blanket on, no matter how his heart breaks as the children’s faces pull into resignation when he denies them yet another festival.

He is normally a very observant person. He’d been so ever since he was a child, but having been trained to be a soldier since he could walk, it didn’t really mean much regarding innate ability. In any case, he kept good track of the days, months, and years. He prefers to ignore schedules entirely and operate solely on a feel-good basis, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t perfectly aware of the exact time it is at any given moment. It’s a system of behavior he can’t rewrite, unfortunately.

Except in the odd case — when he was without food and water in the Gobi desert, when he mourned the death of his best friend, or when both of his children ran a hundred and three-degree fevers for an illness he doesn’t know the name of. Time stops operating in his mind. He loses where he is, and all he can focus on is nursing Megumi and Tsumiki back to health.

Gojo shouldn’t have run out of the house to buy medicine and stockpile their favorite foods. He knows he shouldn’t have. Logic would reason that he would call or text a friend to bring him what he needs and pay them back later. But Satoru isn’t a Gojo for nothing.

He is the youngest decorated veteran of the last century. He doesn’t rely on other people, because he is the strongest. He only calls for help from his friends for the sake of the children, not for himself. Children should always be put before him.

The best officer of the Japanese military can certainly handle an emergency supply run in a safe environment for two sick children. The store isn’t even that far away. He’s in a rush, yes, but it’s simple work. He’s accomplished much more in half the time.

He notices the people in bright yukatas but he doesn’t pay them any mind. Whatever event is going on, he doesn’t care for. He can view it from the balcony of his penthouse if it's something really important. He runs into the store, nearly breaks his card in his hurry to pay, and walks out with the image of his — Toji’s — children quickening his strides. Pushing past the gathered crowds of dressed-up people, Gojo picks up on a faint whisper of excitement. It causes his step to falter, only for a second. He doesn’t even fully stop.

An even fainter whizzing sound fills the vast space between him and the children. The sky explodes in shattered lights.

It’s a festival. He knows this. But when he looks around, where his feet are carrying him behind the closest building on autopilot, when crouches to the ground and covers his mouth and plugs his nose, he isn’t exactly sure. He’s not sure that the thick concrete support beam is ready to crumble as a part of the dilapidated city from bombs, guns, and missiles. He’s not sure that those gasps out there are from the spray of civilians and soldiers falling to automatic rifles and suicide bombers.

He holds the paper bags in his hands, shaking, feeling a medicine bottle between his fingers. It’s for Megumi and Tsumiki. This he knows. He should know. Yet the guns keep firing, and he is the commander of his unit. He needs to be out there, guiding his men through the kill zone of a Middle Eastern conflict Japan isn’t officially a part of. But then, where is his gun? Where are any of his weapons?

He focuses on the ground and the paper bags holding chips and medicine. Chips and medicine. His hands are trembling. A Gojo’s hands don’t shake. He’s been trained to hold a gun since he could grab objects, and he learned how to perfectly weave in and out of a sniper’s scope by the time he was ten years old. This is no different. It shouldn’t be any different.

He closes his eyes as the guns tear into his men. Why can’t he get back out there? The palm of his hand presses against his teeth, and his back hunches in on itself. He’s crumbling to the ground, even though he is Gojo Satoru, the strongest of Japan, the best of his MOS. The chips in the bag crumble in his hands, and people are dying . His rifle has been lost, somewhere in the river he crossed to get into the kill zone, probably. His knives were sticking out of the poor children he had to kill, for there were bombs strapped to their chests and weapons too big for their hands. His other handguns were given to his unit as they had lost theirs to the river as well. 

He is Gojo Satoru. He doesn’t need a weapon to survive.

Yet. His knees are on the ground and the medicine for his sick and injured soldiers isn’t getting to their proper place in time. He clutches a hand to his hair and wills himself to move, but the pops have him put in place. Panting breaths escape out of his shaking hands, and his heart pounds so hard he fears it’ll break his chest. Fear. He’ll admit it. He’s afraid. But he can’t be afraid. He hasn’t been afraid since his mother and father beat all of the fear out of him and introduced him to the kill zone at the ripe age of twelve. He knows conflict. He knows guns. He doesn’t know fear.

But fear knows him.

Closer, much closer than his dying unit, he hears the soft pull of a stringed instrument. It's an odd mixture of a guitar and violin, and its sound is stunted in fragmented half-seconds. He’s never heard this in the military before. His unit has had talent with instruments, but this is something else entirely.

Another instrument is introduced, a piano, he thinks. It’s high-pitched, laying oddly yet beautifully over the original instrument. The song is unmistakable now. Tchaikovsky’s The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy from The Nutcracker. He doesn’t know the play intimately, but he has seen one or two ballets in local performances.

He settles against the concrete beam and listens to the music. It plays over the crowd, though he can’t afford to stop listening for them at all. If they grow quiet, then they’re all dead, or they’ve moved out of the area without him. Either way, Gojo’s escape is going to be messy and long. But he’s Gojo Satoru. If he can get off the ground and stop weeping and running and shaking like—

The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy fades out, and Coda plays next. It’s a little more intense, but it runs in and through his ears. It’s so unfamiliar with the kill zone. He’s never heard ballet music in desolated cities. If he hears music, it’s usually the local music in whichever country he’s in or when he’s at base with a mixture of United States military, allied infantry, and Japanese Special Force soldiers, playing music with those languages in it. In general, they usually have words, whether he can understand them or not notwithstanding.

But this, this is new.

He doesn’t know how or why someone would be playing Tchiakolvsky at this time. It doesn’t make sense, and he dares to pry open his eyes. His paper bags are clenched in his hands, but the contents have spilled out onto the ground. Medicine for his soldiers, chips for food. Not practical, but they make do with what they have. He’s eaten bugs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner before.

Not on the battlefield, but as training when he was a child. If he had to survive off of nothing but the land, he could do it.

The Gobi desert doesn’t have anything but sand and poisonous animals. So much for that invaluable lesson.

The ground beneath him is concrete, and he dares to look up. Outside gathered is a mass of people in bright yukatas . The Russian ballet has come to an end, and Gojo hears the beginnings of Swan Lake . It’s a comfortable tune, but it will turn intense inevitably. Oddly, he doesn’t find it as disconcerting as it’s supposed to make the listener feel. Satoru imagines the black swan, but the dancer turns away from him, hiding her dark makeup.

He stares at the crowd for a long time. It’s unfamiliar to the kill zone. None of them are little children with bombs on their chests or adults shooting at him with weapons they don’t know how to handle. Somewhere in the distance, in the buildings, someone must be aiming for the crowd, to ruin the festival. He’s seen it happen before.

Swan Lake continues, coming close to an end, and a voice accompanies the next song. “You’re in Tokyo, Japan. It’s 20XX. You’re safe.”

Gojo doesn’t startle at the voice, but he does turn towards it, and he can’t quite comprehend what he’s looking at.

At one moment, he’s looking at one of his men, and he needs to grab him and bring him down behind the concrete pillar to protect him until they can make a move to safety. At the next, he’s looking at a tall man with Tchaikovsky playing from his phone. He’s looking at Nanami. Nanami in uniform, with a gun instead of a phone. Nanami in a pale blue yukata .

“My name is Nanami Kento. You’re in Tokyo, Japan. It’s 20XX,” he says, his voice relaxed. “You’re safe.”

Satoru stares at his friend numbly.

“The fireworks will make another round soon. Let’s go back to your penthouse,” Nanami continues. He doesn’t make any moves, though, and a new song from a ballet he doesn’t know filters through the speakers of Nanami’s phone. He thinks. Gojo isn’t sure.

Nanami repeats his early statement. My name is Nanami Kento. Not an enemy soldier, though they did fight together at one time. You’re in Tokyo, Japan. That explains the yukatas and flashing billboards. It’s 20XX. When was Toji killed in battle? When was Geto? You’re safe.

My name is Nanami Kento. You’re in Tokyo, Japan. It’s 20XX. You’re safe.

Russian ballets don’t play in the kill zone.

Satoru turns away from Nanami and shakily collects the medicine and chips that had slipped out of his paper bags, along with the sunglasses that had slipped off his face. He struggles to remember why he has them in the first place. It most certainly has something to do with Toji and children, but he isn’t quite sure how those two add together. Toji is most certainly dead. He knows this with certainty. Children die around him left and right.

Unless it’s about Toji’s children. Gojo looks at Nanami, and as one of his only surviving friends from the battlefield, he says shakily, “I promised to take care of Toji’s kids.”

Nanami doesn’t reply to him directly, yet Satoru takes it as an affirmative. “We need to go back to your penthouse before the fireworks start again.”

The Russian ballets don’t stop playing even as they push through the crowd with Gojo’s hands covering his ears. He can barely hear it over the sounds of the crowd and his blocked eardrums, but it’s there nonetheless. He focuses on what he can sense close to him — the paper bags, Nanami’s back, the safe ground beneath his feet, and the violins and pianos. 

They make it to the apartment, and Nanami stops in front of the gated back entry. “I don’t live here,” he states simply. That means Gojo lives here. If Satoru has the key, then he lives here.

It’s in his pocket, and he unlocks the gate. They walk in and go in the elevator, not the stairs. Stairs. Too many houses, too many stairs and floors to clear.

“My name is…” Nanami drones on to completion. “You’re safe.”

You’re safe.

The elevator dings, and he doesn’t flinch. The ballet filters through the cracks of his fingers, and the paper bags feel heavy in his hands. He’s carried deadweight bodies a hundred times heavier than the feather-light weight of the paper bags, yet he struggles anyway.

They stand in front of the door to his penthouse. Gojo unlocks it, but Nanami waves a hand for him to stop. “Wait here,” he says, and Satoru complies. He’s Gojo Satoru. He doesn’t comply with anyone but himself. He’s the strongest, the best officer of his MOS.

He does anyway, because inside this penthouse —

“We’re going to play the quiet game. Whoever wins gets to go on a spa day with Satoru.”

— are his children, and they are the most important children in the whole world. His children. His children.

Megumi and Tsumiki.

They’re lying on the couches in the living room. Nanami guides Gojo past them, but he manages to spare them a glance, and he sees Tsumiki’s red-colored face peering worriedly at him. He wants to say something to them, but now they’re being fired at and there’s no more time for any words other than directions to take cover.

His hands are still covering his ears when the pop is followed by so many more. But Nanami has him in the closet, and his sound-proof headphones are on, and the weighted blanket is covering him head-to-toe.

He doesn’t technically hear any more of the gunshot-fireworks. He sits in his closet like he’s hiding from an Iraqi unit outnumbering him fifteen to one and figuring out the best way to take them down and make it back to his unit alive. The medicine and chips have been taken from him, and he squeezes his weighted blanket between his palms.

The light bulb burns overhead. His jackets and small winter coats hang beside him like bodies.

He’s the best officer the Japanese military had ever seen, who retired after his third four-year contract ended.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest of his MOS, who trained for combat since he could walk and enlisted illegally at sixteen, can’t take his kids out to a goddamn fireworks festival by himself.

Gojo Satoru hunches and sobs into his blanket.

[vizthedatum]

Updated blog disclaimer

Please note: I am not communicating with my ex-spouse currently. We are recently divorced but have a no-contact order until the end of December 2023. Dec 31, 2023 Update: the order has expired but I DO NOT PREFER TO TALK TO THEM OR THROUGH A THIRD PARTY. I am not communicating with them through any third party (except for our lawyers). These posts are not at all an attempt to communicate - it is *art* and *expression* and my personal account of what has happened in our relationship. It does reflect reality. I want people to know. It's not just emotional processing for me - I think people need to know what domestic violence looks like. And you should tell your story too - there need to be more examples of all types, in all different relationships.

Dec 31, 2023: I also talk about non-abusive relationships. I strongly believe that I own everything that has happened to me. I can protect people’s privacy and respect boundaries, but I will not limit myself from talking about my own experiences, journeys, and thoughts… and those are often tied to real people’s lives. I obscure identities as much as I can, but I’m a writer and artist… the world and my life are my source material. This is a moral judgment call on my part, and you don’t have to agree.

This blog uses the phrase "narcissistic abuse" which is a hotly debated phrase amongst the neurodivergent and disabled communities. I am disabled, and I do not promote ableism. I do not think the usage of "narcissism" is ableist nor do I think it adversely affects those who have narcissistic characteristics. I am not discriminating anyone but I am sharing how I’ve personally made sense of the abuse. I have nothing against people with diagnosed disorders. The specific cycle of narcissistic abuse is Love-Bombing/Idealization to Devaluation to Discard to Hoover/Reengagement (and the cycle repeats).

If you find the content triggering, then kindly block/unfollow/ignore this blog - I will not change my mind until there comes a time when there is a term that better describes the specific cycles of abuse and patterns of behavior I've gone through in my life. I do acknowledge my own toxicity and my own patterns of harm in this blog. I am tired and offended by justifying my experience and my usage of a phrase that has literally saved my life in the past year. Understanding that what happened to me was specifically "narcissistic abuse" has made the context of my life more crystal clear than ever before. Please see one of my many posts that address this issue or search the internet about the debate yourself. If you cannot see the nuance in what I'm saying, then this blog is not for you.

If you choose to harass me based on how I word my experiences (keeping in mind that I’m not going to your blogs and invalidating your experiences (I have only done so in defense of someone else’s initiation but I will not anymore)) instead of advocating for a better term that best describes my experience (that is more nuanced than just emotional/physical abuse), then unfortunately you are harassing and silencing an abuse victim. Victims are already in a place of self-doubt and self-blame. They are aware often in a state of extreme reality distortion. And we often have an extreme amount of compassion for the people who have harmed us.

Before you call us ableist, try to understand why we're talking about it.

Future employers and anyone else: I am a queer and trans person of color who is a citizen of the United States of America. I have undergone a lot of abuse, and I am exercising my first amendment rights as a citizen of this country. I am sharing my experiences as authentically and honestly as I can. I am receiving mental and physical healthcare, as best I can with my resources. My training is in healthcare, and if I cannot be honest with who I am then it would be incredibly hypocritical for me to practice epidemiology or clinical data analysis in healthcare. If you choose to discriminate against me based on my identity or my emotional processing of the abuse I have endured (or even the poetry/art/writings I share), then you are willfully denying employment to a battered domestic violence survivor (and I have gone through domestic violence multiple times). I would not work for such an organization anyway. My skills and qualifications speak for themselves, and I will do what I want - and I'll do a good job of it too. Thank you. Addition as of Nov 6, 2023: I have an open call for a nesting partner and future co-parent. Read more here.

[jodilin65]

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1994 Tom’s out fixing Eileen’s daughter Robin’s computer now and I hope he’s back by 6:00 so he can tape 6 hours’ worth of stuff in his room so I can watch the ball go down tonight. If not, I’ll start it in the living room and at some point after he’s home, I can have him swap it during a commercial. Tomorrow morning we’re going to tape the two Norah movies on two different tapes on SP in the living room. He’s going to tape them on 1 tape on SLP in his room.

Last night I began to type up 32, so now there’s nothing left to do before 1993. I’m at 1/15 shortly after I began dancing. Instead of highlighting the entry dates with markers after I print it out, there’s a bold button you can hit that does it for you.

I went around and changed all the calendars.

I just had a good idea. When I highlight entry dates in these journals, I’ll change colors every month. The colors I currently have are green, pink, blue and yellow. I just used green, so I’ll use pink for Jan., blue for Feb., and yellow for March.

My tan lines are almost gone, but my hair remains somewhat lighter. Especially at the ends and I’ve got a lot of red/gold highlights.

Last night after he finally shut the van off I heard the van door slide shut 3 times or so. I wonder if they’re taking off, but I doubt it. This is a very “homey” family, except for church on Sundays, and that month they went to Idaho.

I sure hope to hell he ain’t running that van tonight when I’m watching the ball go down. Especially if Tom and I do anything as far as sex goes. That really breaks my concentration.

I was a little slow last night when I was talking to Larry. When I mentioned the vacuuming of my ear, he goes, “That must’ve sucked.” I got the joke later on, though.

I thought about it and I realized he may have already given Jenny my number. Why else would he ask if I’ve heard from her? There’d be no way for her to get the number otherwise.

Later…

Tom got home in time to tape those movies, and he threw my comforter in the dryer.

In exchange for working on the computer today, they gave him a game called Myst. You search through all these places and uncover whatever. It’s pretty weird so far. It’s also got a soft-covered 60-page journal for you to write in clues you observe.

We’re waiting for the food to arrive that we ordered. Pizzas, veggie sticks and fried mushrooms. The veggie sticks are fried, too.

I left Andy a message.

Later…

Dinner arrived and we ate. The veggies did turn out to be raw carrots, but they were good, and I gave some to Piggy.

I played some more of that Myst game. Sure is weird.

Mom and Dad called, and Dad said they did go to that hotel and he danced and sang. I wish I could’ve seen that or could get some pictures. They also wished us a happy new year.

Current Location: Arizona

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1994 I’m dealing with a part of Tom that’s very typical male and the only thing I miss about women. Male BO and male sloppiness. It’s not that he ever stunk so bad that I couldn’t get near him, but the scent in his room is far from feminine. I highly doubt he changes his sheets weekly as he once said he did. In fact, I’ve never seen him do sheets. It smells like it could be drool buildup, but I don’t know for sure. I’ve asked him before, and I’m going to try to see if he’ll let me in there to dust, vacuum and wipe surfaces. It’s just that he really really is hung up on living in filth. He really does like it. One time he spilled some soda and I offered to clean it for him and he was like, no, no, no. The longer that sets in, the harder it’ll be to clean, but he really likes that. I know how sensitive he is and want him to be himself, but we’ve compromised on other things, so I’m sure we can compromise with this. I’ve decided fair is fair, though, so I’m going to make a serious effort to smoke outside.

Tom made the period chart for 1995. Yeah, I’m sure to get each and every one of them, too.

Also, there’s a sex chart in the front of this book. It’s just something to do and I’m curious to see how often we screw. At the end of the year, it oughta be neat to see what the pattern is if there is any.

Tom reminded me that if I want to watch the ball go down in Times Square, I’ll have to watch it at 10 PM. No wonder I couldn’t find it when I searched for it my first new year here when it turned 1993. How stupid of me.

For a half-hour to 45 minutes, next door really got on my nerves and it wasn’t the kids, either. At about 10:30 last night, the guy drove in his somewhat loud van which is parked directly outside my bedroom window. After a couple of minutes, he slammed the door after he got out, then came right back out and I could hear it running. At first I thought maybe he and the wife got into a fight and he ran out into the van, turned it on for heat, but was too mad to go anywhere. I peeked out after a half-hour or so and saw him approaching the van in a business suit, then he left.

The pigs must be hot on someone’s tail right now. I hear helicopters swarming around out there. It doesn’t bother me, but they sure must be desperate.

Earlier I watched a really good movie and I can’t wait to see Deadly Game. I hope she’s got lots of scenes and that her hair’s not short and that I can create some pictures from it. I have gaps still on my bedroom walls that need filling up.

Later…

Tonight sure was my night for phone calls. Minnie called telling me never to have a kid cuz she can’t get no sleep. Marjorie called wanting to know about my ear but didn’t need to talk to Tom. She was telling me that there was a massive shootout last night in this area. That explains the helicopters.

These people next door are really getting to me again. It’s better than the kids screaming, but why must they constantly run their van for so long so many times a day? Can’t they just come and go normally?

Later…

I just took a break to listen to music and I didn’t feel like writing to the tune of that van. It’ll start up again any second.

Larry called and we had a good talk. He wanted to know about my ear and he told me a couple of funny jokes.

He was joking around and said there was a guy he knew who burned his eyelid lighting a cigarette and the only place they could do a skin graft was from his dick, so now he’s walking around cockeyed.

The other joke is something about taking two typewriters and having someone type on each one. Then they can be stereotyping.

More on our talk after a cigarette.

Later…

Wow! Out of the 365 days in 1994, I had my period for 37 days.

Tom ate me out earlier, but it’s not going on the chart yet, of course, cuz it’s not quite 1995.

I took both of our measurements earlier and I’m going to write them in soon. I’ll probably use blank sides of pages in previous books.

Larry’s going to stay home with his family for New Year. I was telling him how Tom told me that if I want to watch the ball go down at Times Square, I’ll have to watch it at 10 PM here. No wonder I couldn’t find it on TV here when I turned it on to watch it at midnight for my first new year here which was 1993.

He says it’s continuing to get worse in Springfield and Hartford and that there were 4 murders in Hartford alone today. What else is new?

He said he talked to Tammy and it was all about Bill. He said he wouldn’t wish what he’s going through on his worst enemy, but that it’s not his idea of a conversation, especially with a weak stomach.

I asked him what I should say if she were to ask me for his number. He says he’s still not ready to deal with her, doesn’t want her to call, and says to say I don’t have the number so her feelings aren’t hurt. OK, I can respect that.

Then, he asked me if I’d heard from Jenny (Jenny C). I said no and that as far as I knew she was supposed to hate me. Larry said she knows the past is the past and that she and I were naïve. He’s giving her my number, he says, and she can call if she wants to. At this point, no I’d never want to resume a full-time friendship with her, but I can handle a phone call. Also, in this day and age, I’d rather be dumped or rejected by 10 people than have to fight with one.

I know I never thought my brother would ever call me, but I’m almost sure Jenny won’t. She probably sees no point in it. Especially with me so far away now.

How do I feel? Well, it really doesn’t matter if she calls or not. It’s up to her. I mean, we just never had all that much in common.

I think that’s all the major things he told me.

Tom understood fully well about my written request I left to clean his room when I got up today. I changed his sheets, dusted and vacuumed and now that foul smell is gone.

I got a quick note from Kim today, passing along the cow confetti she got from her cousin in Texas for me to pass on to whomever. I typed up a letter to Alex, so he’s getting it. I also typed up the Diane document and have 3 left - Eileen, Maria, and Lamaris.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1994 I sure did get a lot done today. I finished typing 31 and 82, the previous one. I also typed letters to my parents, Larry, Kim, Bob, and Minnie. Yesterday I typed one for Tammy and maybe tomorrow I’ll do one for Alex.

Yesterday I also got my period full blast. It wasn’t as easy to accept as I thought it’d be, either. Despite any fears or doubts, I really do want a kid.

The doctor’s appointment went OK. There is still a part of the skin graft that isn’t taking, but he really feels it’ll heal. We’re going to buy all the time we can to avoid another operation. There’s exposed bone in there now by the eardrum, but hopefully it’ll stay infection-free. I know if I had to have another operation, it’d be a joke compared to what I already went through, but I sure hope not!

As I was typing up the previous book, I noticed a few things I forgot to update on. We lazed out of putting my drawings on people’s Christmas name tags, for example. We both ended up wrapping the gifts together and I wrote out names with my calligraphy pen on small pieces of paper, which I taped onto the gifts.

Yesterday the doctor did give me some good news. I can now wear headphones and wow! It’s pretty cool. I can shower now too, but I have to stuff a cotton ball in it and make sure that ear doesn’t get filled with water. He doesn’t care about the outside, though.

I also typed up Bob’s letter I got yesterday and put it in a binder.

On January 2nd we’re planning on going out holiday shopping for each other.

We got a catalog today in the mail with all kinds of porn videos and toys and lotions and clothes. It looks kind of interesting and we may get stuff to spice things up even more, not that we’re bored.

Tom insists he was not kidding when he said he came back when I wrote about it in journal 82. Whatever.

I know I’ve got more to write about that’s slipped my mind at the moment, but I will after I watch TV. Oh yeah. I updated our list of stuff to do and get. Also, this Sunday morning, there’ll be two movies with Norah in them. Local Hero, which I’ve only got part of cuz the cable had been fucked up, and Deadly Game which I’ve never seen. I’ll expand more on this later, but I sure hope she doesn’t have short hair!

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 28, 1994 I wish I had lots to write about cuz we’re now at the doctor’s office where we’ll be for a very long time.

I had a spot today, so tomorrow I’ll be ragging full blast. Like I said, I knew I could not be pregnant and I know I’ll never be. Am I upset? No. There’s no use in getting upset over something I’ve already known. Also, there are so many positive things about not having a kid as well as having one. I guess this is God’s way of telling us we don’t need to deal with any other burdens.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1994 Today I’m being sort of lazy again. I couldn’t fall asleep till 1 AM, then Tom came to do my ear with the peroxide and ointment at 7:30 before he left for work. I fell back asleep till 9:30. It’s been so much easier to go back to sleep cuz there’s no continual noise. Also, it was pretty hard to fall back asleep when you’re so pissed off at the noisy people around you. This is the best and easiest I’ve slept in years. It’s great not having those two dreaded fears I had for so long before going to bed - Will I wake up with an asthma attack? Who will wake me up?

Amazingly, Fran never did call back again last night. I thought for sure he was going to leave a message or two. I have no desire to ever talk to him or Nervous ever again. I don’t even miss any good times we had, even though there wasn’t a whole heck of a lot of those. I don’t miss our funny talks or desire to tape and edit fights between Fran and Nervous or play games with Nervous. I’ll always love and keep any tapes I do have, but I’ve certainly outgrown them and have moved on.

Later…

I was just going to say that I still haven’t had my period, but I’ve got a couple of spots now. I knew I couldn’t be pregnant. Like God would finally let me have what I want for a change?

Anyway, I’m going to go do some typing now.

Later…

Today was a much better day. I felt more like my old self. For the few days before today, I was either bitchy or energyless.

I’m not sure now if that really was a spot. I had thought I was going to spot, which always leads to my period instantly, but the coast has been as clear as can be. I even put on a panty liner in the early afternoon but ditched it a few hours later. When Tom went down on me earlier he said my pH was fine and that I tasted fine, so that tells me it’s not right around the corner. Well, it may not be, but I can’t say for sure.

I was talking to Andy today for about an hour. When I was mentioning the dizziness and other side effects or alterations due to my surgery, I also subtly mentioned being 5 days late. Then, we went on to discuss how he feels very abandoned by his family and friends back East. No cards, calls, or letters from anyone. Then he said he had gotten a flash about my being pregnant when I said I was 5 days late. Honestly, I can’t see it. Who knows what the future holds, but right now it doesn’t seem real to me and my instincts say it’ll be here before mid-January. I feel like God’s teasing me!

Goldie called an hour or so ago. She thought my surgery was today. I didn’t talk to Al, but she was so happy for me and they’re in Las Vegas. I told her Ma said to call her cuz she didn’t have their number.

I completed the Becky document today and did I mention doing the Steven one a few days ago? Well, I did. I only have 5 documents left. The names are Eileen, Maria, Lamaris, Diane and another name I forgot. I also typed up quite a bit of 31.

Yesterday I took a water pill for the first time in quite a while. It’s great cuz I’m 99 pounds and look like I do after my period.

Now I’ve got no idea what in the world I’m going to do. I’m sick of typing and not in the mood for music and TV, so I’ll have to think of something.

Oh, I forgot to say this before, but I’ve got a current total of 355 letters. That’s a lot of letters!

MONDAY, DECEMBER 26, 1994 Yesterday sure was a surprise for me. Once again, it’s like having either an extra birthday or an extra Chanukah.

Here’s what Tom’s got: An electronic horse racing game from David and Mary and a magnetic bowl for parts like nails and screws from Mom and Dad.

Here’s what we both got: A calendar and a chicken roaster from David and Evie. A Tupperware container of cookies and candy from Ray and Nora, and a glue gun from Mom and Dad. We each also got a $50 bill in tiny Christmas socks she made with our initials on them. His was red and mine was green. Definitely the first Christmas sock I ever got in my whole life.

Here’s what I got: A clothes hanger that you use to cover clothes with. Especially when you’re traveling. She made it (Mom and Dad). Two, 3-D posters from David and Mary and lots of other stuff mom had. A tie-dye book, various art books and supplies, and two journals! I could tell she had the journals for a while. One of them is like #2 and on the back there was a price tag that said $4.95. That’s what #2 cost back when I got it in early 1988. That was the price of the average journal. Now the average journal is $6.95. The other journal is a bit shorter and narrower, but it’s the thickest one I have with 192 pages. It had a paper cover saying, “The next-to-nothing book.” I took that off and it’s got a blank silver cover. Meaning, it’s all silver. I wrote, “Mystery’s Journal” on it with a permanent marker and then traced over it with a regular ballpoint pen. The funny thing about this is that Ma wrote 3 pages of religious stuff in 1980. I’m going to just leave it in there. Her handwriting sure does look like Tom’s which looks like Bob’s. I did some sketches in it, too.

Later…

Still no period, but Tom and I are certain it’s just due to all my mind and body have gone through due to the surgery and that I’ll get it soon enough.

Guess who called tonight? Fran. Tom answered, not sure who it was, and handed me the phone. Tom’s right. He does sound like Larry in a way. I hung up on him, but the little loser was talking as if nothing ever happened, all cheerful and like I’m his best friend. So now I know why he hasn’t called in so long. He did lose his phone for a handful of months. Andy had told me that when he tried to call him when he was in Springfield, his phone was disconnected.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1994 Tom’s taking a shower now and in a couple of hours, we’ll be heading to his parents' house.

No more laxatives for me. They made me have the runs again.

I took a bath and Tom washed and brushed my hair.

Still no period. Do I think I’m pregnant? No. I think it’s the shock of the surgery and all I’ve been through with it. Or else I’m just late. Either way, I’ll get it by mid-January.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1994 I got up at 5:30 this morning. Tom was already up. Today we watched TV, did some computer work, barbecued a steak, did laundry and screwed. Soon we’re going to wrap the Christmas presents for his family.

I’m two days late again for my period, but then again I’m not. No woman is that consistent with getting it every 28 days. From looking at my chart for 1994, 26-30 days is normal for me. I won’t be officially late till tomorrow evening, but I know I’ll get it. Probably when I wake up.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 23, 1994 Tom’s taking the day off from work and right now he’s playing computer games. Early this morning he went and got Christmas presents for his family. The people he got presents for are his parents, David and Evie, David and Mary, Ray and Nora, Nickolena (David and Evie’s kid), Mikey (David’s kid from a previous marriage), Jackie, Pam and Ryan (Ray and Nora’s kids) and Jennifer which is Pam’s kid. He got stuff like household stuff mainly.

He says his family’s curious to see my artwork, so he’s going to use my drawings on nametags. It’s amazing to have all these people curious about me. Also, how Tom really thinks I’m a good artist. Most people just don’t care.

If I don’t get my period today, this will be the second time in 1994 that I’ll be two days late. This time around, do I think I’m pregnant? No. I know I’ll get it.

I listened to music a little while ago and now I have the radio on, ready to record any songs I like.

Later…

Tom got more binder reinforces. I have 6 journals done. He also got shower caps and I just took a shower.

Later…

I was sooo horny, but Tom just took care of that.

In a little while, we’re going to work side by side on the two computers.

Later…

I did some typing on the computer and listened to music.

Since 9:00 last night, it’s been raining and I feel a million times better. The air is so much cleaner.

Tom and I tried to call my parents last night and today, but there was no answer.

Tammy called last night and gave the latest scoop on Bill. I really don’t feel he’ll be around past next summer. I have a feeling that he’s going to go next July or August, but I sure hope, for Tammy and the girl’s sake, that I’m way off for the better.

Later…

Tom’s watching a special on Meat Loaf I taped for him.

Soon, we’re going to be eating the Hamburger Helper he made and the garlic bread I made.

We finally got in touch with my parents. They haven’t heard from Goldie and Al either. They said for New Year’s they’re going to be taking part in some comedy show at a hotel. He says he doesn’t know all the details about it yet, but I sure wish I could see that on video.

Dad said Ma’s thinking of getting a computer for the flea market. How much do you want to bet that I inspired her? Also, she knows she can ask Tom and I any questions she may have.

I said Tom could tell them more about my follow-up appointment since, for the most part, I was out of it. He jokes, “You’re always out of it.”

I mentioned how I was shocked that they didn’t have a camcorder and Dad said, “Send us one, then.”

Then Ma said that Tammy said I was in touch with her (as if to say that’s nice of me).

Dad mentioned how each year gets better and better for me. This is so true. It’ll be like - wow! If 1995 is even better, cuz 1994 was so good. I never thought I’d ever say that about any year even though I ain’t got my foot jammed in the door musically.

I typed up letters to Kim and Bob and Tom showed me a better way to use the capping trick so it’ll now cap after question marks and exclamation marks. The only thing it doesn’t cap is certain names as well as the first letter of words beginning paragraphs.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1994 Tom woke me up at 3:30, but we decided to do my hair instead of the Christmas shopping. He’ll probably do that himself tomorrow as we don’t want to keep getting me up too many days in a row. In fact, I feel like I could go to sleep for a few more hours.

We were just discussing what Tom’s going to get for his family. He’s going to wrap the presents and I’m going to fill out the nametags with my calligraphy pen.

Now he’s going to be taking a shower, then he’s going to have to do my ear.

Yesterday the Minnie Mouse jaguar blanket came. It’s quite comfy and I’m lying on it now. We’ve got it spread out on the living room floor.

I finished typing 30. I also got 2 songs on Oldies #3. Today I’m going to type up another document for him.

Later…

I typed up the Mary document and now I’m working on Lisa’s.

I just decorated some envelopes. I have a little ruler with shapes cut into it. I traced these shapes on the envelopes and colored some in.

They say it may rain today and I sure hope so, along with others. The pollution due to all the snowbirds coming here has been lousy this last week.

I’m due for my period today but haven’t gotten it yet. I know it’s coming, though, cuz I sure can feel it. I hope I get it tomorrow to shed some of this water off and the tenderness in my breasts. I feel like a blimp.

Before I do some more work on the Lisa document and also journal 31, I think I’ll go listen to music. Throughout the day, I hope to expand on oldies #3 quite a bit.

Later…

I got a lot done today. I did another document. So, now both Mary and Lisa’s are done. I began typing 31 and I updated my journal chart. The one I hang on my bedroom wall.

I just noticed a dime-sized bald spot caused by the pressure strap. Thank God it’s where my bangs are and not the long part and that my hair grows fast.

I tried to call Tammy at 3:30 my time. I guess she really can get a babysitter more easily than she said, cuz some 13-year-old girl answered saying she was with Bill who’s getting treatments. This girl was smart when she said the time differences correctly. Plenty of people in their 20s and 30s don’t get it right. I tried calling again a half-hour ago but got her machine.

I discovered a note from Andy in journal 31 that he wrote on my birthday card in 1992. I copied it in 7. I also think there are a couple of letters we got by mistake but I’m not going to copy them in.

Got a letter from Bob today and one from Kim. She says she understands my situation as far as why I didn’t see her, all’s fine, she agrees with me and she won’t worry if I won’t. She’s also happy for me about my ear. I was really glad to “hear” all this from her.

Copying these letters finished out the remainder of 7, so here’s what I’ll do now. I was asking myself, should I do another book of letters? Keep the originals in a box? Fill up blank pages with them, or put them wherever I am in current journals? Well, I’m going to type them, then print them out and put them in binders just like my typed-up versions of my journals. I’ll print out every 10 pages or so and I won’t type them in all capital letters. I’ll change fonts for every letter.

I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Minnie yet, but I’m sure I will very soon. Maybe not, though, she just had a kid.

The air is still pretty terrible, so I hope it hurries up and rains.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1994 I sure do have my share of updating now. I’ve already sent letters to Tammy, my parents, Bob, Kim, Alex and Minnie, but not my brother yet. I figured I’d call him on his birthday and also send him a birthday letter and then I’ll tell him all about it.

About 90% of yesterday’s appointment went great. My arm and most of the skin graft are healing well, but there is a part of the skin graft that didn’t take. The good news is that the doctor’s sure it’ll heal. There are still dissolvable stitches and packing that’s keeping the eardrum still till it heals, so he said it can take 2-6 months to know just how well I’m going to hear. The way I hear now is how you’d hear if you took your hand and covered one of your ears, but not tightly. At this stage, he said it’s supposed to still be muffled and bassy.

In a week or less, the bandage on my arm will come off and that’ll mean it’s healed well enough to be exposed.

It didn’t hurt like I was afraid it would when he took the packing and stitches out. For now, he wants it open and exposed to let it heal better. It doesn’t look too gory, thankfully. I have to put eardrops in it 3 times a day and then once a day, as well as an ointment that keeps it from itching.

The only other bummer that’s a major inconvenience is that I have to keep water away from it, so I still can’t take normal, worry-free showers. Tom has to help wash my hair as well as do the drops and other stuff. He doesn’t mind and he’s been such a miracle through all of this. Again, whether or not you can handle this, there’s no way you can go through this alone with no one helping.

It’s so weird, though, putting drops in that ear when I never could before in my life cuz it was closed up.

Also, for the first time in my life, I can block the good ear, scuff my feet on the carpet and hear it! When Tom was on the phone talking to his mother, I could block the good ear, walk into the bedroom and still hear him!

Later Tom’s going to see if he can pick up a shower cap for times I want to shower without doing my hair. I like baths, but not all the time. He’s also got to pick up some Kleenex as I get some oozing here and there due to the drainage.

I have to return for follow-up appointments on 12/28, 1/5, and 1/10/.

I remembered to tell people this time when I wrote to them what Larry had said – that now I could tell people that something they’ve said to me has gone in one ear and out the other.

Tom’s going to come home from work at noon for the rest of this week, to do my ear drops, then I’ll only need them once a day. Well, that’s the scoop on my ear for now.

Yesterday I finished oldies tape #2, so today I’ll begin #3. Yesterday I got an old song by Paul McCartney and Wings called, Let ‘Em In. I used to love that song and I haven’t heard it in years. I had the 45 of it when I was little. I got lots of other good songs, too.

Andy wants to use the Phase-Out thing for his smokes. I don’t want it to be a hassle for me, so I’ll tell him to pick one day a week that he gets a carton and that’s when I’ll leave it in the screen door for him to use after I show him how, then he can toss it back in the mailbox.

Tom talked to Tammy and Andy yesterday. We tried calling my parents, but they weren’t home.

Later…

I just washed up, changed the bed, and worked out, believe it or not. I’m working out slightly harder due to not doing it for a few weeks.

Tom’s been joking about us having twins. He says he’s not joking, though, and that it’s a gut feeling. We’ll have a boy and a girl. Oh, God! It may sound kind of neat, but I think one’s enough.

I’ve got the tape in the box ready to begin oldies tape #3, but so far they’re playing shitty songs. I think I’ll move the tape to the box in the back room and do some typing.

Tom postponed our going Christmas shopping for his family till tomorrow or the next day.

Yesterday I amazingly fell asleep after only being up for 12 hours and I slept for 10 hours.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 19, 1994 I sure slept a long time, which is great. I needed it and it’ll make staying up for tomorrow’s appointment no problem.

Tom’s going to change my gauze when he gets up.

When I got up I took a bath, shaved, and was able to wash my hair all by myself. It was much easier to do in the tub cuz that way I could have both hands free, rather than one of them holding the shower massage.

Yesterday I shortened two bracelets.

We weren’t able to do our little race cuz after I let Tom know I wanted a little tongue action, I got pretty tired. Who knows what will happen today, but I still don’t think he’s ready to let himself cum cuz we’re still not completely over this ordeal. After tomorrow’s appointment, maybe things will be different. It takes time, though, so the latest things could probably change, if Tom’s as sure as he says he is, will be after the 1st of the year.

His mom called wanting an update on my ear. It’s so amazing having all these people who care.

I may call my family tomorrow. It depends on how big of a deal it is. If it’s not, I’ll write them letters tomorrow.

Later…

Sure do have some shocking yet nice stuff to tell. First of all, remember the picture of the little girl I mentioned that Ma picked out for my b-day? Well, I drew it early this morning and it came out good. I wish I had a pink and a flesh-tone colored pencil, though.

We screwed around this morning and as far as Tom’s concerned, he came. What do I think? I don’t know. He seemed like he did by the way he was moving before he did, then suddenly he went limp. I don’t know if anything came out. Maybe a little. He says it varies with him, but has never heard of it leaking out of a woman like pee afterward. It was like that for me with that asshole Ron when I was 21. Tammy agreed it varies.

I asked Tom if he thought that was enough to have a kid and he said he thought it was cuz it’s the sperm count that matters, not the volume of cum. Yeah, I’ve heard that before.

Anyway, sex for both of us has been so much easier and so much fun.

I did the Dureen document today, as well as some journal typing and a letter to Bob.

I don’t know if I said so before, but as of the 1st, stamps will be 32¢. That’s so fucked up. The PO has enough money. They blame it on electronic mail. Yeah, everyone has to blame someone or something for their greed.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1994 Yesterday really did turn out to be great. We made two tie-dye shirts which look really cool. I’m wearing mine now.

We also had two rounds of fun. When I said I couldn’t wait till I could cum by it, he said it looked like we were having a race and that tomorrow, which is now today, he’s going to win it and cum. This I’ve got to see to believe. It feels so good to me, but I’m still improvising and getting used to the feel of it now that I can do it pain and worry-free. It’s hard to be able to touch the whole length of my clit like I do when he’s in there cuz he’s so big that it gets pushed up shorter. He was in deeper than he hardly ever is yesterday and he said that was a great worry now gone from the back of his mind when he saw it didn’t hurt. I also was able to sit down on him with him lying on the floor. For the first time, I went down all the way and was able to rock back and forth. There was no pain, pressure or discomfort.

Andy says Gloria had a baby girl by C-section the day after my b-day. He’s going to bring the article over later, but right now he’s at a friend’s house.

I can’t wait till I can listen to music with headphones. I miss that. I can’t wait till my appointment too, even though I’m nervous about it.

Later…

Tom really likes his watch and is getting used to it. He said they’re going to spoil him, and we agreed I’d thank them for him in my next letter to them.

In a bogus name, I’ve got 10 zoo books coming, a tiger poster and animal stickers. I saw the commercial for it on TV and called it in. It should be here in 4-6 weeks.

I’m not sure if Andy’s still coming or not, but whenever he does, I’ll give him some NPN envelopes. I wish there were a regular mailbox on this street corner here. Then I’d dump off a load every now and then.

Later…

I did a load of laundry, took the garbage out, took a dump, took my meds, and watched part of Charlie’s Angels.

I had a little scare a few hours ago with my ear. I sat down to listen to music when I had an itch behind my earlobe. I felt some wetness, so Tom got up and changed the bandage. We’re not too sure what was oozing, but it didn’t look or smell infectious. We’re sure it’s just normal drainage, but I’m going to call the doctor in 10 minutes anyway. I have no fever or pain, so that’s good.

Andy called during all this and I let him know I’d get back to him later. I left him a message at 4:00. He’s probably sleeping now.

Tom went back to bed.

I washed my jewelry in warm soapy water and now it’s drying on a towel on the kitchen table. I also played some Nintendo games like the duck hunt. I beat my record. Before I could never pass round 13. Today I fouled up at 15. Later I’ll play the racecar game.

I also put hair elastics on 4 of the many wires by the game and the TV. They had been all tangled.

Time for my coffee and to make that call.

Later…

I just spoke to a Dr. Norwalk that’s on call for Dr. Nielsen. He said to see if I can get in to see Dr. Nielsen tomorrow.

I’m a little tired now, so I’m going to go lay down for a while.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1994 I just saw the most sickening, cruel, unfair and depressing thing on TV. In a news documentary in India, it shows how not only is it perfectly legal to beat and kill women whose marriages are arranged, but it’s a common, everyday practice to kill baby girls. Because it’s a poor country, girls are considered too expensive and, in their beliefs, and traditions, girls are a curse and inferior to boys. This drives the belief in me, like never before, that God set out to curse women and girls and that life’s not fair. I believe God’s got two things on His mind more and more these days. One, to control the world’s population. Two, to ruin each generation more and more by giving more and more kids to bad people and to people who don’t want them. I see no reason to believe or even think for a second that God would ever give us a child.

I know it’ll always be hard for me to accept never having a kid, but I don’t think I have a choice. Instead, I must put all my energy into stuff that’s real, rather than dwell on something I can’t do anything about.

I’m looking forward to today. We’re going to do up tie-dye shirts and play around.

I was thinking of asking Tom if every now and then he’d say he was cumming when he’s in there. It’d turn me on and make me feel more like a “normal” woman who’s really pleasing him. However, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable and make him feel silly, either.

Got a Christmas card from David and Evie yesterday. Before that, we got one from Geri. Already we have more Christmas cards than I’ve ever gotten in b-day and Chanukah cards combined. It sure is weird having Christmas cards and presents cuz it’s like having two birthdays or two Chanukahs, instead of one of each. It’d be funny if we had a kid in June, cuz then it’d be 3 things in June and 3 in December. December would be my b-day, Christmas and Chanukah. June would be our anniversary, Tom’s b-day and the kid’s b-day.

Tom got a watch and a thank you card from my parents. His card said: thank you for caring. Tom’s never worn watches and I think he said he doesn’t like anything around his wrist, so I hope he likes it. He must as it’s not anywhere to be seen, so he must have it on (he’s asleep now). I laughed when I saw the $175 price tag cuz they never forget to remove price tags.

I think I’ll go watch TV now. I’m sure I’ll find another pregnant woman saying she’s going to poison or feed her baby unhusked rice so it’ll die, but that’s life, huh? Obviously, it’s also what God wants too, if He truly exists. He lets it happen, after all.

Maybe I’ll do some more typing, too, as yesterday I finished the David document and began and finished Wendy’s.

Later…

I completed the Lolita document and worked on 29.

Tom oughta be up anytime now.

I may have a new radio station. Well, for the longest time, I’ve been listening to KOOL FM. They play music from the 60s and early 70s. They also play some 50s. When I was watching TV, a commercial advertised a station that does only the 70s. I wish I knew of one that did the 70s and 80s. Some of the songs suck and others are great, so we’ll see.

Now, it’s off to type more.

Later…

Now I’ve only got about 27 pages left of 29 to type up. I’m at the part where Stacey tried fucking me over. Yup, she had a thing for me that scared her. It also pissed her off cuz she couldn’t and wouldn’t act on it, so she lashed out at me. Just like Nervous, Fran and a lot of guys can be. If they can’t get positive attention, they seek negative attention. It had taken me a while to figure out what was motivating Stacey, but upon reading back on the incident, yes, she had a thing for me. I’ll bet you I was the first one she ever thought of in that way. If not, one of several, and it finally got to her after so long of being able to deal with it.

Boy, Tom’s really catching up on his sleep and must’ve been tired. I just remembered he was to stop over at Eileen’s after work to delete stuff from her computer. Eileen is the one with the gay daughter named Robin. She’s got a husband and 7 kids. Good, God! I wonder if she wanted that many?

The more I analyze a certain situation, the more confusing it seems. You know me, though. I love to analyze stuff. If God’s out to keep me childless, then why keep Tom from cumming? All He has to do is make sure the DES sterilizes me. Is it to make us wait longer for whatever reason? Hmm… how does his not cumming fit into this when I could very well already be sterile? I’m sure I’ve already got all the pieces of the puzzle in my hands. It just takes time to put them all together sometimes. Just like it did for a few other situations. Hopefully, someday it’ll make sense.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1994 I finished the David document and did some typing on 29.

After busting my ass for several hours cleaning, I’m doing something I haven’t done in quite a while. Listening to one of my old edit tapes.

Earlier I vacuumed, dusted, cleaned the microwave, washed the dishes, cleaned the bathroom, hammered the front door hinges all the way down, and put a foam strip in the biggest part of the gap in the back door. That’s quite a bit, huh? What a difference that strip makes.

It is absolutely freezing out. It’s in the 40s and the closest to MA it gets. I can see my breath in the air. It definitely froze last night. The scary thing about it is, is that it’s cold enough to snow out there.

I’d really like to do some editing now as it’s been a while, but I’d rather wait till sounds aren’t so weird. Plus, the track that I tape from is fucked up.

I’m trying to stay up as late as I can, so I may go do some more typing.

One more thing. In the hall right outside Tom’s room was a full-length mirror. He didn’t want it put up on his bedroom wall, so I busted it out of its frame and put it on its side in the paneled-over window in the living room. There was still enough room there for our wedding picture, the plates and other knickknacks I’ve got up there. It looks really cool.

Here’s sweet old Laurie H now on tape. Now here’s the CP lady, and earlier I heard the other Laurie lesbian from the Northampton CC. That was the call we made when Andy was here, but I was stuck in Deerfield. Before that was Donna A. Now the tape’s screeching. Now it isn’t. I’m not worried. I have backups of all my edits. As soon as Nervous and Fran came on, it really screeched. I’ll just let it roll through. It’s an old tape that just hasn’t been played in a while. I wish I could magically snap my fingers and have this on CDs. As well as my other stuff, like music.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1994 Minnie called earlier. She had an emergency C-section. She had a boy and named it Coty Alan if I spelled it right. She had been busy and lost my number. When she got her bill today with the number on it, she called.

She hasn’t been able to get a ride to see Bob yet.

No more are their temperatures above normal. They’re freezing their asses off. I don’t feel sorry for them, but I wish it were hot here. I want to go swimming and get some color back. I’m white as a ghost again. I wish bee season were now, though, while I’m not in the pool.

My heart’s been beating in a strange way all night. Sort of like in my head, too. I feel the pulsating rush of blood as well as hear it.

Yesterday Andy met that guy that sounds like Tom. He told me this (as best friends do) and I told Tom, who was laughing, that he was hot and the perfect type of guy. He was uncut, though, and would never go for that. I agree. That’s totally gross. A few months ago he said he’s getting more and more of the same “message” I got. I always knew it wasn’t meant for me to be with a woman. I began to sense I was supposed to be with a guy, even though I was so repulsed by that idea till I met Tom. It took a while, but I figured that out cuz of how often I’d get offers from guys. Yes, I know they go after anything and are easy, but if it wasn’t telling me something about guys, I’d not only not have been able to get what I wanted in a woman, but I would’ve gotten fewer hits from men. So, in the end, it wasn’t only telling me no to women, it was saying yes to guys. Andy’s case is different, yet similar. When he said he felt he wasn’t meant to be with a guy, I thought about it. Yeah, that does make sense. Especially at his age. I don’t think something’s trying to tell him something about women, though, cuz he hardly ever gets offers. That could be even scarier and worse off than in my case, but I hope not for his sake.

I began the David document and journal 29 and a Bob letter. Now I’m going to go make some clams in the deep fryer.

Later…

Tom got up, watched the half-hour Sting concert/interview I taped him and now he’s in the shower.

I just did some word puzzles and played with Piggy.

I’m going to try to stay up as late as I can and sleep as late as I can.

I started going through Mass General’s medical papers and 90% of it is all in medical terms I don’t get. Kim might understand lots of it, and I wish I had her medical books. Tom says we can do research and decipher it using the computer. That’s true.

I love how I went from being Hebrew to Jewish, from a student to a child, from being born in Springfield to MA, and from Jody O to Jodi D.

I hope some of the stuff we ordered through Fingerhut and some other place gets here soon.

Now that Tom’s in the shower, I feel the need to shit.

I may or may not have said so before, but I’ve only got 22 journals to type up. Of course, there are going to be 22 more when I get done. Maybe less, though, cuz it’s quicker to type them than it is to write them.

Guess I’ll go get some coffee now and a cigarette.

Later…

This weekend oughta be fun. Tom got two T-shirts to make tie-dye shirts with. He also got more of that decorative plastic used for melting and setting onto molds. Earring hooks, glue, and plaster of Paris.

A little while ago I was working on the David document and soon I’ll finish that up and do a little more typing on 29.

I gave Piggy more pellets, fresh water, and a new house (the box that Tom’s 12-pack of soda came in).

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1994 I typed up 81 which only took about an hour and a half.

I forgot to say that the day we planted the Azaleas, no kids were screaming. I could hear stuff off in the distance, but not well enough to tell what it was.

Andy may call anytime. He went to meet a date and said he’ll fill me in on it later.

I called my parents and I caught them up on my ear and finished the Evie document.

I never disbelieved Tom when he said he wants a kid, but now I really believe. We talked about all kinds of things earlier.

I took a bath and washed my hair. Tom helped me rinse it. Then he changed the gauze on my arm and ear.

Earlier yesterday morning before he went to work, I had a scare. I was lying on my side in bed, sipping coffee when a spider ran over me. Yuck! Tom came running in with a paper towel and killed it. I asked how he knew to bring in paper towels and how he knew it was a spider. He said, “It’s always a spider when you squeal like that.”

Getting hungry again, so I think I’ll go eat, watch TV, listen to music then maybe get on with typing 29.

Later…

Tom’s up now eating the spag I made.

Andy called last night to let me know he was meeting this guy who sounds like Tom. He hasn’t called, though, so I hope all’s OK. I’m sure it is as I don’t feel anything bad.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1994 Thank God I took two dumps a few hours ago (no runs) as I was fixing to pop another laxative. I got quite a bit done and am beginning to feel a whole lot better.

Tom said it makes sense for sounds to sound bassy for a while. Nerves are hearing sounds for the very first time that have never done so before. They have to learn how to channel and filter sounds properly. Also, the part of the brain that operates that ear has never been programmed as to how to deal with sounds. My brain has to program itself.

So, today I began another document for Tom. I’m on the Evie one now. I typed Kim’s letter, but not Bob’s yet. I copied in their letter to me, too. Maybe during the night I’ll finish the Evie document, type Bob’s letter, and do the dishes.

I spoke with Andy for an hour last night and we caught each other up on our lives. He says his cat, which he isn’t supposed to have, is turning out to be a carbon copy of how Shadow was.

Another classic example of what I always used to say - why does it always have to be me to get caught? If it was me living over there trying to hide this cat, I’d have been caught weeks ago.

Well, time for me to go do some other things now. The only question is what do I do? I have a handful of choices, but I haven’t made up my mind yet.

Later…

I sure did lots of writing tonight. Tomorrow I’ll type up the previous book. I should be able to do it that fast. Wow! This book really smells of perfume from those samples. I must’ve rubbed it on good. Anyway, there’s not much to say now, so I’ll sign off.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1994 Got a surprise in the mail today. A letter from Kim. I didn’t think I’d hear from her, but I’m glad I did and it was a nice letter. I typed back all about my birthday, surgery, and Goldie & Al. I also got a letter from Bob and soon enough I’ll respond to that.

Tom went down there today and it felt really good. To be eaten out is my favorite thing and Tom told me it’s his favorite thing to do. Cool. He sure isn’t like most guys, huh?

You wouldn’t believe what also came in the mail today. My records from Mass. General Hospital in Boston. Finally! My memory’s more screwed up than I realized. I thought I had all my operations from age 6-12, but according to them, there are a couple of differences. I guess the first time I went there for a consultation was in ‘75. The surgeries went from ’76-‘78. Tom skimmed through the papers. They also say that one of the last operations was done on June 6th. This is weird cuz I remember how it would always snow and how I’d be glad to miss school. I remember other kids from elementary school sending cards. In 5th grade, they threw me a party. At the same time, though, I have a vague memory of my mom and I walking in our yard. Someone else was there too, but who knows who and it definitely wasn’t winter. Mom and I were kind of crying happy tears as this was supposed to be the end of all my so-called ear ordeals.

There are two other things I didn’t know. I guess I had another ear put on before this one, but it didn’t take and just didn’t work out. There was mention of it being badly infected and I was in the hospital for 36 hours at the time they wrote this. Tom pointed out how they kept calling me “cute.” I guess they really needed to try to cheer me up. I had nice eyes and hair, but I was no cutie.

Also, Pa’s exterminating business had medical insurance for me. I never knew that either. For some reason, I thought it was the March of Dimes who had paid for it.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1994 I had some left-over fried chicken too, besides a smoke.

As for my singing session - well - yesterday afternoon I sang a few songs. It felt so good to do this. I’m weak still, so I had to sing softly. It wasn’t nearly as weak and as shot as I thought it’d be. Also, I surprisingly had no trouble with the higher notes.

Earlier I plucked my eyebrows. I stood standing in the shower while I took the shower massager and shaved my legs. Trimmed some pussy hair, too. Tomorrow I’ll shave my underarms and Tom will help me do my hair.

He’s also going to change the gauze on my ear which I kind of dread. I still have pressure, numbness and swelling there. My jaw and black eye are tremendously better, but very close to my ear is swollen and I have no real feeling yet. It also looks like there are stitches by the top part of the frame. Tom says that from what he can see it looks more natural-looking and I oughta be comfier. The frame seems to have been pulled out like my good ear and is no longer stuck to my head. That’d be great as long as I don’t look too much like a freak, despite my long thick hair as it should make it easier to keep it clean. I hope to hell that soon enough it’s no longer sensitive and tender and that I can sleep on it a hell of a lot easier.

Well, I may as well go see Linda now!

Later…

Good, God! Just when I thought she couldn’t get any worse looking, she does. She looked like a total clown in this big huge baggy all-black thing which I guess was a dress. More like a skirt with a baggy shirt over it. She got sooooo fat and she looks old. She did sing as great and as perfect as always, though. Aaron Neville was doing a 1-hour Christmas concert and she sang 1 song by herself and about 3 with Aaron.

It makes me wonder what Gloria’s looking like these days. I think she looked the best during the Let It Loose album and during Cuts Both Ways.

It’s funny how as I was going through my journals from when I first got here, I realized I was off to a much rougher start than I thought or remembered. All that shit with Mark, Robert, Donna, Rosemarie, Ellie, Stacey and that damn butch next door. Then there was Scott’s shit as well as serious money problems. I’ve certainly paid my dues, though, went through more than enough shit (95% unasked for) and very much deserve how great things have been going for me.

I still sure as hell can’t wait till I’m completely healed up and over this surgery. It’s no fun to have your head rearranged and scrambled for 5 hours.

I forgot to mention earlier that Eileen called to see how I was. She used to work with Tom for a long time and he’s worked on her PC a few times. If I’m remembering right, she has a butch daughter named Robin. Anyway, that was super nice of her to call, and she mentioned our meeting sometime.

I recently revised our to-do and to-get lists. As usual, though, more things have been popping into my head, so one of these days I’ll have to update it.

Tomorrow, we’ll be planting the pink azalea plant I got from my folks in the backyard. We don’t know where yet.

Andy left a message late last night wondering how I was recovering and I left him a message.

Just cuz I’ve always wanted to hear out of two ears will never mean I want to hear kids screaming, but I have a feeling that if Tom and I work out there tomorrow, they’ll be at it. I haven’t heard anything in ages, but for some strange reason, it does seem to happen more so when he’s out there with me. I used to think that was some kind of message, but nah, otherwise he’d have been cumming all along and I wouldn’t be a DES daughter. They say there’s a reason for everything and I certainly believe that. There’s got to be a reason I was “chosen” to be a DES daughter if it isn’t what I’ve always thought the reason was.

We’re not sure, though, if my ear is cuz of the DES. Tom said he thinks it could be some kind of tranquilizer they gave my mother while she was carrying me. My mother taking tranquilizers? I don’t think so. I’m sure she’d refuse that.

Anyway, I’ve done mega writing and I’m beat. Going to go do one more ciggie, then conk my tired little ass out. Can’t wait to see if tomorrow brings any “sex changes.” I’ll write about it nonetheless. Bye for now.

Later…

We just planted the plant by the pool.

Tom’s eating now and I’m going to do the same thing in a minute. Then, he’s going to help me with my hair and with changing the bed.

He scanned in several of those animal drawings I did many months back. They look good.

Later…

Now I feel a lot better. We washed and brushed my hair and Tom changed the outer bandage. It wasn’t painful like I thought it’d be. I still have some numbness, swelling, and breathlessness and sounds are still amplified and bassy, but it’s really improving. My ear looks so much better and more natural. It’s no longer pinned to my head and it’ll be so much easier to clean. I can already tell that the sensitivity and tenderness are much better. It’s amazing how this doctor could do this in one shot in an outpatient part of a regular hospital. Not an eye & ear infirmary.

It’s scary to think of how I’d have felt if I never had the surgery. It makes me more angry than scared. You know how it is when you are on Medicaid and Medicare like I was. You’re treated as a second-class citizen. If Wilcox sent me to a specialist, all they would’ve told me was to bear with it.

Later…

I just typed up letters to my parents and Tammy.

Tom thought my folks were going to call tonight. Yeah, I thought so too. They must be busy. I hope to “hear” from Goldie & Al soon.

I’m having some itching in my ear. I know that’s good and means it’s healing, but it’s obnoxious when you can’t scratch it. It’s better than pain.

I did a little more singing today. It’s still easier than I expected.

We didn’t play around today as I’m still not with it enough, but we will tomorrow.

That’s weird I have way more feeling behind the ear than in my temple area. That part is still pretty numb.

Later…

Please don’t tell me I’m back to being constipated again. If I don’t go by this time tomorrow evening, I’m taking another laxative and I don’t care how dependent I get on them.

Did I mention that Tom wants to start keeping a journal at the first of the year? He wants to do it on the computer. One file per month. He even said he’d let me read it. It’ll be interesting to see what he writes and how he writes.

After I type up the rest of the book I’m currently typing which is 28, I’ll be typing up this one since it’ll be a quickie. I knew it would be, though, and it’s not as easy as I was counting on for me to write small with this pen.

Damn, my ear is itching again. Right in the new opening.

Well, I think I’ll go get some coffee now and go do some more typing.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1994 So much for writing later, huh?

Got a Christmas card and a letter from Alex today. I typed him a letter and one to my brother and his family. I also sent about 6 drawings to them.

Linda Ronstadt is supposed to be performing tonight so I’ve set the VCR up.

I’m really glad Tom printed out that list of all the movies Norah’s been in. Now I can just skim through the TV guide in search of those titles and not have to read every single one. It’ll be easier whenever we go to a video store. Now I’ll know what to look for. I also want to print more pictures.

I’m doing a couple of loads of laundry now. After a cigarette, I will explain all about my not-so-pleasant night last night.

Later…

I had been constipated till 3 in the morning last night. I had the runs for over an hour, but I survived it.

I’m back to 99 pounds, but I feel all mushy. I have to make some serious changes when I exercise. The only question is what changes do I make? I only get temporary results and that’s pretty frustrating. For one week there’s a difference and I look and feel great. Then, I seem to lose all those results.

I really liked the idea Alex wrote about in his letter to me. About being video-signing pen pals. He hasn’t gotten a camcorder yet, but he says he plans on it this coming year.

Tomorrow we’re both anxiously excited about screwing. I still wonder if things will change with him. I have my doubts, cuz seeing is believing for me. I know everyone is different, but he sure is different. The last time he was in there he would go really slow, telling me how good it felt, how I had the perfect pussy and it makes him never want to cum. I asked him if it would bother him if I were never able to cum by him in me. He said no and asked me if it would bother me if he never did cum. No, cuz less mess and that shit smells like bleach. Yes, if we’re going to have a kid. He says it’ll be no problem. I know there’s nothing wrong with him, but I hope he’s not just saying he wants a kid. I’m sure he’d say so if he didn’t and he’s always been honest about stuff like that, but if he continues not to cum for too many more months, I will start to wonder. Wonder if he really wants it and if it’s really meant to be. I’m really glad we waited, though, even though we had no idea till a few months ago about the surgery. Sure, with him and his family, we could’ve gone through this with a kid, but it sure is easier when you don’t have to. In the end, I agree with what he said. The less we worry, the easier it’ll be. It’s all in the hands of fate, as they say.

Singing session after next ciggie break.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1994 I just glued in the card I got from my in-laws in the back cover of my journal. It came with the gorgeous plant they sent. There were 3 cactuses with colored sand below them. It was very Arizona.

I wrote Bob’s letter today and did some journal typing.

I still feel kind of off, but hopefully I’ll feel better tomorrow. I’m getting there little by little.

Tom bought 4 boxes of dye so we can tie-dye some T-shirts. He got neon pink, rose pink, mauve and fuchsia.

Now I’m going to go copy in Bob’s letter I got a couple of days ago in my letter book and I will do more writing later.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1994 Now that I am starting to feel like a human being once again, I can finally start to write all about the surgery and everything else. Tom woke me up on the morning of the 6th at 5 AM. Of course, I couldn’t eat or drink, so I was hungry and dying for a cup of coffee. I had my cigarettes anyway.

When we got there I signed a few papers. It sure is faster and easier to write out my married name several times than my maiden name as I don’t have to stop to cross and dot t’s and i’s.

Later…

I had to stop earlier as “coming back” has been a slow process. I just had something to eat so I feel better.

Before I get into all that’s gone on I want to say that there are no words to describe how Tom’s been. He is a miracle and even my mom mentioned how unreal he is. So patient, so calm, so loving, so helpful, so understanding, so supportive. He talked with me, cheered me up, and got me food, medicine, and anything I needed to feel more comfortable. I never could’ve gone through this alone in Boston, even if I’d had the money to go back and forth. No one could be as good as Tom’s been through all this. Anyone else would turn on me, unable to deal with it. We are both so much more motivated now in so many different ways. The computer business, singing, the kid, etc.

Got a card with the flowers my parents sent that says: Dear Jodi, we’re so happy for your successful surgery. Love, Mom and Dad.

My parents are really thrilled and happy for me. Yes, I do believe there just might be a possibility that they could be happy for us if we did have a kid and not give us any bullshit.

Tom also spoke to Tammy, Andy, little Larry and his family. His family’s really happy for me, too. I spoke to Tammy twice and Andy once.

Got a letter from Bob today.

Later…

After I signed some papers, they took us back to a little room, which was sectioned off by curtains and sort of looked like an ER. A nurse put my clothes in a bag, which she put in a locker and Tom hung onto my pocketbook. He jokingly asked if people would think he was a fem for carrying a pocketbook.

The nurse also took my vitals and stuff like that. Then the anesthesiologist came in. She was young and pretty and as far as I know all five of them were women except for Dr. Nielsen. There were his two assistants and the surgical nurse as well as the anesthesiologist and the doctor. She put the IV in, then injected something that made me very woozy. I remember hugging Tom, then that was it.

The next thing I knew I was waking up and the nurse said I was moving from stage 1 to stage 2, the last stage of recovery. She gave me an ice chip and I noticed I was quite wet in the middle. I had wet my bed for the first time since I was very little.

I was under for 5 hours and everything went super well. The doctor talked to Tom and one of his assistants did, too.

Shortly after I woke up, I remember touching the nurse’s face and mumbling that I was alive. Then Tom was there. He dressed me and took me home, which is a very vague memory. We got home at around 2:00 in the afternoon. He went to get my prescriptions for painkillers and antibiotics. I dozed off for an hour or two.

The night after surgery, as well as last night, was pretty terrible. I had much more pain, pressure and achiness than I thought I’d have. My head is still swollen, I have a black eye and everything sounds amplified, distorted and a bit bassy. Sort of like when you have a head cold or flu.

Later…

Last night was the worst and I thank God is over. I have a lot of numbness still, but last night I went numb down to my upper arms. That was due to the painkillers. I now take ibuprofen for any pain I have.

Until today I had a pressure strap on my head. It still sort of feels like it’s still there, even though I feel much better now that it’s off.

Last night was so bad that Tom slept with me and amazingly enough, he didn’t wake me up every two seconds. I had the fan on but was lucky to get lots of sleep, which I really needed.

I could swear I almost died last night. My body felt like it was shutting down bit by bit. Tom said he sensed the whole thing too, and knew what was going on. I tried to call out to him, but I couldn’t at first.

A note from Tom: Now it’s time for me (Tom) to write a page in your journal. I know that you are starting to feel better because of the way you were eating cookies just now. You don’t have a fever. I think by tomorrow you will be feeling like your usual hyper-rowdy-playful self. I love you. You have been a wonderful patient these last two days. Remember to take your meds at the proper time.

I forgot to mention that I quickly talked to my parents last night.

Shortly after I got up today, I called the doctor’s office and she said to go ahead and take off the strap. Tom took off the strap and later on he put new gauze on my arm where he did the skin graft. The other one was falling off and all yucky. It was a hell of a sensation when Tom took off the strap and some of the outer packing.

I can already hear sounds!! Just imagine how well I’ll hear when the doctor takes out the inner packing on the 20th of this month. He said my inner ear looked better than he thought it would look. When I block my good ear, I can hear Tom talk. He doesn’t have to yell, either. I could also hear Piggy squeaking with the good ear blocked. I do notice a difference in music, but not much yet cuz of the inner packing and cuz I can’t play it too loud.

My jaw is kind of sore as he had to take a piece of muscle from it. The reason why I was having so much sensitivity was due to lots of scar tissue backed up in there from previous surgeries.

I talked to my parents and Tammy today to let them know about the difference I already have with my hearing. Even if Tom yelled before, there’d have been no way I could’ve heard him with the good ear blocked.

Back when I had all those operations in Boston, I used to save up all the hospital bracelets. Well, this one’s for mom. I’m going to send it to her in the next letter I type them. She and Dad, I mean.

Tom just went to bed. In his room, so we both ensure each other we sleep well again and can move around without disturbing each other. An example of that would be if I listen to music later as I certainly can’t use headphones.

Wow. That plane I just heard that flew by sounded weird.

Now I think I’m going to try to start typing a few letters.

Later…

I just typed up letters to my parents and Tammy. Bob’s will wait till tomorrow.

I forgot to say that not once did I puke or have a bad wheezing spell through all this. Thank God for that much.

One of the cards I got from David & Evie had tulips on it. I tore that part off and turned it into a postcard for my nieces.

It’s funny to sit here and think that if only Fran and Nervous knew about all this. As well as some other people. They’d be shocked. Happy for me, but definitely shocked.

Goldie & Al should be calling within the next few days. I’m sure my parents have filled them in, as well as Boo & Max, Charlotte & Jim and those lovely aunts, uncles and cousins of mine who couldn’t care less.

I hope I’ve remembered all of the important details of all these events. Ma was laughing when I told her how Tom has carried on our lollipop tradition. Right now I’m sucking on butterscotch and watermelon candies.

We both feel this will make a lot of things much easier. Including our sex lives. How I hope to God there’s nothing wrong with either of us. I would not be surprised and I would understand the so-called higher power’s reasons for it, but I still hope all is OK with us.

Later…

God, I haven’t been able to take a dump since the day before the surgery which really sucks. I’m so bloated.

I just listened to a little music and soon I’ll have to take my Theodur as well as the antibiotic. My lungs have been so good. I wonder if that backed-up scar tissue could’ve played a role in making my asthma bad, besides the emotional and environmental situations I was in back east. Also, will having two ears help? Well, it seems to be helping so far.

My numbness and black eye are slowly, but surely beginning to go away. I may go watch TV soon, but I doubt I’ll be up for much longer. I may also copy Bob’s letter in tonight, if not, tomorrow.

The next journal may go quickly. There are only 100 pages and it’s unlined. I’ll use my calligraphy pen for that. Wow, I can still smell the perfume I rubbed onto the back cover of this book from those samples I got in the mail.

Well, now I’m going to go get my next book started which is the marble paper-covered one!

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1994 I’m out of surgery now and back home. I am still kind of out of it and cannot stay upright to write for too long. I am quite groggy and my ear is painful and achy. I am taking painkillers for it. My jaw also hurts as he took a piece of muscle from it, so I can not close or open my mouth all the way.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1994 Just got in from my pre-op appointment. There’s not much else to say about it till after the surgery. I hope and pray that I not only hear, but that they pull out any clumps of skin, infections, or whatever.

After the appointment, we picked up a few things from the grocery store.

Larry told me that he wanted to do something for my b-day and our wedding, but Sandy’s car died and all kinds of other hectic things were going on. I understood and I know how most people hate to write.

He was in a good mood and told me a funny joke. What’s the difference between O.J. Simpson and Jeffrey Dahmer?

Well, O.J. Simpson only ate one of his victims.

Everyone sounded pretty happy there and I also spoke to Sandy, Jennifer and little Larry. Little Larry isn’t so little anymore. We talked about all kinds of things and Sandy mentioned that they thought of getting a computer, but had no idea of where to begin. I told her Tom knew everything and could help. He was sitting right there and Larry said hi to him real quick.

Larry asked if we did Chanukah or Christmas and I said both. He said, “Happy Merry Chachristmaskah.”

Time for a cigarette now, but I’ll write more later on this and whatever else.

Now I’m going to go listen to music with headphones since I’m not going to be able to do that for a while. Then, maybe I’ll do some more writing. First, though, I got a really nice birthday card from Andy which I copied in 7. There was no stamp or cancellation on the envelope, so he obviously came by and stuck it in the mail slot.

Later…

After this is all over, I sure as hell am going to have some serious letter-writing to do. Sandy and everyone really liked the letter, and we talked about some of the things I do, including drawing. I said I’d send a letter, as well as some drawings and told her I had some scanned into the computer and could print them out.

I wonder what’s been going on with Bob that’s got him writing less and less? He’s probably hard up for money and stamps.

I said that after I finished filling up the end of 7, I would no longer copy them, and would store them in books. Well, just maybe I will write them in blank pages where I didn’t write back to back, seeing that I’ll probably never get any more letters from Kim and very few from Alex and Bob.

Now that I have a king-size foam pad, I’m going to use the twin one as an exercise mat. It really kills my back when I do crunches as well as my hips when I do leg lifts for the outer thighs. I wrapped a sheet around it after folding it in 3. I was going to use it on our very uncomfortable wooden bench swing out back, but instead, I threw a couple of pillows on it. Plus, I’m not on it that often.

Tom tried to call his coworker friend Eileen to give her a pre-op update, but she wasn’t home. He did talk to his mom, though, who asked if I’d need anyone else to hold my hand besides him. He told her no, cuz I’d be pretty out of it anyway. Yeah, I’ll bet. I hope he’s not too bored waiting through all this as psyched as he is. I’ll suggest he gets his mom or someone to keep him company. He’s got 6 people to call from the hospital. Eileen, his parents, my parents, Tammy, Larry and Andy.

The doctor said he’ll hang around till I come to and tell me how everything went, although I won’t remember a word he says. Thank God for Tom as he will be my informer.

I got up at 7:00 this morning and I amazingly napped for about an hour and a half today. Who knows when the hell I’ll fall asleep, but I’m not worried about it as I’m not getting up till 5:00 which is a half-hour before we’ll be leaving here.

I’ve already shaved and done my hair, I can’t eat or drink after midnight, so there’s no point in getting up till the last minute. Just long enough to get somewhat woken up and have a few cigarettes.

I will be able to wash my hair, but not near the bandages, naturally. Tom will help me.

Earlier Marge called to tell me about an Arizona woman who’s to be on either the news or some news show about an operation for hearing, but I’m taping a movie.

I’m going to have to hang low, so I expect to watch a little more TV than usual. As well as writing and typing.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 4, 1994 This is the best birthday of my life. Never have I ever been so spoiled in all my life. Tom took me out to Wal-Mart before the sun came up. I got a 5-drawer dresser and it’s so great to finally have one. Now I no longer have my shorts, halters and nighties shoved in my closets on shelves. I got bigger knitting needles, a CD cleaner, two pairs of jeans and a king-size waterbed foam mattress pad. When we came home we did some filming of the place.

Later…

Well, we got done with round one of great sex and later will be round two. As usual, someone tried to call during round one. They hung up, so I’m sure it was mom & dad.

Andy called to wish me a happy birthday. He was getting ready to go to work. He may be returning to Denny’s cuz it’s dead where he is. I told him that if he does, don’t go back to the same one.

We’re going to go to Red Lobster some other time. Earlier, we made pork chops. I made them while he was assembling the dresser. Now he’s barbecuing steak and I’m going to go do the garlic bread.

Later…

OK, I stuck the garlic bread in. In about 10 minutes we’ll be eating. Now, I’ll begin to expand on today’s events and the stuff I got. One of the pairs of jeans I got is just a regular pair of jeans. They’re petite 3/4, which I don’t even have to hem. The other pair is stretch jeans.

The CD cleaner’s really cool. You place it, play side up in a case. Spray it with the cleaner, shut the case’s cover, and turn this crank. That way a round sponge rotates all around it.

I love the dresser and I really did some rearranging between the closets, the small cardboard 4-drawer thing, and the dresser. It’s brown and matches the bookcase nicely. The one my CDs are on, as well as the ones my journals are on. In the bottom two drawers of the dresser, I have shorts.

Gotta eat now but will resume soon.

Later…

Tom went to bed and I’m winding down now. I’ll fill you in on all the details of today before I go to bed.

The bottom two drawers are shorts, as I said before. The middle is nightgowns and socks. The second is halters and the top drawer is panties and G-strings.

In the 4-drawer cardboard thing, bras are on top. The second is stockings, a slip and two butt wraps. The third is bathing suits and the fourth is costumes from dancing.

We filmed all the rooms in here, but I want to do more in more detail. I forgot to film the earrings I made. I also want to film jewelry, clothes, and my journals in more detail. Then, we’ll do outside the house and a little around the city. I’d really like to film Castles & Coasters and Camelback Mountain in Paradise Valley.

Tonight was a classic example of how everything happens at once. Larry called, then Mom & Dad beeped in, then Tammy beeped in. We all had great talks. It was really great to hear from all of them. However, I’m getting soooo very beat now that I’ll write all about it tomorrow.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1994 I finished typing up 27. I just wrote another letter to Bob and just remembered how I sent him two nice pieces of stationery to use to write to me. Well, I never got them, so no more stationery for him!

It’s so funny, yet amazing to think that this is the last Saturday of my life hearing out of only one ear.

I just remembered that quilt. Shall I try to continue with it? Nah. There’ll only be a problem with it. Some may say that’s a bad attitude, but I’ll wait a while.

Later…

I not only tried to continue with the quilt, but I finished it. It looks fine in front, but in back there are lots of threads and it’s nearly impossible to pick them all out.

I got a birthday card from David, Evie and Nickolena which was nice.

I know this may sound a bit selfish, but I’m kind of hurt that I didn’t get a card from Andy, Larry or Tammy. I know that they’re either broke, busy or in the middle of a crisis but just a card would’ve been nice. I never even got cards from these people when I got married. Well, I still know they care anyway and will probably at least call me.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 2, 1994 Tom’s taking a quick shower now while our Hamburger Helper is cooking. It’s simmering right now, actually.

He took the plastic square out of my closet spider trap so its hinges could settle down on their own like the one in the living room. At this time of year, I won’t have to worry about spiders coming down through it. When it gets light I’ll stand in my closet with the door shut and see how much light I see. The attic gets light through the turbines.

After Tom eats, he’ll shave and be off to work at 5:30.

I think I’ll go start another document.

A few more things first. Andy said he was going to have Elaine mail me something from Springfield, so I wouldn’t recognize the handwriting, but he forgot my address. He said he’ll mail it from here, so maybe I’ll hear from him today in the mail. I remember him mentioning a coupon for my coffee, but I don’t know what else he wanted to send. He said there were about 3 things. He did try calling Fran from Springfield, but his phone was disconnected. Is this why he’s been such a good boy? Oh, I hope not cuz that may mean he’ll try calling as soon as he gets a phone. But then why didn’t he try before he lost it? And why hasn’t he tried from someone else’s phone? Maybe he’s in trouble. I always felt it was just a matter of time before he got in big trouble where he’s put away for some time.

I said I was going to let my nails grow out, but I cut them as usual. It’s just so much easier to type and do other stuff with them short. I also cut my bangs. I don’t have the patience to style them every day till they grow out and they looked pretty awful. Later!

Later…

Tom’s on the phone right now talking to Geri who left a message about a computer question.

I straightened up the back room today, dusted and cleaned the bathroom. I want to get some of the rigorous cleaning out of the way, so I don’t have to worry about it during those two weeks after surgery.

I had a hell of a scare today. Well, I did a small load of laundry which I went to hang out to dry. Suddenly it felt like something was jabbing and pinching my lower legs. I figured it was pieces of grass as it’s pretty coarse when it goes dormant. When I looked down, though, there were tons of ants all over me, biting the shit out of me.

I ran in and ran water in the tub all over my legs. I took the clothes and threw them in the pool in the basket afterward. Then I took them out, wrung them out and threw them back in the washer. In the meantime, I have a couple of pairs of socks and underwear out on the line. Tom will get them when it’s light out.

Another taste of Arizona today. The ants back east don’t bite at all. I called Mom cuz I couldn’t call Tom when the ant ordeal went down. She told me to run water all over and put on lotion. I took a long hot bath.

I talked with Tammy, too. Mainly about the surgery. I do have some preoperative jitters. They never called about yesterday’s tests, so I assume all’s OK with me.

I also typed up the Ray document today and more than half of journal 27.

I wrote down my parents, Tammy’s and Andy’s numbers, so Tom can call them from wherever. Either from the hospital or from here at home.

Bob must be hard up for money and stamps. His letters have been dwindling.

Well, I’ve got to get myself to bed real soon, so till tomorrow!

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1994 I just got out of the shower and now Tom’s in the shower. He’s going to go to work and come home around 9:00 or so, take me to get stuck, then drop me off and go to work again till the usual time.

Yesterday I typed up two more documents for Tom and now I’m going to go do up another one.

Later…

I did 3 more documents. Arthur, Larry and Nicolena. I have 14 more to go. I also finished typing 26 and it’s printing out right now.

The EKG and blood work took no time at all. If it were an Access doctor’s office, I’d still be there. If there ever was a time to be the most grateful I’m not on Access, then that’s today. We picked up 3 Azmacort inhalers and when I went to go pee, I set it on the back of the toilet. I hadn’t assembled it yet, so the tube that contains the medicine rolled off and got flushed down the toilet.

Later…

How nice of them. I just got a card for both of us saying: Happy first Chanukah together - enjoy the season - love David, Evie and Nickolena.

I guess most people do count the start when the knot is tied, cuz technically this is our second Chanukah together.

[purpldazed]

December 31, 2023 / 9:00pm

It's just a few hours way before the year changes and I just finished writing an email to you. I see our friends' profiles in Facebook and I wonder sometimes if it's alright to keep on holding onto those unsent emails for you— for us. Maybe it's alright to finally be honest to myself that I'm terrified that there's just some emails that I never got to read or receive from your end but then again, I have no one and nothing else to blame but myself in my wicked old ways of running away.

It'd be a lie to say that there's not a day that I regret turning away from you guys when life got way too hard back in 2022. But then again, I did the best I could at the time. It was just too much to drag you all in my life when my ex was hurting me so bad in secret yet you knew and tried to help me out in all the ways you could. Sometimes, I try to comfort myself by never thinking of April 2022 but that's all that I ever had of you as my friends.

It's true that I often wish that I could save those versions of us in the photos from the funny tricks of time but this year alone taught me that there's just some things that are supposed happen one way or another. I would've still lost you guys somewhere, somehow, and I would've still found myself in that confinement I bounded myself to.

I have nothing to lose when I lost you and that's a sentiment that I'd never forget along with the countless tears I shed at the memories of growing up yet growing away from you. One day, we were just strangers and then we became girls who grew up to be women who became each other's strangers once again— like clockwork, we'd find the same kind of bond with someone else and meet them in the same way except all of the versions that we once were to each other are now long gone.

You're one of my Dorotheas in life but you're the sole Alewife for me. I wish we'd be friends in other lifetimes and that I wasn't so stupid to be afraid of being loved and cared for in the other alternate universes because losing you, A, and D— was and would always be my worst mistake that I'd hate myself for.

[freuleinanna]

postcards

Characters: Travis Hackett Chosen ending: The Hacketts are all dead except Travis, Laura survives Short summary: Travis is trying to cope with the trauma of losing his family as best he can (which is not good at all). At the same time, unsigned postcards start to arrive. Words count: 2595 (trauma, healing)

Tags: @b33barlowsstuff, @imperfectjam, @sera-wonderland, @strawberryoverkill, @hrefna-the-raven (tagging my Travis squad, though it's ok if this one's not to your liking)

(I don't pretend to write master psychology or trauma, so I'm sorry if you hate it, but a Travis!meta thought wrote itself into a fic, plus I'm still on my Travis x Laura enemies-to-slightly-less-enemies-with-connection bullshit, oops)

September, 26 This feels stupid.

(no date)

fix the fence

buy coffee

start those quarterly reports !

check podcast  nothing new

(no date) No, I know, it ain't it. I'll try tomorrow. Can't think of anything worth saying.

October, 6 Here's the thing. Chris used to keep a journal. He said it helped, and I owe it to him to try. Just gotta write whatever's on my mind or stuff that happened. So. Drank a beer. Took another patrol shift. Way behind on the quarterlies, really gotta start on them now. What else?

God, what a load of crap. Chris is dead. Bobby's dead. Caleb's dead. Kaylee's dead. Dad's dead.

That's what's on my fucking mind.

October, 7 Ma is dead. There, I wrote it. Feels good. Not that she's    I don't mean fuck

October, 19 Full moon yesterday. Didn't know what else to do, so I started packing. Unpacked around dawn. I don’t need silver bullets anymore.

October, 27 A postcard came from NY. Weird. Nothing but the sender's address. Threw it out.

October, 31 Fucking habits.

I was patrolling, and drove to the camp site. Didn't mean to, just sort of ended up here. Sat in the car like an idiot looking at the windows. Usually, one would be lit. I'd get out, come in, we'd crack a couple of cold ones. I can’t bring myself to //

A bunch of kids just tried to break in on camp's grounds. I think they were looking for a place to get wasted on a Halloween night, which I completely forgot about. One of them was dressed as a werewolf and kept howling. For a moment, I thought Anyway. Scaring the shit out of them felt good. Shouting, too. Disrespectful assholes didn't have any right to be here. Not here.

PS. Almost called Chris to tell the story and have a good laugh.

November, 14 Sent in the quarterly reports last week. WAY overdue. Things kind of  lose their importance, even I know it’s not a good sign. Everything that happens swooshes right through my brain, in and out, like a bullet. Maybe a bullet is what I need

That last part came out of nowhere. I'm not really thinking it. I mean I wasn't, but now that I wrote it, I obviously am. Shit! This whole journal thing is fucking my brain up. Great advice, C. Real nice. It should be helping, not making more mess. How am I supposed to figure it out?

No, fuck that. Ma raised us better than self-pity.

But then, Ma also raised us to protect the family.

November, 19 Full moon. I still measure time by calendar marks. Three moons ago they were all alive.

December, 18 Full moon.

December, 26 Another postcard came. Obnoxious Christmassy stuff, with one snowman sneezing the carrot out and another dodging it and shouting 'I'm okay!' Nothing more, nothing less. Someone must have screwed up the address. This had better stop.

Anyway, this past month. Nothing much to say, I was clearing out the house. Couldn't be there with all of the rooms untouched, so. Yeah. That's it. Done the job.

(later) No, I shouldn't lie, should I? What's even the point.

It smells empty now, the house. Desolate. Like a place where people haven't lived for a long time, even though I've literally been there. I can't seem to fill it up on my own. I'm not enough.

Many things there. Memories. Found Bobby's old book about horses. He fucking loved horses, that kid. Couldn't remember where he put his shoes but recited dozens of breeds by heart. He dreamt we'd turn the house into a ranch. It was that one year when our folks shut the Quarry down cause Bobby was getting bigger, and more and more different, and he needed more attention instead of less. He was obsessed with the idea for months, driving Ma insane. Chris finally had to step in and say, 'Hey, I'll do you one better. We'll reopen the camp, and you'll have lots of kids to play with, how's that?' Bobby almost shat his pants with happiness. Poor lonely kid. I was too grown-up and off to college, and Chris was too… I don’t want to say normal, but maybe he was. He had his own friends. Bobby was with Ma most of the time and Ma was… well, she was Ma. Out of us three, Chris was the only one who had his special way with her. So they decided to reopen. I don't know if Bobby ever remembered the ranch idea again because I think, from then on, he slept and saw himself with a bunch of kids playing together on the camp's grounds.

Spent half an hour on the floor with that goddamn book, nearly crying. We should have got the fucking horses.

January, 17 Full moon. Don't know why I keep doing that.

January, 27 Moved into the station a couple of weeks ago. With all that space in the house, there's just too much, well, space. I'm used to having a big family, that’s the thing. Another habit. Anyone who grew up with one would know, it sinks it teeth in and doesn't let go.

Even C. and I, we went away for college only to come back home. I think, by then it had already been late. That's how Ma rasied us, always keep close to your family and care for it as best you can. We learned it with Bobby, and then with Chris's kids when they came along. We had been a wolf pack long before half of us turned into wolves. The house is cracked in the corners and crooked all over, and we were, too, with our issues and complicated relationships. It was never simple. At least, I knew who I was when I was there. A son, an elder brother, an uncle, lots and lots of strings upon strings. I don't really know who I am now. A survivor, I guess. I survived my family. Any one of us would say that's worth a gold fucking medal.

February, 3 Apparently, in order for it to help, it's supposed to hurt. Catharsis.

Don't have much time to write, but I got on one of those websites for people who lost someone. There are therapists there, too, so you can talk to them if you need to.

Long story short, after a few false-starts, I found Doc Morgan. She was okay. Talked to me for a while about loss, about myself, too. How I’m eating, how I’m sleeping, agitations, fixations. There was, surprisingly, a lot to say. That’s when the catharsis thing came up, I was talking about how Chris was writing and I was trying, too, but it wasn’t working. Then she started asking questions about my family and how I lost them, when it happened (this I could answer) and how (this I couldn't), so I had to drop it.

Before that, she also said I 'harbor a lot of guilt'. No shit, Doc. I wish there was someone to talk about it with. Someone who knew the truth.

Catharsis, huh? Shit.

March, 8 Thirty-five years on the force, and that’s the first time it happens. Got shot on the job. Nothing deadly, a bullet in the arm. Had to wear a cast for a month, so writing is more of an exercise now. Some punk was trying to rob the petrol station, things went south, and I got a bullet, that’s it. Guess hunting werewolves makes you cocky enough to underestimate an ordinary dick with a gun.

Anyway, the whole thing blew out of proportion, and I got handed an award and got my picture taken. Sweet fucking Jesus. I bet they knew there’s no other fool who’d agree to patrol this god-forsaken piece of land, so they were sucking up like hell.

Two new postcards came. This is getting annoying. Haven’t had a look yet, just noticed them in the mail box.

February 16 was the full moon. Still restless.

March, 9 ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.

The postcards. Almost forgot about them again, but went to take a look.

One looks kind of vintage, with two dogs sharing a bone and the ‘I don’t have a bone to pick with you’ phrase in a heinous font. The other is a goddamn get-well card sent by post.

I looked the address up, should have done that long ago (some cop!). It’s a dorm address, for the NYS College of Veterinary Medicine at Cornell University. A vet college.

I don’t know if I’m tired or pissed. Both. Pissed, more. Who does she think she is sending me postcards? Why? Is this a joke, does she think we’re friends? Why would I ever want to hear from her? What in hell are those writings? Got a hold of the previous card, the Christmas one. ‘I’m okay’. And now, ‘I don’t have a bone to pick with you’. God, and the get-well one, too. She must have checked the local papers to see that article. The sheer ARROGANCE. Should have left her right there in that basement with Chris.

(later) Got so wound up that I drove to the nearest post office. Picked the one white card there, the one you’re supposed to draw on to make it personal. Left it blank, wrote STOP IT on the back, and sent right away. This has got to end.

March, 18 Full moon. Up all night again. This, too, has got to end.

March, 26 Went patrolling again and drove to the Quarry by the end of the shift. There’s nothing horrifying on uneasy about it in morning light, just a bunch of wooden cabins with sun shining on the surface of the lake. Almost peaceful. Walked around for a while there, thinking. You’d never guess how close to the earth lie the dark secrets hidden all around.

I don’t know what to do with it. The main cottage is ruined, and I don’t exactly have the time or money to repair it. Even if I did, I certainly can’t run it on my own. Chris knew his way around, he loved it. Really, loved it. Spent hours designing improvement plans, or getting the best deals for food delivery, or talking with kids. He was a natural. I’m no Chris. I can’t really fill his shoes, never could.

I’ll probably have to shut it down or resell. The thought doesn’t sit right. I’m on the verge of the right, reasonable decision but can’t make it for the life of me. It’s all wrong.

April, 4 A postcard came. Of course. I guess I felt it in my guts that it would.

A profound-quote kind this time, the type that’s used for aesthetics, not for actual posting.

Stood by the mail box for a good minute. I think I understand now.

Catharsis.

April, 13 It’s time now, makes no sense to postpone it any longer. In order for it to help, it’s supposed to hurt.

I have always, all my life, tried to be a good person. Do the right thing, make the right decisions. I am a police officer, for God’s sake, have been for thirty-five years. I swore to protect people. But Ma also raised us to protect the family. What does one do when being a good person contradicts being a good brother, a good son?

I harbor a lot of guilt, Doc Morgan said. Damn right, I do. Good people, innocent people died, because I made a choice. All it takes is one broken oath, because once you break it, there’s no going back. There’s no clear path, nowhere to put your loyalty. All you can do is keep going, further and further into the woods. And along that road, there’s always a choice. People you don’t know, whom you’d sworn to protect, or your family, whom you love. Who do you protect? Whose life do you save? They don’t have answers in the police academy. It’s like that ethical problem where you’re riding a trolley without any sort of brakes, and if you keep on your track, you’ll kill a bunch of people, but if you make a choice to pull the lever and switch the trolley to another track, you’ll only kill one. They say the answer is often ‘don’t switch, don’t take that responsibility, let it ride’. Here’s where the catch comes in. What if those people are your family? One stranger seems like a reasonable enough sacrifice to save the ones you love. Here’s another catch. What if this situation comes up over, and over, and over again? And what if you pull the lever so many times that the pile of bodies grows out of control? Does a good person still do it? Does a good son?

He does, it turns out, because no one ever says: enough. Not one damn person. Dad didn’t say it, Ma certainly never did, not even Chris. The good son, the golden son. I can’t hold it against him, really, we all loved him. He was the kind of person who made everything better simply by showing up with his broad smile and stupid jokes. It just so happened, that the choice was mine, and there were always switches, and Chris was always on the tracks. His children, too. Ultimately, all of us. And once I stopped making that damn choice, the trolley rode right through.

‘Guilt is a ravenous creature,’ that’s what it said, on the postcard. It is, indeed. It’s the never-ending tear between ‘what if I never pulled the lever’ and ‘what if I pulled it just one more time’. It’s people you swore to protect but didn’t, and family you were raised to protect but didn’t. The guilt of not being a good person and not being a good son.

I’ve split myself over it so much I can hardly feel the halves, so I’m saying: enough. I’ve done enough. I’d loved them and protected them as best I could but the truth is, the most important choice is to stop sitting in a crashed trolley contemplating your choices. One person with a rope can’t pull everyone else back from the well. At some point, you’ve got to decide to cut the rope. I’m doing just that. I’ve spent enough time being a good brother and son. Maybe I can try being a good person again now.

April, 14 Went to send a postcard. I don’t know what she’s gonna make of it and if she understands at all. The whole thing is just too hard to explain. Catharsis.

For a second, I even thought of tearing out the last entry and sending it as a letter, but shit, the drama. So I went to the camp and took one of the Quarry postcards instead, from the souvenirs stand. Didn’t know what to write. Then just wrote THANK YOU. Maybe it helps her guilt, too, the one that’s been making her send those cards.

I hope so. God, I hope she understands.

April, 17 Full moon yesterday. Slept through it.

May, 1 The answer came. LIKEWISE. She did understand.

//

//

//

P.S. July, 7 I didn’t plan on writing anything else, but then another card came. A happy-birthday card, an absolutely idiotic one, with printed cake, and candles, and confetti.

I’m not even gonna ask how the hell she knew.

But then again, I could always send a postcard and find out.

[violettelueur]

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI || FIRST TIME CUDDLING

| featuring : fushiguro megumi from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : grammar errors but other than that n/a

| form : headcanons

| published : 13 december

| request : hii!! could I request megumi and reader cuddling for the first time or something else soft hehe. (totally fine if u don’t want to!!) I hope you have a great day :)

| barista’s notes : this will be the last one for tonight and how i got like 30 more coffee orders left before i can open the cafe back up again! ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ but i am now at episode 31 of Black Clover and let me just say Nero is such a funny character even though it’s just a bird  ʕ – ᴥ – ʔ BUT KLAUS is just a cute character as well with Noelle - AHHH i can’t choose ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ but i hope you enjoy this last cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) for the night (for me in the UK) and please come again soon!

Fushiguro will be as stiff as a damn log….there is on exception or disagreement to that - this guy will be as stiff as one can be.

You knew at the start of your relationship that Fushiguro wasn’t one to physically express his love towards you, rather more subtle ways like acts of service or gift-giving - sometimes he just doesn’t realise that he does these things as well.

So since the start, you were always patient with him, letting him out at a pace that he wanted to go in - like Mimi is a little shy.

So when you would ask him if you could cuddle with him, Fushiguro will just look at you like you are crazy because why the hell do you want to cuddle with him?

But once you move between his legs and wrap your arms around him, there is literally no escape for him, he is trapped in your embrace.

From what you could feel, that his body had stiffened up completely causing you to loosen your arms slightly before he would instantly wrap his arms around you to keep you anchored near him - to the point you were chest to chest with him

From his perspective, when you loosened your arms, he thought you were moving away from him but on the low, he didn’t want that since he really liked the fact that you wanted him close and he really loved the feeling of your warmth soothing him.

When you look up to see his reaction, all you can see is him looking to the side with a light blush upon his face - which is the most cutest sight you have ever seen.

But once he finally feels confident enough to look at you, you would see him present you with a soft smile before leaving a light kiss upon your forehead.

After that little display of affection, he would just carry on what he was doing as if nothing had happened like going through his phone or continuing to read his non-fiction book.

However, while he is doing what he is doing he would unconsciously pat your head - which will slowly develop into his running his fingers through your hair - causing you to snuggle further into his chest leading to another light blush pending on his face.

Overall, it is a bit awkward at first, but as time passes it’s his favourite thing to do with you during his free time.

[starryevermore]

31 Days of Halloween (2021) is an exercise of creativity born out of the desire to delve more into the fantastic. Sixteen stories feature Colby Brock as one supernatural creature or another (except for one, which delves more into fairy tales, but magical nonetheless), and the remaining fifteen are more on the “realistic” side of fantasy with the typical ghost-hunting shenanigans (some more serious, some more comical, as it should be). None of the stories are connected; all of them exist in their own, individual universe. Enjoy! xx

(Also fun fact: all of the headers on each fic is my own handwriting!) 

(Note: Planning for 31DOH began in October 2021, writing began December 6, 2020, and writing finished in January 7, 2021.)

(Note 2: I made the graphic for this back in July 2020, when I was still “starrybrock” and I’m too lazy to go back and find the video and stuff to remake it lmao) 

Total Word Count: 27,458

KEY:

📚: Full-length fic

📃: Blurb

📃 Day 1: "To Hell and Back” (Demon!Colby)

you play with the ouija board alone and accidentally summons a demon that can’t get you off his mind.

📃 Day 2: “Holding My Breath”

“i’m telling you, this place is haunted!”

📚 Day 3: “Nipping at Your Nose” (Winter Spirit!Colby)

a certain winter spirit takes an interest in you.

📃 Day 4: “All the Devils are Here”

“how do you kill something that’s already dead?”

📚 Day 5: “God Rest His Soul” (Ghost!Colby)

you move into what was once the trap house and encounter the ghost of a certain emo boy.

📃 Day 6: “Overnight in Haunted Hotel (Gone Wrong)”

“there is no way I’m staying here overnight!”

📃 Day 7: “Bring Me A Dream” (Sandman!Colby) 

he always made sure you had the sweetest of dreams.

📃 Day 8: “A Ring of Salt”

“i saw on tv once that salt will keep them away.”

📚 Day 9: “A Dove in a Golden Cage” (Vampire!Colby)

your vampire decides that you must be his equal.

📃 Day 10: “Where Tragedy Reigns”

“something really horrible must have happened here.” 

📚 Day 11: “Tale as Old as Time” (Beast!Colby)

he was the beast. you were the beauty. could i make it anymore obvious?

📃 Day 12: “To the Other Shore”

“did you just hear that scream?”

📃 Day 13: “Lord Prepare Me” (Angel!Colby)

he would always make sure nothing bad ever happened to you.

📃 Day 14: “Beyond the Veil” 

“you look like you just saw a ghost.” 

📚 Day 15: “A Labyrinth of Perplexities” (sorta Minotaur!Colby)

you are cast into the labyrinth as punishment for a crime you never committed and come face-to-face with the beast that resides in its walls.

📃 Day 16: “What Goes Bump in the Night”

“what do you mean the hotel is haunted?”

📃 Day 17: “By the Light of the Moon” (Werewolf!Colby)

he saw himself a monster, but you saw him for the sweetheart he is.

📃 Day 18: “Twas a Dark & Stormy Night”

“i mean, what’s better than being trapped in a haunted house with a spirit hellbent on attacking us while a storm rages outside, all while we have no cell service and a car that won’t start? oh, right, literally anything else.” 

📚 Day 19: “At Springtide” (Selkie!Colby)

every springtide, a mysterious man comes to visit you.

📃 Day 20: “Nosferatu” 

“please tell me that’s you flickering the lights.” 

📃 Day 21: “Cast a Spell on You” (Witch!Colby)

he cast a love spell, and that’s how he met you.

📚 Day 22: “The Witches Forest”

you can’t believe your boyfriend was stupid enough to run off into the dark and dangerous woods.

📃 Day 23: “Out of this Dull World” (Fairy!Colby)

perhaps you should’ve listened when they said to be careful who you gave your name to.

📃 Day 24: “Where Spirits Meet”

“we’re at a graveyard at three in the morning. what did you think was gonna happen?”

📚 Day 25: “Touched by a God” (Deity!Colby)

sick of the monotony of living on mount olympus, you descend into the underworld and meet the god of the dead. 

📃 Day 26: “Cursed”

“this place is cursed.”

📃 Day 27: “Choke Me Like You Hate Me” (Incubus!Colby)

there are some things that even a sex-obsessed demon can love.

📃 Day 28: “Something Wicked this Way Comes”

“we have to run—now!”

📚 Day 29: “The Song of Sirens” (Mermaid!Colby)

you lament about the pains of being immortal as colby brings you as much comfort as he can muster. 

📃 Day 30: “Seeing is Believing”

“ghosts aren’t real!”

📚 Day 31: “Wildly, Insanely, Infinitely” (Prince Charming!Colby)

you gave up on your happily ever after, until a handsome stranger rides in.

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

winter in itaewon || Choi Beomgyu

Pairing: Choi Beomgyu x gamer!fem!reader

Genre/s: Fluff; Angst; Humor (if you squint)

Word count: 5,0k

Warning/s: it is implied that reader was subject to violence (once); although it says the reader is a gamer, there are not that many references towards to actual gaming lmao; this was proofread like once (😭)

Hyunjin and Jeongin take Beomgyu out to the PC Room in Itaewon for his birthday; a year after their last visit. As he reminisces the events of the year before, every corner of his mind is revisited by her — as if he were capable of forgetting her anyway.

a/n: happy beomgyu day!!💞 the inspiration to write this hit me in the middle of the night, coming from these kickass headcannons by sumi, and it's completely different to the initial idea i shared with amie sksjsjs alsothislowkeysucks. nevertheless, i hope you all enjoy!!

12 March 2021, 23:30

Despite being embraced by his thick padded coat, the freezing air still managed to disrupt the warmth in annoying, sharp gusts every time the wind blew. Itaewon was always more alive while the rest of Seoul slept soundly, and tonight was no exception. The streets were aglow with the lambent signage of the many stalls and establishments which lined it’s pavements, and were filled with clusters of people who either visited the stores, window-shopped or were simply enjoying the night-life.

Beomgyu wasn’t very enthusiastic about joining Hyunjin and Jeongin when they had initially posed the idea. He’d been spending much of his time in the studio and practice room, so the plan was to get some sleep when he had some free time. His conscience eventually got the better of him, though – he hadn’t been able to meet up with his friends in months due to work and the pandemic, and his scheduled birthday live thwarted the possibility of holding it off until the following day.

“Are you good?” Jeongin asked, pulling Beomgyu out of his thoughts, arching a brow at his dazed friend. He noticed that he had been lagging behind the two of them, and that their features were now etched with concern. Beomgyu pushed the bangs out of his face before waving them off, mumbling that he’s okay.

There was a look in their eyes that Beomgyu couldn’t quite decipher, but pushed it off as nothing when Jeongin draped an arm over his shoulder and lead him further down the street. His feet stopped squarely when they made it to the PC Room, cementing themselves before the front door. Jeongin looked at Beomgyu and smiled.

“Are you coming in?”

It wasn’t that Beomgyu didn’t want to respond, he simply couldn’t. Sure, it may have seemed like a trivial thing to answer, the words just wouldn’t formulate coherent sentences – his mind didn’t have the capacity to make them. Her. That was the only thing it could manifest. Her. 

The pressure of a years-worth of his bottled emotions had finally blew it’s top – thoughts, images and memories which had been ingrained into his subconscious coming forth to hit him like a train.

“We’ll wait for you inside, then.”

31 December 2019, 22:00

Laughter ringing through the air, Hyunjin, Jeongin and Beomgyu pushed open the door to the PC Room. Beomgyu stopped at the door while the other two signed in, arms rubbing away the remnants of snow on the arms of his black coat. Removing his mask, he smiled into the warmth of the heated building. Their schedules after debut had left no space for any recreation, so it was liberating to spend New Years Eve with his friends, doing what he does best.

“Ready to have your butts kicked?” Beomgyu cackled, with his whole chest, as they took their seats next to one another in the isle, earning him much-deserved glares. As soon as he’s logged on and the headset is donned however, his usually playful demeanour is replaced by one of a much calmer nature – studying the map, observing enemy tactics and carefully directing his support as his fingers glide skilfully across the keyboard.

Hyunjin groaned after the umpteenth attempt to beat him, dropping the headset onto the desk as Jeongin whined into his hands. A smirk rolled onto Beomgyu’s lips as he leaned back into the swivel chair, flashing his brows at them. “I refuse to believe this is possible, it’s got to be rigged!”

“Ah, after all this time I’ve still got it,” Beomgyu retorted, chuffed with himself for doing as well as he knew he would. Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if I ranked first with the amount of times I kicked ass on this server.”

Jeongin, who had taken it upon himself to do the fact-checking, smirked at the screen before calling the two of them over. “Actually–”

Beomgyu screamed in frustration, tossing the headset onto the desk before pushing against it, sending him flying across the floor in the chair. No matter how hard he tried, no matter the strategy he just couldn’t beat the player in first place. The commotion startled the other two, who had fallen asleep waiting for Beomgyu to finish up, the satisfaction of witnessing his losses long past.

“Just one more game, I swear!” he whined as they dragged him away from the PC screen.

Hyunjin seethed, “that’s what you said three hours ago! No, we’re leaving. Jeongin’s parents have been waiting up for us.”

Beomgyu huffed at the front counter. While the older took care of the bill, he found that the room was completely empty – almost. The light emanating from a desk directly across from where he stood, lit up the face of a young-looking girl. She seemed to be in high school (that’s what the uniform she wore indicated atleast) and the big, round, metal-framed glasses settled on the bridge of her nose, mirrored the computer screen. The sight pacified Beomgyu, for a reason he couldn’t quite explain, a smile stretching across his face.

He sauntered closer, eyes searching around for nothing in particular, trying not to look like a creep as he approached you. His smile only grew when he found her eyebrows knitted together, teeth biting down on her bottom lip in concentration. And then he saw it. The graphics reflecting from her glasses seeming all to familiar to him, he rushed around the desk, eyes darting to the top corner of the screen.

ID: winter996

12 January 2020, 22:30

Beomgyu’s foot tapped impatiently as he waited at the desk closest to the entrance, checking his watch every few minutes, before running a frustrated hand through his soft silvery locks. He had finally gotten the chance to visit the PC room again, most of his time having gone into practice and rehearsals for award show season, and he wasn’t leaving until he saw you again.

He ran out of the practice room as soon as he heard that they would have the following day off; he was exhausted and had been waiting for almost two hours – but he refused to leave until he saw you again.

The owner noticed the boy sitting at the desk he usually reserved for you, lips curling at the sight of the fidgety youth. He had visited on three prior occasions; once with his friends, and the remaining times himself, sitting in exactly the same spot he was now sitting. Instead of chasing him away as he did everyone else, he simply waited to see how this turn of events would unfold.

You pushed open the glass doors with a huff, adjusting the strap of your backpack on your shoulder before blowing the stray hairs from your face. Keeping your eyes fixed on the ground beneath you, you nod to the owner and he returns the gesture with a smile, although he knows you won’t see it.

Beomgyu, who had almost surrendered himself to the fatigue, sat up straight when you pulled back the chair next to him. He watched as you scrunched up your nose in attempt to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose before putting the headset on, and chuckled softly.

He watched in awe as you cleared level after level, climbing the ranks as you went along, with seemingly no effort whatsoever. You kept the mic off and communicated with your group though the chat, which was probably why he never realised you were a girl. Your strategy seemed way too complex for him to understand, and his amazement never faltered for even a second, as you dominated each and every position you played.

It was a little over an hour before you decided to take a break, wondering where the owner was since he usually brought your snacks around that time. Pushing the headset around your neck, you stretched upward to see where he was, only to find yourself roughly pushed back down and turned toward a strange boy whom you’ve never seen before.

His eyes, sparkling with absolute wonder, coaxed your surprise and made your heart race with a feeling as unfamiliar as he was.

“You have to tell me how you do that! Teach me, please, Winter996!”

25 January 2020, 22:30

“Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” you voice rang from the speaker of Beomgyu’s phone. He never questioned your reasons for not turning your mic on during the game, but insisted that you speak directly to him instead. “On your left, be careful.”

“I know, I see them. And yes, but I have some time before the next session starts.” After much pestering, about something having to do with ‘senseis’ and ‘disciples’, you agreed to let Beomgyu play with you. He was rather beside himself when you told him you never really used any strategy, though; you ‘just did what felt right’.

An adorable smile had tugged at your lips during his three hundred-and-fifty paged slideshow about the importance of strategy and observation, one he would not soon forget.

“You could just wait until Itaewon.”

“Is it my fault you only go when your rank drops?”

Soobin’s dark head of hair popped into the studio, and he glared upon finding Beomgyu tapping away at his laptop on the sofa. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! The break as been over ages ago–”

“(Y/n), (Y/n), go, go! I’ll cover you!”

“Beomgyu, I think–”

“You’re playing again?! With a girl?!”

5 February 2020, 22:00

You’re quieter than usual and Beomgyu noticed right away. Over the phone, you never had any qualms in conversating with him– when you were playing the game, atleast. The thought that it was because of him does cross his mind, but he catches the frown you’re desperately trying to hide, by biting the inside of your cheek.

A thick scarf is wrapped around your neck, your chin buried into the red woolly folds, and your hair frames your face,  but he sees the light swelling on the side of your face and around your eyes that you’re trying to hide. The feeling in the pit of his stomach makes his nails press crescents into the palms of his hands, but he fights the urge to ask.

“Beomgyu! What are you doing! They’re coming!” you yell, pulling him back to reality, hearing the sound of your voice at long last calming him a tad.

“Right, sorry.”

You played together straight through into the early hours of the morning, sharing victory after victory, with him right by your side. You froze up when he instinctively pulled you into a hug upon your last win, gulping as he slowly removed his arms, laughing it off as his adrenaline high peaked higher.

The van’s horn blared outside, catching you both off guard. Beomgyu quickly grabbed his coat before making his way back up the way he came, but paused before he opened the door. Craning his head back to look at you once more, he smiled.

“I’ll text you later.”

12 February 2020, 23:30

Beomgyu’s hands move quickly across the controls, your voice shouting orders to him through the headset as the current game hit it’s climax. Playing with Beomgyu all the time had made you a lot more comfortable with engaging with the other members of your group, so although you were still pretty anxious at first, you made the decision to turn on your mic.

“We did it!” Beomgyu cheered as your team cleared yet another level.

Gaming was something mundane to you and winning was easy; but sneaking out to the PC Room from time to time helped alleviate the pressures of your personal life. The life which you would rather die than share with Beomgyu. But after being swayed by his nonsensical attempts at convincing you, logging onto the server had become your favorite thing to do.

Every victory felt extraordinary when shared with him, and you could have sworn that at that very moment, you could see the way the ends of his eyes creased as the edges of his lips pushed up his cheeks. The way his arms would be stretched up in happiness, as his intoxicating laugher filled the air.

On the other end, Beomgyu leaned back into his desk chair, smiling into the darkness, envisioning the way you’d be pretending it was no big deal whilst your eyes sparkled with happiness and a smile dug into your rosey cheeks.

“Hey, (Y/n)?”

You hummed into the mic, your head rested on the desk and your eyes closed, just listening to his voice, savoring every second of it.

“Do you...have a Valentine or something?”

14 February 2020, 18:00

From the moment the car pulled up down the street, Beomgyu was unable to take his eyes off from you. His eyes travelled up from the scuffed white sneakers which tapped against the pavement nervously, to the washed out jeans, to the oversized cardigan, which bunched up around the wrists of your hands, which shifted between nervously tucking your hair behind your ears, to pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, to straightening out your outfit.

You were going to be the death of him.

He hurried toward you as soon as he saw you shiver. The sound of his soles against the wet concrete caught your attention and you turned in his direction, the look in your eyes nearly resulting in a fatal blow – the way they bewitched nearly had him hitting his head against the sidewalk.

Your hands tightened around the strap of the bag slung around your shoulder as you watched the dark-haired boy make his way down the street to you, a stupidly giddy-looking expression plastered across his face. You couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the way you did about Beomgyu – even though you knew you shouldn’t.

You were never really interested in fan culture, but some of the girls in your cram school were very invested. When you heard them gushing about a group called ‘Tomorrow X Together’ and it’s members the previous afternoon, a knot formed in your stomach. The first thing you did when you got home, was do research. You decided to listen to all of their albums and watch all of their music videos, interviews and content videos. Unsure what to do with all the new-found information and conflicting emotions, you pulled the covers over your head and tried to sleep instead. But you couldn’t.

Beomgyu flicked the side of your head, bringing you back to the present, and your cheeks flushed upon realization of his proximity. He smirked, wrapping his brown scarf around your neck. “It’s still winter you know, Winter. You should dress warmly.”

You clicked your tongue and pouted at his teasing use of your in-game alias, and marched off without him. He trailed behind you, laughing and relieved that you were no longer frowning as you were before. You froze when he caught up with you, feeling the warmth of his hand as it slipped into yours, tucking it into his coat pocket. Burying your face into his scarf, which smelled just like him, you smiled giddily, letting him pull you along with him.

He took you to dinner and the amusement park after that. He was thrilled to know you liked rollercoasters as much as he did and embarrassed to know he couldn’t even beat you at the kid’s games. He ended up going home with a truckload of new plushies, and you, with ever-increasing feelings that you had no idea what to do with.

28 February 2020, 23:42

Beomgyu burst through the doors of the PC Room no longer than 10 minutes after receiving a call from the owner. He still wore his sleepwear, over which his coat was thrown, his hair was disheveled and his bare left foot was stuffed halfway into a sneaker, while his sock-wearing right foot was slipped into a black slipper.

The owner, with worry painted across his features, cocked his head to the desk where the two of you usually sat. His heart ached at the sight of your curled up figure beneath it. Your bloodshot eyes widened when you realized his presence, the surprise enabling him a few seconds to examine you up and down before you turned away from him. Your bottom lip was cut and bruised, your cheek was swollen and bruises were littered across your face and the length of your arms and neck, your hair as messy as his was.

You insisted that you’re okay, even though he took you into his arms without asking anything at all. You insisted that you’re okay, but as his warmth enveloped you, tears began streaming down your face. He felt the way your body trembled in his arms, so he begins rocking you back and forth slowly, pressing soft kisses into your hair, whispering a single phrase over and over again.

“I’m here.”

4 March 2020, 19:00

Due to the pandemic, one of the award show ceremonies the boys were supposed to attend had been cancelled and moved to a later date. Worried that they’d feel disheartened about their performance, you decided to host a little award ceremony of your own. His friends were as welcoming as he was, so you quickly got along- even more so since Beomgyu stuck even closer to you since that day.

“The first award of the evening,” you announced, clearing your throat in the middle of the living room. The boys, who were cheering your on from their seats on the dorm sofa, quieted down as Yeonjun hushed them, gesturing for you to continue, “goes to a very versatile young man. The winner of the ‘Fourth Generation It Boy – In Everything Except Braincells’ Daesang, goes too, you guessed it, Choi Yeonjun!”

The rest erupted in laughter as an exasperated Yeonjun made his way to where you stood, empty wrappers crackling under his feet. He threw a glare at the boys before he bowed before you in the most formal way possible, and you handed him the pretty mediocre, handmade certificate, before enamored laughter spilled from his lips.

Soobin received an award for being the ‘Best Leader of the Greatest Global Shookies’, to which he sighed. Taehyun received the Grand Award ‘The Best Son, Our King, Vocalist Kang’, which the rest labelled unfair and favoritism. Kai received the ‘Gotta Hit That High Note Like-’ award, which he proudly accepted with absolutely no complaints, beaming at the poorly made certificate.

“And last, but not least,” you started, peaking at Beomgyu from the corner of you eyes, determination almost faltering at the sight of his anticipating countenance. Peering down at the clipboard in your hands, you frowned, “well, I guess that’s all we have for tonight, folks-”

The sound of their hearty laughter filled the dorm once again, Yeonjun nearly toppling over the armrest of the sofa. Beomgyu nodded, tongue in cheek, clearly bothered by the whole ordeal. You joined in on the laughter, before glancing back to the clipboard, your heart rate picking up a little.

“Oh, what’s this?” you feigned surprise, “We have two more awards left! To Choi Beomgyu,” you said, pausing to steady your breath, refusing to make eye contact with him, “goes the award for ‘The Most Annoying Amateur Gamer-” laughter once more, Beomgyu joining in this time, “Best Friend and Utterly Talented All-rounder’. And lastly, to Tomorrow X Together for ‘Best Group of All Time’!” you cheered, relieved that they all got up and cheered as well, without teasing you.

Beomgyu took your hand and slipped the certificate from the board. You may have been embarrassed at the self-proclaimed ‘lousy’ attempt at decorating his certificate, but within seconds, that sheet of colored board became the most important thing to him in the world - his most prized possession. He pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, and the rest all joined in without a second to spare, endlessly praising you and expressing their affection as you giggled in response.

Later on that evening, after you left and the others were fast asleep, he laid on his bed, limbs splayed across the comforter. He sighed dreamily up at the ceiling, bringing his hands up to cover the bashful grin playing on his lips. He turned his head ever-so slightly, and peeked through the spaces between his fingers at the certificate perched on his night-stand and sighed again.

What was he going to do with you.

13 March 2020, 20:00

You pushed aside everything that had been happening in your life to be happy on your best friend’s birthday. You were convinced it was the least you could do in return for everything he did for you. Deciding to host something small at the PC Room, the owner was pretty enthusiastic to make a contribution to the happiness of his ‘favourite patrons’, you invited his members and some of his closest friends.

Although Beomgyu would have loved to spend the day with just you, he was extremely grateful to know efforts you had made to make him enjoy his day. You had been chattering away with the owner at the front desk, but somewhere amidst conversation with Taehyun, he had lost sight of you. He frowned, apologizing to Taehyun before excusing himself.

Ready to grab his coat and leave, he stopped in his tracks when the lights were shut off. Slowly, the room was illuminated once more, by the flickering flames atop birthday candles, and the enormous smile across your face as you sang, “happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,...”

The cake, in the shape of a bear and embellished with chocolate decorations of every variety, was placed on the table in front of where the rest had seated him. Eyes not once leaving you, absolutely entranced by your beauty, Beomgyu gulps, his heart racing a million miles an hour.

“Make a wish, before the wax gets onto the cake, Dummy.”

He pulls his lip between his teeth and flicks the top of your head gently, chuckling softly, before clasping his hands together and closing his eyes. For a reason unknown to him, Beomgyu couldn’t think of something to wish for. No, rather, he knew exactly why he had no idea what to wish for. He opened his eyes once more, and grinned at your anticipating face, the pining in his chest only running deeper and deeper.

He blew out the candles.

“What did you wish for-”

Beomgyu grabbed your hand and pulled you with him as he ran out onto the wet Itaewon streets. You didn’t run too far, before he pulled you into one of the alleyways. Completely lost for words and a little out of breath, you stood there, staring at him. The same puzzled look you had given him when you first met is etched into your face and his lips curl upward. Your breathing hitches as he takes a step closer to you and he pushes the rain-soaked hair from your face, eyes flitting to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

He pulled your chest flush against his and it was quiet for a moment. Quiet, save for the sound of the rain pitter-pattering across the rooftops and the alley floor; quiet, save for the sound of your thumping hearts.

“I love you.”

He feels you tense up, so he tightens his embrace. There is a silence again, and it is a lot less pleasant than the first. The sound of your sniffling alarms him, so he brings your face to meet his, his heart aching at the tears dripping down your face. You start making attempts to break free of his hold, shaking your head and him, whimpers escaping your lips every time you tried to speak.

Tears now streamed down his face too, a piece of him torn away each time you pushed him away. Beomgyu fought desperately to keep you in his arms, but before he knew it, you had slipped right through his fingers.

“I’m sorry.” was the last thing he heard you say through persisting sobs, before you disappeared down the street, without a trace.

30 June 2020

Beomgyu smiled before the cameras and press, laughing along with interviewers and staff members like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

You had been missing for over three months. You blocked his number. You didn’t log onto the game, someone else had long taken your position on the leader board. After composing himself that day, he had bolted after you, but it was as if you had vanished off the face of the earth. Beomgyu stopped by the PC Room as much as he could in the following days, his condition only worsening each time he did, but due to the growing numbers of positive cases and the increasing amount of work scheduled for him, the time he spent there was limited.

When he did go, he sat in your chair, staring at the front door until he had to leave. The owner, who had been watching him in sympathy, called him up to the desk one day before he left – the last day the owner saw him. He looked sleep-deprived and downcast, the same pained expression drawn into his features every time he left.

“She... came here a lot. I think her first visit was around the time she was in middle school. She never spoke much, and never seemed to have any friends,” The owner told him, looking out to the isles of computers in front of him, before turning back to Beomgyu. “The first time I saw her talk- no, the first time I saw her smile, was with you. She liked you...alot.”

Beomgyu sighed, with a short, hollow chuckle.

“I know.”

12 March 2021, 23:55

The room was empty and dark when Beomgyu finally walked in, eyebrows knitted together as he tried to see through the darkness. He tried calling out for Hyunjin and Jeongin, but the only replies he received was the wind rattling the window-blinds.  

The flickering of candles illuminate the room, just like they did many months ago, and Beomgyu’s heart stopped. He tried to not look disappointed when it turned out to be his members with Hyunjin and Jeongin carrying the cake, singing happy birthday to him with the most excited expressions on their faces, but his throbbing chest betrayed him.

They brought the cake up until where he stood and Yeonjun arched a brow, a knowing smirk rolling onto his lips. “You really do have a wild imagination, don’t you? Ow!” he cried, when Beomgyu hit his arm. “Ugh, just make a wish already.”

Beomgyu clasped his hands tightly before him and squeezed his eyes shut, just as he did before. Only this time, he knew exactly what he wanted. The subject of his pining, worry, and love. Her. He would give anything to see her, just one last time.

And when he opened his eyes, that was exactly what he found in front of him.

“Happy Birthday, Choi Beomgyu.”

The lights went back on, and Beomgyu blinked repeatedly, making sure that it wasn’t just his mind playing tricks on him. But there you were, with tears brimming your eyes, in all your glory, the love of his life. 

He takes in all the little changes, like your trimmed hair, and that fact that you seemed to have lost weight – which made him frown. And then there was that smile, that dazzling smile, which only seemed to shine brighter now than it did before.

Your hands tremor a bit, the way he just stares at you making your heart leap. “I-I’m sor-”

The cake hit the floor with a plop, eliciting laughter from the others as he wraps his arms around your figure and he reels you into his arms in one swift movement. You feel his tears soak into your blouse, and you hold onto him tighter, your eyes already wet from your own tears. You were finally with him – you were finally home.

The owner gathered everyone together for a photo towards the end of the celebration, Beomgyu following suit wherever you went, refusing to let go of your hand for even a second. You offered him a loving smile when Hyunjin teased him for it, and placed a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

Beomgyu lead you up to the rooftop to see the sunrise, momentarily letting go of your hand to flush your back against his chest, before grabbing hold of it, and the other hand, again. The bright orange and yellow rays peeked from behind the mountain in the distance, and you had never felt more at peace.

You recalled the way your chest tightened and the way tears burned at the corners of your eyes upon receiving his confession a year ago. You had been so happy. So, so happy. But you knew you could not accept him. At the time, you knew that you were in no place to be with someone like him. He was, and is, too wonderful for someone as messed up as you are. You didn’t want burden him with your issues, not when his career had just taken off.

“Beomgyu?” he hummed from where his head against yours, “I love you.”

You stepped away from his embrace, giggling when you noticed the way he pouted. Your turned to face him properly, before attaching your arms around his waist. “Back then... I was in a really bad space. It’s not excuse, and I certainly shouldn’t have run away from you. I...have gotten help ever since, and I want to tell you my story. Would you like to hear it?”

He leaned back and thought for a moment. He then cupped the side of your face with his hand and ran his thumb across your cheek, before pulling you in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Whatever you’re willing to share, I will listen to and accept with open arms. I love you for who you are; and that includes everything that has shaped, and will shape you into the amazing person I already know you are.”

“That includes the way you absolutely kick my ass at gaming.”

[kateis-cakeis]

Would Alivebur Join The Syndicate?

It’s been a question circling in my mind since Techno wrote out the manifesto. Because the Syndicate stands for something very important, not just promoting anarchy, but fighting tyranny.

In all its forms! Sic semper tyrannis. Thus always to tyrants!!

So, what does this mean for Alivebur? Well, his entire story is good to work this out. 

From the second he experienced tyranny when all he was doing was making drugs, to the moment he gave everything up, proclaiming that government was not the way to go... Alivebur was fighting against tyrants. That was always his role.

Firstly, I will examine what a 16th of Nov Alivebur would think, then, I will factor in an Alivebur with Ghostbur memoires. So, let’s begin!

To truly see what Alivebur would think, we need to dive into past quotes:

*Sapnap hands over some Blaze rods* “Oh yeah, you can't buy our peace from your tyranny.” - (Wilbur’s The Wall: 7:19, 29th July)

This is the first time tyranny is mentioned, and it’s in reference to Sapnap. After all, he was the one who arrested Tommy, he was the one who tried to stop them, who killed Tommy too. This is when we find out what angle Alivebur is going for - that what happened to him and Tommy was down to tyrants.

Here, Alivebur insinuates the only way to get peace is with revolution and independence. Not from tyrants buying him off.

“Look, Dream isn't our enemy, he's our neighbour. But, we are seceding from his tyrannical rule.” - (Wilbur’s The Wall: 57:34, 29th July)

This is the second time tyranny is mentioned, and the first time it’s directed towards Dream. Alivebur clearly had no beef with him, as he claimed he wasn’t an enemy, but he does claim that Dream is a tyrant. Which, considering what happened to Alivebur, makes sense. 

You can also see here that Alivebur didn’t want to fight, see:

“We don’t win wars with battles and with armour. We win wars with our words, Tommy. We’re starting a revolution, not a war.” - (Wilbur’s The Wall: 4:54, 29th July)

and,

“We don't wish for bloodshed, we don't wish for war, we don't wish to show our power in any way, we just want our freedom, we just want emancipation, independence.” - (Wilbur's The Revolution is Coming: 26:02, 2nd Aug)

Alivebur being all about peace is important. He never wanted to fight: 

“I’m not a fighter, I’m a writer.” - (Wilbur’s The Wall: 1:48:31, 29th July) 

But he was dedicated to fighting tyranny. He just, at first, wished to do it peacefully. And if he joined the Syndicate, he could push for that. Peace over violence.

“He's the one choosing to live with the enemy, with the people who conquered us for so long.” - (Wilbur’s The Wall: 1:29:57, 29th July)

This quote is in reference to Tommy choosing to keep his home, and being conflicted about having a permanent residence in L’Manberg. But it’s not that part I want to focus on, it’s what Alivebur believes. That Dream and co had conquered them ‘for so long’. 

You can see here that Alivebur had believed them to be tyranny for a long time, and that they had conquered them. This is important because it shows that Alivebur did indeed want freedom from them. To emancipate. 

The first Independence book is another important piece of evidence. Alivebur references tyranny a few times. Calling what the people of the Dream SMP lands did to them tyranny. Saying disregarding their independence is tyranny. Which further proves the fact Alivebur was fighting against that. 

But there’s a part of the Independence book that shows Alivebur could easily be open to anarchy, even back in the War:

It’s the second paragraph on page 5 that is important. The right of the people existing above the king, the government, and the economy. For this reason, it’s clear that even a Pre Independence War Alivebur would definitely be open to the Syndicate.

Moving on swiftly to the policies of the POG Party, tyranny is also mentioned there:

‘WE WILL NOT STAND FOR TYRANNY’. The fact that it’s in CAPS is an indicator that Alivebur was very set on this, and was always set on this. Even during the election. This was from an Alivebur scarred by the War and the Final Control Room. It shows he never backed down from fighting tyranny.

Which brings us onto the 16th of November...

“Techno, you've taught me a lot. You've taught me that government is not the way to go. And I agree with you. Everything you've said, I completely agree with you.” - (Wilbur's smithereens: 1:08:20, 16th Nov)

See... this was the first time that Alivebur directly stated that he agreed with Techno, and that governments were not the way to go. And this is possibly the most important quote here.

While it’s important to point out that Alivebur wanted to fight against tyranny from the start, from the revolution to his policies, him saying that he completely agreed with Techno is something else entirely.

What was it they called themselves... anarchy bros? :)

While Alivebur was focused on destroying L’Manberg because it ‘no longer existed’, he definitely was on Techno’s side. Saying that the both of them had won.

For this reason, Alivebur could not only join the Syndicate for its stance against tyranny, but also for its anarchy. After all, this is a guy who was a former President, a former leader of a revolution, the former head of a drug empire (for one day :P). He knows what it’s like to be on the other side, and in the end he chose no government. 

He’d be valuable for this knowledge too, but you can see why, in all his fails, it would be easy to draw Alivebur in with anarchy.

Nothing else worked for him, except that one time he truly won in his own eyes, on his own terms, when he turned to Techno’s anarchy.

So, the answer to the question is yes. 100% yes. For the anarchy he eventually agreed with. For fighting tyranny.

---

But

What about Ghostbur?

Now... an Alivebur with Ghostbur memories, that’s a different story entirely.

But is it?

Ghostbur, with his memories and his history books, knows things others have long forgotten. It’s his quotes from the 16th of December that are important to examine here, as it’s the only time he has specifically referenced ideals that Alivebur had.

Freedom. Being against tyranny.

It’s subtle in the way he does it. But it’s important, nonetheless:

“I’m going to go see this cage.” *starts singing the first verse of the anthem* - (Philza’s Just a regular day: 1:17:18, 16th Dec)

This is one of the very subtle quotes. He says he’s going to see the cage, that he said isn’t very conducive to a free environment:

Everyone’s free to do what they want, and live how they want. I don’t think cages are conducive to that environment.” - (Philza’s Just a regular day: 1:08:25, 16th Dec)

And then begins singing the first verse of the L’Manberg anthem. In which the lines include: ‘The brutality and the tyranny of their rulers.’ As if to imply that the cage was tyranny, suggesting that Ghostbur was still heavily against tyranny, but instead of fighting with violence, he was very surely using his words.

Ghostbur calling L’Manberg tyranny is further implied by the following quote:

“I just destroyed the cage, I destroyed the shackles of oppression, I have drained the bog- the mire of injustice, and I have found peace in a land of tyranny!” - (Philza’s Just a regular day: 1:19.47, 16th Dec)

Relating the cage to oppression, injustice, and tyranny, does indeed suggest that despite Ghostbur being notably different to Alivebur, the one thing that stayed constant was his hate for tyranny. 

The finding peace in a land of tyranny is interesting, as it suggests that was always c!Wilbur’s goal, peace from tyranny, as I referenced earlier. And my earlier point stands even more so with Ghostbur: If he joined the Syndicate, he could push for doing things peacefully.

However, if Alivebur gets Ghostbur’s memories, he may get an understanding about L’Manberg’s destruction he otherwise wouldn’t have, which could put him at odds with Techno and Phil.

But that also depends on if he remembers what Ghostbur may have forgotten. It is heavily implied he forgot his argument with Phil, but if he remembers it, then, this quote is important:

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I don’t want to have to hear what you have to say. I’ve read the history books, Phil. I’ve read the history books. You slayed the dragon, you slayed Alivebur. You are the St George of the Dream SMP. We understand, everyone understands that, Phil. But, look what you’ve done. How can you look at this and still see yourself as a hero. Sending a message, Phil. Sending a message?” - (Wilbur’s First Time Ghostbur Live: 17:58, 6th Jan) 

A long quote! I will admit! But it’s an important one. An Alivebur with Ghostbur memories, and this memory in particular, would remember the anguish, remember seeing Phil as a hero for his death, only to denounce him as that, because he was trying to send a message, something Ghostbur categorically disagreed with. 

Hell, even Alivebur didn’t do what he did to send a message.

And would an Alivebur with memories still be on Techno’s side?

“I gave Friend to Phil to look after. And Dream found me friend. And Technoblade, he said we were friends. See, people wouldn’t lie about that, would they?” - (Wilbur’s First Time Ghostbur Live: 9:36, 6th Jan)

Ghostbur was hurt. By Phil. By Techno. Even by Dream. And yet he asks that they wouldn’t lie, would they? So with this in mind, Ghostbur would not join the Syndicate.

But an Alivebur with Ghostbur memories? That is so much harder to determine.

With all the evidence, that Alivebur was dedicated to fighting tyranny, and was open to and sided with anarchy, that Ghostbur was still dedicated to being against tyranny, it seems very, very likely that regardless of what he remembers... a resurrected c!Wilbur would be up for joining the Syndicate.

However, an Alivebur with Ghostbur memories could very well choose another side that would fight against tyranny. If he felt too betrayed by Phil and Techno with his Ghostbur memories, he could turn away from them. But if he could move past that, if he talked about it with them, then with all he has said and done, he could still join.

So, for an Alivebur with Ghostbur memories... the answer to the question is... yes but no? It depends what he remembers, how he feels, where his loyalties truly lie. Hell, he could join Fundy instead.

All in all, with everything in mind, c!Wilbur as a whole, as unpredictable as he can be, is dedicated to fighting against tyranny. He agreed with Techno shortly before his death. And even in death, still believed that tyranny had to be challenged. That matters when it comes down to the Syndicate and makes him one day joining very likely.

[theyarebothgunshot]

Damn, Gunshots, you got me.

More hints:

1. The first poem ever posted on Alma's account mentions not only Alma and their partner grow older but also their love (the way I interpret it) so to me it means maturity but also long-term relationship that actually changed over time.

2. In the same poetry we have a mention of scientific funfact and it is a Misha thing to do.

3. Second poem, here I'm on the fence but here's what we find out: Alma visits their partner' place but it could be associated with something else, a partner and this relationship is something more that's happening there.

4. I'm not going to elaborate on "a drawn bow without the arrow" since it could mean so many things, I do the same things a lot, some images happening in my head. But it is interesting.

5. Mentions of distance, and they seem to be far away from each other a lot, around Christmas etc.? Why aren't they together then? Or at least closer?

6. Poem posted on December 30 2018 gives ME a feeling of a change coming and they were to announce their last season soon. Some things will change but they'll still be around.

7. "Just as you'll forget me for another woman" Alma, why are you so sure? Who is she?

8. Poem posted on January 11, 2019 - don't get me started on freckles but also some of the way Alma mentions science?? Gets me.

9. January 13 - something will end

10. January 17 - it just sounds like Misha speaking to us (yeah, I know it's not very valid)

11. January 31 - that one makes me think. Because if we remember the break-up theory and how Misha was doing back then it seems like he was broken but then they came back to each other and now Jenmish would be stronger than ever. It seems the same relationship on the Alma account BUT ìt doesn't have to be tho, I'm switching topics too, sometimes I just remember people.

12. February 3 - we know what's up with the last season.

13. February 18 - nothing valid but it just... I see Jensen Ackles in this. I see.

14. February 20 - what makes Alma so sure the love is ill-fated?

15. April 15 - Gunshots, do you think it could be related to the break-up theory?? Also, again, long-term, changing-over-time relationship.

16. July 27 - "apple tree" *GUNSHOTS* "sunrise" *GUNSHOTS* "your smile" *GUNSHOTS*

17. September 4 - throwback to point 1 - they can't make their relationship public anywhere and it must be extremely hard for a long-term relationship. And there has to be a reason.

18. October 27 - this whole poem SCREAMS Jensen and Misha filming season 15. And their culture.

19. January 3 - something's supposed to end for them but Alma believes it will give THEM the beginning. Also it's extremely comforting.

20. March 26 - goddamn parrot.

21. April 26 - SEVEN WEEKS. STAYING IN A STRANGER ROOM. MOVING OUT OF IT. LOVE IN THE TIME OF COVID-19. SHOOT ME IT WILL HURT LESS.

22. June 24 - is it true the Alma theory started spreading around that time? Because something recently made me believe Mish is still lurking around here (hi Mish, I'm sorry)

23. June 29 - falling and flying, huh?

24. The last one - I'm on the fence with that date but I feel like it's written about one's memory, it's a throwback. "The darkest of my rooms" somebody's been changing them. Also Alma has never been this colourful before so it gives me a hope. Somebody mentioned a stranger's drawing shown on Misha's instagram around New Year's Eve showing similar technique and colours - maybe he got inspired.

25. I feel like Misha followed Alma pretty fast, possibly too fast for Alma to blow up. He's been there since the beginning.

26. Handwriting differences? I feel like handwriting could change sometimes in a small ways; or maybe it's just me my handwriting is really unstable and the way it changes made me think of Misha and Alma. That's how it happens usually.

This could mean many many things and is a very very big tinhatting but for me putting all the things together... seems to make sense. Also Alma sounds like they've been through a lot and I want to hug Alma whoever they are.

Why it makes me nervous? Because Alma has been through a lot and if it's Jenmish... I can imagine it's a hard situation to manage.

Also Alma come back some of us need to know your relationship status

thank you so much for this analysis, anon. i don’t have anything to say to it all, really, except for the fact that you make some valid points. i did notice something through this journey on alma’s ig page, but i am gonna post it seperately because otherwise this post will get too long. 

i personally don’t know when the “alma is misha” theories started, because i’m fairly new. if it was around that time.... then that’s very loud. 

also, im sorry to ask something of you yet again, but im curious as to why you believe misha is still lurking on here? did something happen?

[xonepeacelovex]

my cinderella prince

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader

Genre: Angst and Fluff | Friends to Lovers AU

Summary: You’ve been waiting for a text message but you got different message this time.

Warning: Alcohol consumption. Also not proofread. 

A/N: This is the result of binge reading all of Mark Tuan’s fan fictions. This is also my first GOT7 fanfiction. I know I did an incorrect quotes before for GOT7. :) Anyway, this is lowkey based on real life and I wrote this for closure because I had enough of the waiting game. I’m letting people go so new ones can come in in my life. Feel free to send me a message or ask. Thank you for reading!

10... 9... 8...

Everyone around you is shouting the countdown and already popping the bottle of champagne. Different colors and shapes of fireworks light up the night sky, making everyone more excited and at awe. 

7... 6... 5... 

Four seconds before the clock strikes 12, and the beginning of the new year. You look at your phone and scroll the notifications. You are met with notifications from Instagram from the pictures you are tagged in and a few last minute greetings from your family and friends. Deciding to answer the greetings later you press the power button of your phone. Getting the open bottle of red wine and pouring yourself a drink. Finally smiling, relieved that the year is ending. Quietly joining the countdown. 

3... 2... 1...

People clinking their glasses and you simply raises yours, smiling warmly to everyone. You sip from your glass and started greeting everyone a happy new year. Though New Year’s Eve is something you always celebrated, you sometimes still get overwhelm with how noisy it can be. 

After drinking everything on your glass, you put it down on the table and started your little quest of finding a quiet place in this party. You followed a couple heading upstairs, head shaking at how the holidays spread love and happiness in the air and somehow forgot someone like you. You found an open empty balcony, a perfect place to clearly see the fireworks.

You felt your phone vibrates on your pocket, instinctively getting it. You open your phone, a smile on your face, kinda expecting a message from a particular person, only for your smile to turn into frown when it is another notification from Instagram. 

Disappointment should be the last emotion you should feel tonight. Yet somehow, you cannot stop yourself from feeling it, mostly for the fact that he didn’t missed a single greeting for the last 10 years. Sighing deeply, trying to shake off the sadness bubbling in your chest. 

Looking up, the fireworks are still decorating the sky. In some way, being alone makes you feel less lonely. Downstairs everyone has someone to put their arms around and kiss when the clock strikes 12. Here, in a balcony, watching the night sky alone, actually makes you feel good. Promising yourself that this year you will celebrate your birthday and new year on a beach, somewhere where it is okay to be alone and not look at with pity because you don’t have someone beside you. 

Perhaps its the alcohol taking over your system, the one responsible for your thoughts. Who told you its a good thing to pre game before coming to a New Year’s Eve party, where you’ll surely drink just before your limit? Slowly breathing in the polluted air of the city, hoping it will help you sober up a little.

You left the balcony in search for a bottle of water, you cannot let yourself get too drunk. When you found a glass of clear liquid, you drank it immediately without much thinking it will be an alcohol in which it is. You take a sharp breath, feeling the burn in your throat. Feeling light headed you immediately went back to your own little space for a fresh air. 

And possibly it is really the alcohol taking over your system when you saw a familiar face in the balcony. Mark Tuan. 

You stumbled forward, not believing that the man you waited a text message from for a whole night is in front of you. Steadying yourself, you take a careful steps this time, towards Mark. Where you think you looked like shit, he is casually leaning against the balcony rail, looking handsome and cool. You think, he didn’t remember you at all at how he just stare at you or maybe its because he knows you and cannot believe that you are drunk already. 

Ten years is a long time to change. And high school for you is the worst era of your life so it should not be a surprised that you will be different from what he knew back then and the same goes for him. 

After a long time, you finally reached the balcony, grabbing the rail for support. You can see clearly now his face and from the way he smiles at you, you know he knows you. You returned his smile with a grin, “Tuan,” greeting him like before. “Y/L/N,” he replied, smiling widely this time. 

You forced yourself to look at the fireworks and stop the urge to keep staring at Mark, breathing in the air to sober you up. With the faint noise of people chattering in the background, he said to you softly, “Happy New Year.”  Blissfully, or in reality half yelling, you greeted him back “Happy New Year!”, looking at him in the eyes.

It is silly to be disappointed at him for not greeting you on your birthday when you are barely friends even back in high school. Besides he just message you every December 31 and after that like a silent agreement between you two, no one will dare to start a conversation for a whole year unless its December 31 again. 

Once in a while, Mark crosses your mind and in some way you always felt a connection between you two. You maybe treat each other as a friend or less than that but you always knew the relationship is special because what kind of friends only texted each other once in a year. 

It is funny to back read your conversation, it is only every December 31. The thought that you never greeted him in his birthday made you feel guilty. In addition to that guilt, you felt disappointed at him because he didn’t greet you yesterday when you never greeted him. Losing the smile on your face, you simply look up again at the sky. 

It is not a baseless assumption but an educated intuition, you like to word it like that, that maybe Mark really did have feelings for you. You are not a kind of person to believe in rumors especially if it is not from him directly. But all of your friends before always teases you to Mark. Whenever that happened, he just say sorry to you and you’ll dismiss it like a joke because of how embarrassed he looks like. Not wanting to be awkward with each other because of the teasing. So even though everyone says Mark likes you, you go ahead and found yourself a boyfriend. The teasing stopped and Mark also stayed away from you. That’s why him greeting you after high school surprised you because he knows and he apparently still treats you as a friend.

Definitely, you still like to avoid awkwardness so when the silence filled the room, you decided you should already go home. Even though 10 years is a long time to gather enough stories to entertain each other. Letting go of the balcony rail, leaning against it instead. Mark also lets go of the rail, this time turning his body to you. 

You chuckle at how awkward you both are, no one is expecting to see each other. “I’ll get going,” you said to him, standing up straight now. You don't want to seem drunk to Mark so you tried your best to walk straightly not until he stop you by grabbing your arm. Pulling you towards him, making you dizzy, stumbling upon him. “Wait,” he said while balancing you in his arms, “I have something to say,” that made you even more dizzy. 

Putting your hands against his chest for support, you tried to stand up alone. When you did, you remove your hands from his body, “Go ahead,” you replied to him.

“Happy birthday,” the greeting you are waiting for. Heart beating wildly against you chest, you smile at him, genuinely happy that he didn’t forget, “Thank you.”  

After this night, you’ll never see him again. You are sure. No need for your heart to beat fast for him, because like before, there will be no words spoken and the hearts will still remain clueless. And you can’t play this game anymore, not when you feel emotions you didn’t felt before for him like disappointment and guilt. Because he’s just a friend who always remember your birthday, nothing more, nothing less. You will not ask for more from the universe, you started walking away. You are maybe, once again, taking Mark for granted. Actually you’ll never know because he never said anything, leaving you in the middle.

What Mark did when he saw you leaving again after giving him that breathtaking smile was to pull you back... again. You found yourself in his arms, clinging to him. You are taken aback with Mark’s actions. You looked at him, confused, “Do you anything else to say?”, tired of this push and pull between you and Mark.

“Yes, and I hope I am not too late,” he said nervously, still holding your arms. You chuckle at him, “Mark, you already greeted me a happy birthday,” tilting your head to look at his eyes which is avoiding yours. “You also greeted me already a happy new year,” you reminded him. 

“No, it’s not about that,” this time he took a deep breath. “It took me years to finally have the courage and maybe a glass of wine to tell you this,” he stopped,  holding your hands in his, “I like you since high school,” he confessed and that left you speechless. “I want to talk to you everyday but I don’t have an excuse except when its your birthday,” Mark continued. “It’s okay if you don-,” that’s when you decided to cut him off with a kiss that surprised him initially but he returned with the same eagerness. 

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for this,” smiling, you whispered against his lips. Mark also smiles, biting his lower lip when he heard you say those words. Now you know why Mark just messages you once in a year. 

Copyright © 2021 xonepeacelovex All rights reserved.

[skullrock]

the (secret) santa - Jonathan x Steve

12 days of fics day 2 - the (secret) santa

pairing: stonathan

summary: Steve is psyched to get Jonathan for Secret Santa, but has a hard time figuring out what to get him.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: simply none

a/n: Jonathan is Jewish here bc I love that headcanon <3 I used the Internet to tell me when Hanukkah was in 1986, and it said it was December 26th-January 3rd, so that's what I used! hope u enjoy <3 also I literally cannot find a good video to make a stonathan gif w sorry

30 days before Christmas; 31 days before Hanukkah

Steve knew Jonathan, but Steve didn’t know Jonathan. Not the way he’d like to, at least.

When he got Jonathan for Secret Santa, he was ecstatic. It seemed like the perfect way to get closer to him - to make things right, to see him in personal and intimate ways. Ways he has always wanted to. He was excited, until he realized that he didn’t know much about Jonathan, save that he made the bat Steve currently had in his trunk, liked to cook, was cute, and was a photographer. And Steve had already gotten Jonathan a camera, so that wasn’t a viable gift. Plus, the budget was twenty dollars.

Twenty dollars did not seem like enough money to spoil Jonathan Byers like he deserved.

So Steve did the only thing he knew how, which was talk, and try to be sneaky about it.

===

28 days before Christmas; 29 days before Hanukkah

“Jonathan!”

Jonathan and Will both turned on their heels to face the voice that had rung out. Will rolls his eyes when he sees Steve jogging towards them - of course it was Steve. And of course he wanted to talk to Jonathan. How neither of them saw it, he doesn’t know, but he climbs into the passenger seat to give them some space. They’ll get it soon enough.

“Hey,” Jonathan says, shoving his hands hastily into his pockets, as if he had something to hide. “What’s up?”

“Hey, man,” Steve pants, leaning forward just slightly and gripping his side. “Do you like music?”

“What?”

“You know?” Steve licks his lips. “Do you listen to music?”

Jonathan’s brows twitch together. “Yeah, I - I listen to music.”

“Me too.”

Jonathan stares, which is all he really knows how to do around Steve. Stare and observe. Take in the brunette and blonde locks, how they curl a bit on the end, how they all fall perfectly into place when Steve runs a tired hand through them. How his sweater is the color of red maple leaves in the fall, and how it clings to his shoulders. How that sweater rides up when Steve straightens, showing Jonathan the pale and smooth skin of his hips.

“What kind of music?”

Jonathan blinks and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. He glances back to Will, smiling knowingly from the passenger seat, then back to Steve. “I kinda - I gotta take Will home.”

“Shit,” Steve mumbles, then bends forward to wave at Will. Jonathan’s still watching the way the sweater rides up. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“‘s okay,” Jonathan says with a bit of a laugh.

It’s at this point Jonathan realizes what’s going on. Steve was not very subtle about being his Secret Santa. And if that’s not it, then Steve is making an enormous effort to be Jonathan’s friend, and who is he to deprive him of that?

“The Smiths.”

“Who?”

“The Smiths,” he repeats. “And The Cure. Stuff like that.”

It takes Steve a moment to realize these are bands and not families in Hawkins. “Oh. Oh. Awesome. That’s so cool.”

There’s an awkward pause before Jonathan asks, “You?”

“Queen,” Steve says, almost immediately. “Yeah. Queen. And, like, other stuff, too.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Yeah.”

Will knocks on the window and raises his eyebrows at Jonathan, because the sight was honestly a bit painful. Jonathan looks, then back to Steve. “I should -”

“Yeah,” Steve says again. “Yeah, go ‘head, don’t let me keep you.”

Jonathan doesn’t know why he feels so damn giddy, why a smile tugs at the corners of his thin lips, but it’s happening. He tucks his face towards the collar of his shirt as he rounds the car. “See you, Steve.”

“See you,” Steve calls back.

He wonders why Will is looking at him like that.

===

25 days before Christmas; 26 days until Hanukkah

There’s something about Jonathan Byers under the glow of Christmas lights.

Maybe it’s the mustard colored sweater he’s wearing, casting a warm glow on his face and illuminating the blonde in his hair. Maybe it’s just the holidays. Either way, Jonathan Byers looked beautiful, and it was just the two of them in Mike’s basement while the kids ran upstairs for snacks.

“Are you ready for Christmas?” Steve asks, his knee against Jonathan’s.

Jonathan bristles. “Oh, we celebrate Hanukkah.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers. “I - do you still do presents and stuff?”

“We do.” Jonathan shifts, bumping his knee against Steve’s again. “But we light the menorah and everything, too.”

“Oh.”

Steve mulls over the logistics of getting someone who is Jewish a Christmas present, but Jonathan luckily says, “So I could do the Secret Santa, because we still exchange presents. My family does, anyway.”

Steve hopes his sigh of relief isn’t too noticeable.

“What other things do you like?” Steve asks. “I - I just realized that we never really got to know each other.”

Jonathan feels himself about to smile again. “Music-wise?”

“Anything-wise.”

Jonathan doesn’t like talking about materialistic things, so he mumbles. Steve has to lean close to hear, and it makes his hair stand on end. “I like photography. And… peace.”

“Peace?” Steve smiles. “Past few years must have been real hell for you.”

Jonathan laughs mirthlessly. “Yeah, they were.” He takes a deep breath. “And I like drawing, sometimes. But Will’s better than me.”

Steve scoffs. “Doubt it.”

“What?”

“I - no. Shit. That’s not what I meant - I mean, like, I’m sure you’re good, too.”

Jonathan lets out a confused laugh. “Thanks.” He relaxes, and his knee is firm against Steve’s now, and both of their breaths hitch. “I really like seeing my friends happy. And I like seeing Will happy. And mom.” And you, he wants to say, but it’s caught half in his chest and half in his throat.

“How is your mom?”

Jonathan wasn’t expecting that. “She’s doing okay.”

“Good. Good.” There’s a sincerity behind Steve’s voice that Jonathan also wasn’t expecting, but that sends his heart soaring in his chest. “If you guys ever need anything….” Steve uses his thumb to point to himself as he turns to Jonathan to show how serious he was. “I’m not that far away.”

“I know,” Jonathan says, and before either of them can say anything else, the kids hustle down the stairs screaming about a movie.

Steve and Jonathan scoot apart.

===

23 days before Christmas; 24 days before Hanukkah

Steve has never been to the Hawkins Library, but Dustin practically holds his hand through the process of finding and selecting a book to read. Steve wants to learn more about Hanukkah, and a children’s book seemed like the best way to understand it all. It takes him only half an hour to read it - a personal record, Steve thinks - and while he’s not still completely sure what Jonathan does to celebrate, he’s at least got a better idea.

Steve thinks of maybe buying Jonathan a hand-made menorah, but the price is well over twenty dollars. Then he considers getting them candles for the menorah, but figures they probably already have that covered. Robin seconds this.

“Just get him a vinyl or a walkman or something,” she says, laying on the floor of Family Video.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” she starts, sitting up slowly, “I would say you’re trying to… impress him.”

Steve stutters. “What? No. No. No way. I - I - I just like getting good presents. I think - I know I’m really, really good at it.”

Robin narrows her eyes at him before sighing. “Steve. I see how you stare at him.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Robin says, sighing again. “It means nothing, Steve.”

About an hour later, a miracle happens - Jonathan comes to the store.

Jonathan Byers has never set foot into Family Video, and he treads lightly as he enters. Steve almost trips over himself when he sees Jonathan walk in, another pretty sweater on his slim frame.

“Can I help you?” he asks, approaching Jonathan, who stays relatively close to the door.

“I need to get Will something?” It’s more of a question than a statement. “He wants to watch a movie tonight.”

“Oh, I know the perfect thing!”

Jonathan watches Steve jog the short distance to the register and jog back. Jonathan wonders if he always runs around him to impress him, but he pushes that thought out of his head. Steve presents him with a VHS box with David Bowie on it - Labyrinth.

“Bowie?” Jonathan asks.

“Apparently,” Steve answers. “Will said he wanted to watch it, and Keith finally ordered it. You like Bowie, too, right?”

Jonathan’s brows twitch and he smiles a bit, that swelling feeling once again apparent in his chest. “You remembered what Will wanted to see?”

“‘Course.” Steve puts his hands in his back pockets. “I was holding it for him.”

Will was the most important person to Jonathan Byers. He would very easily trade his life with his brother if he could. He would do anything to make him safe and comfortable and happy. And Jonathan never really saw Steve as someone who would care about his little brother in such a way that he saved a tape for him. Which, yeah, maybe the bar is low, but Jonathan’s known for a while now that Steve Harrington has a knack for defying all expectations.

“It’s free,” Steve says, Jonathan shocked into silence. “Just take it. Let me know how it is.”

“Do you want to watch it?”

Steve’s eyes widen before he blinks. “I mean, maybe -”

“Do you want to watch it with us?” Jonathan almost tags on an “as friends”, but Steve’s almost certainly not thinking it’s a date. Steve’s a boy. Jonathan’s a boy. Just friends.

Steve blinks again, his brain short circuiting - like, yeah, of course he wanted to watch a movie with Jonathan Byers, and yeah, Bowie did look hot in that outfit, and yeah, they’re two men that hardly know each other except on a very deeply personal level that Steve can’t think about without making his head spin. It makes Steve’s head hurt when he thinks about the bond he shares with Jonathan, even though they’d only had approximately seven conversations over four years. He thinks Jonathan looks at him like he has him figured out, and it makes Steve’s stomach turn in excitement and anxiety.

“Tonight?” he finally manages.

“Yeah.”

Steve licks his lips. “Yeah, man. Yeah! Yeah. I like movies. Yeah, man, I can come over. What time? Want me to bring something?”

“No,” Jonathan says quickly. “Just yourself. Eight?”

“I can do that,” Steve says, not a hint of a joke in his voice. “Eight sounds perfect.”

“Do you remember where I live?”

Although Steve had only ever been at the Byers residence to thwart evil from overtaking the  universe, he does remember. He could make the drive with his eyes closed. “I do.”

“Okay. Eight.”

Robin smirks behind the counter.

===

Later, 9 pm

Jonathan cannot believe how obvious Steve is about being his Secret Santa.

“Do you listen to Bowie?” he whispers in the middle of the movie. Their knees are touching again.

“Yeah,” Jonathan whispers back.

“Do you, like, have all of his albums?”

Jonathan glances at Steve, then back at the TV. “I do.”

Steve lets out a defeated sigh and Jonathan has to stifle his laugh behind his hand. Will can’t believe how obvious they’re being, either, but he tries to focus on the movie and not the scene happening beside him.

“Do you - like… um. Is there an artist you don’t have… an album… for?”

Steve cringes at himself.

“I’m set,” Jonathan says, trying to wrack his brain for anything he could give Steve. He feels pity for Steve, who’s just trying his best, but Jonathan isn’t exactly materialistic. He doesn’t even know why he let Will convince him to be part of the exchange.

Steve lets his eyes wander around, trying to think of anything he could get Jonathan. Maybe a nice blanket, or a sweater. Maybe a David Bowie poster. His eyes wander towards the kitchen window, where he can see a golden candlestick holder.

“Menorah?” he asks Jonathan, gesturing towards it.

“Yeah.” Jonathan looks towards it, too.

“It’s the twenty-sixth this year, right?”

“What?”

“Hanukkah,” Steve clarifies. “‘Til the third?”

“H- how’d you know that?”

“I looked it up,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“You looked it up?” Jonathan asks quietly.

“Yeah.” Steve frowns a bit. “Was I not supposed to?”

“Why’d you look it up?”

“So I could know more about what you celebrate.”

“Oh.” Jonathan looks back at the TV. “That. That’s nice of you.” And then he looks back at  Steve and with a small smirk says, “We don’t need candles for it.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Steve says with a smile, bumping his knee against Jonathan’s.

They both smile the rest of the movie.

===

16 days before Christmas; 17 days before Hanukkah

Steve takes his headphones off. “I don’t know if I like them.”

Jonathan scoffs and bristles. “What - what don’t you like about Joy Division?”

Jonathan’s bed dips under Steve as he adjusts, his knee and elbow hitting Jonathan’s. “They’re, like, sad.”

“That’s the point!”

Steve rolls his eyes slightly, but smiles. “Why do you always want to be sad?”

“I - I don’t - they’re just good.”

“I believe you,” Steve says, and he means it. “I mean, what do I know about music?”

“Here,” Jonathan says, leaning forward to grab a Bowie album. “Have you ever listened to Bowie?”

“On the radio.”

Jonathan smiles and puts the tape into the walkman, and Steve puts the headphones back on. He gives Jonathan an apprehensive look as the younger boy clicks through songs, and is pleasantly surprised by the music that comes through. It’s not as sad as Joy Division - not at all. Not whiney, either - it’s victorious and upbeat and Steve can’t help but to move, shimmying in place, leaning sideways to hit Jonathan’s arm with his as he dances. Jonathan smiles and says something, but the headphones block him out. “What?!”

Jonathan chuckles and pauses the music. “I said, do you like it?”

“It’s happy!” Steve asserts. “You should listen to this stuff more often.”

“I do listen to it.”

“More. Often,” Steve enunciates, and then presses play on the walkman, his hand brushing against Jonathan’s.

Jonathan realizes how much he likes Steve being happy. He always knew it, but he didn’t know how much he liked it. Steve moves like he owns the world, like he’s not ashamed or afraid of anything. And Jonathan knows how bullshitthat is, that Steve, at heart, is a scared and insecure person who needs to love and be loved every moment of the day. Jonathan wishes he could give that to him, but if David Bowie gets Steve close to as happy as Jonathan would like to make him, he’ll take it.

“Put it in your stereo,” Steve says suddenly, pausing the music. “We should both listen to it, shouldn’t we?”

Jonathan shrugs a shoulder and takes the tape from the walkman, slipping it into the stereo and playing it. They both jump at the volume before Jonathan turns it down, and then they sit together, listening to Heroes until it fades out.

“Like us,” Steve says. “Heroes.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan says. “I guess.” Jonathan chews his lip for a moment before pausing the tape. “You saved my life.”

“What?”

“When the….” Jonathan can’t say it. “With the bat.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Steve looks at his hands and then smiles. “After you saved mine by beating the shit out of me.” Jonathan stiffens, and Steve sighs. “I know I said it before, but I’m sorry, Jonathan. I’m… God. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jonathan says, voice a bit cooler. “It’s in the past.”

“You did save my life, though,” Steve says after a pause. “Seriously. If you didn’t beat sense into my brain….”

“You mean a concussion?”

“Sense,” Steve repeats. “If it wasn’t for you….”

“I know.”

It’s all that needs said.

“Another?” Steve asks.

“Really?”

“I like listening,” Steve says.

Jonathan suppresses another smile as he leans forward and turns the tape on again. Their arms are touching.

===

10 days before Christmas; 11 days before Hanukkah

“Just get him a new walkman,” Dustin says, tone bored, as Steve drags him through the biggest mall within an hour from Hawkins.

“It’s not good enough!”

Steve is exasperated, and desperate. He’d been spending way more time with Jonathan, and kept asking questions - he’s 90% sure Jonathan is on to him at this point - and he was still unsure of what to get him. Each day that passed made Steve more desperate to give Jonathan something that would make him happy, and a twenty dollar budget was just not enough for Steve. And though he feels like he knows Jonathan more than most people, he doesn’t quite understand Jonathan. And he wants to. He wants to so badly.

“Jesus, o-kay,” Dustin says, throwing his arms out.

“I’m not - I’m not mad at you.” Steve sighs and runs his hand through his hair as he stares at  a sweater displayed in a window. “I just - I don’t know what to get him.”

Dustin knows why, but he still asks, “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t! I don’t. I don’t care that much.”

Dustin sees through the bullshit, but he doesn’t think a mall is the best place to talk to Steve about his feelings. “I just got Mike a new dice set. It’s not the best gift, but he’ll like it.”

“Well, I’m not lazy.”

Dustin pouts. “I’m not lazy -”

“And you’re not supposed to tell me who your person is -”

“You told me yours!” Dustin already knew Steve’s, but the point still stood.

Steve’s brows twitch in agitation. “Well, yeah, because I need help!”

“And I am helping you. Get him a damn walkman.”

As Steve contemplates the idea, a new one pops into his head.

“Perfect!” he shouts, making everyone stop to look at him. Dustin inclines his head, trying to get Steve to elaborate.

“We have to go to the music store. Now.”

===

3 days before Christmas, 4 days before Hanukkah

It’s official - Steve hates Joy Division. Not as much as he hates the Smiths, but he definitely hates it.

His ears hurt after listening to Jonathan’s favorite music, hand selecting the songs with the lyrics that Steve thought best exemplified Jonathan. In a way, the music helped Steve understand Jonathan, which was a happy surprise. And, quite honestly, Steve doesn’t mind listening to the music, because he knows it would make Jonathan happy, and that’s mainly what he cares about.

But something seems missing. Maybe it’s because no gift on Earth would be good enough for Steve to give to Jonathan. Jonathan deserved the world, deserved much better than what he was dealt. So did the rest of his family. Steve knows if he gave Jonathan anything worth anything, though, he wouldn’t take it. And if he did take it, he would share it - and Steve wanted to get him something that was purely for Jonathan. Maybe a mixtape was the perfect gift, but it didn’t feel like it. Something was missing.

Not that Steve had much time to contemplate another gift, because the exchange was happening tonight, and Steve couldn’t even write a two page paper in six hours, let alone find a better gift.

There’s always next year, he thinks as he’s wrapping it. Or his birthday. Or….

The wrapping paper his mom had purchased was patterned with bright green mistletoe, plum colored berries hanging from the leaves. Steve’s eyes focus on it for a while - intimacy was something that he missed. The closest he’d gotten in a year was his skin pushed up against Jonathan’s, knees and biceps touching. It made him yearn, and not for just anyone, but for him. For Jonathan.

But Steve doesn’t know how Jonathan feels. Yeah, they touch each other a lot, but maybe that’s just what friends do. Steve wouldn’t know. Jonathan’s eyes had lingered on Steve’s face before, and when they were smoking Jonathan didn’t even wince when Steve passed the joint to him. Isn’t that kind of like kissing? Steve doesn’t know. He just knows he wants to kiss Jonathan. He’s known for a while, and Robin told him after Steve cried to her one night that maybe he’s bisexual, and Steve had adopted that term because he wants to kiss Jonathan Byers so bad. And a kiss would be a personal, for-Jonathan-Byers-only gift.

A kiss, though, seems very straightforward. It doesn’t seem like a great idea. Maybe back in high school when Steve would kiss just about anyone, but not now. Not when he doesn’t even know if Jonathan swings that way.

So Steve finishes wrapping the tape, and he prints Jonathan on it in the best handwriting he can muster, and he hopes Jonathan understands through the lyrics.

===

“It’s got, like, you know.” Steve clears his throat. He’s too aware of the mistletoe above them. “The bands we listened to on it.”

“Steve,” Jonathan says, turning the tape over in his hands. His brows are furrowed together as he studies it, wondering what’s on the tape, wondering what Steve thought was intrinsically Jonathan Byers. It was such a personal gift that Jonathan didn’t even know what to do or say. “I…. Thanks. Thank you, Steve.”

Max grabs another gift from under the tree. “This one’s for Mike.” She chucks it at him and everyone’s eyes seem to turn to Mike, except for Will and Steve.

Their eyes meet, and Will gives Steve a look he doesn’t understand.

What? He mouths.

Will’s eyes flit up to the mistletoe, then back down to Steve and Jonathan. He repeats this a few times until Steve almost gasps at the suggestion. Does Will know something Steve doesn’t?

Steve nods his head as subtly as he can towards Jonathan. Him?

Will nods furiously, then looks back to Mike, who seems quite pleased with the dice Dustin had bought him. But Steve doesn’t get it, and when the presents are done, he pulls Will aside.

“What the hell?” he hisses. “What - what does that -” he mimics Will’s eye movements - “mean?”

Will rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he repeats. He gets quiet, and Steve can see Joyce in Will. “He likes you.”

“What? Did he say something to you?

“Steve. You touch each other, like, all the time.”

Steve deflates. “So he didn’t say something?”

“He doesn’t need to. Why do you think I convinced him to do this?”

Steve knows he’s saying “what?” too many times, but he says it again. “What?”

“We all planned this. We paired you two together on purpose.” And then he walks away because he’s tired of hearing about everyone’s love lives. This isn’t his problem. He just wants to play with Mike’s new dice.

When Steve looks towards the kids, they’re all staring. They quickly start talking to each other again, and Steve lets himself sit with the realization that these bunch of punks just pulled the most amazing Christmas hijink of perhaps all time.

Shitheads, Steve thinks, and while he’s definitely going to confront (and thank) them later, he’s got to talk to Jonathan first.

Later, 9 pm

“I knew it was you, you know.”

It’s cold outside, but it’s the best privacy they could get.

“How?” Steve asks, though he already knows.

“You’re not very conniving,” Jonathan says, once again suppressing a smile. “It was pretty obvious.”

“I just wanted to get you something you’d like,” Steve says. He breathes out and watches his breath disappear into the cold air. “You’re impossible to shop for, you know.”

Jonathan has the audacity to seem offended. “What?”

“Impossible,” Steve says, stepping forward. “You’re not a materialistic person.”

“So?”

“So,” Steve says. “So.” He can feel his heart in his throat, beating loud and fast - he hopes Jonathan can’t hear it. “So….”

And then they’re kissing under the mistletoe that Mrs. Wheeler hung on the porch.

Steve pulls back first, quick, surprised with himself. “Shit.”

Jonathan says nothing - he just stares.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks, throat dry.

“Didn’t you just kiss me?”

“Um. Yeah.”

Jonathan blinks. “Then do it again.”

And this time Steve really steps forward, really takes Jonathan’s cold cheeks in his cold hands, and he really kisses him. Jonathan finally lets that smile come through for the first time in a month as he melts into Steve, like a snowflake into a snowbank. Steve’s warm - well, warmer than the air - and he tastes a lot like vanilla birthday cake. Jonathan’s never really liked cake, but he likes Steve’s lips. Weird.

Jonathan pulls back first this time, because it was getting increasingly harder to kiss as his smile grew. He even tries to hide it behind his hand again, but Steve stops him, taking his cold fingers and wrapping his own through them.

“Impossible to shop for,” Steve repeats, his own smile hurting his cheeks. “Good thing kisses are free and personal.”

A laugh bubbles up from Jonathan’s chest and to his lips. “Yeah.” He squeezes Steve’s hand. Their chests are touching. “Good thing.”

===

tags: @pterawaters​ @mpmarypoppins​

[leniinero]

November 4th 2021 4:49am

Throwback posts//

December 1st 2020

There have been times in my life especially lately where I've needed someone to talk to because I feel so down and lonely and have reached out and those very people either straight up said "no, not here for all of that" or "i try to keep positive so I'd rather not listen to sad stuff" or "not this again!....just cheer up! Think happy thoughts!"

Okay. Great. That's so easy. 😒

Um okay. So next time people wonder why I'm so quiet and keep to myself. This is why.

I dont want to bother anyone.

No one looks out for Lenii. Am I supposed to have this figured out by 31? Like is that there blueprint?

I scream but nobody listens.

Clinical depression is real and it brings a mess of friends. There's a block party in our heads that we weren't invited to.

The demons ain't the only ones up at night.

January 14, 2020

People dont understand how severe depression can be and how it affects everyone differently.

People really think you just dont care about the way you look, how clean your area, your schooling, your health is etc. You do care, you always care, you're just sucked so deep in your head that doing anything else seems impossible. You cant get over depression or even work on it when people around you, those that claim to love/care for you, give you shit. And say "it's a phase"; "get over it, pull yourself out of it!" Dont you think if it were that easy mental illness would be a thing? Ever?

It's like those 80s movies or that episode of Supernatural where you're running from the monster you cant see....or hear but you know it's there because you sense it. It's there! So you run into your room, block the doors and windows, sit on your bed. And try to breathe, you think you're safe so you start to calm down so you can focus on what to do next. How to stay alive.

And right when all starts to seem well, the monster you thought you left on the other side of the door.....grabs you by the ankles and starts to pull you under the bed. You cry, you scream, you knock shit over. And all that left is a mess. A mess and your nail Marks on the floor.

We do know there's a light at the end of the tunnel, we just don't think we deserve to see it.

Instead of at least trying to understand or be there for this person or even just listening; you're judging and assuming.

Hey, how about you just ask? Or even a "hang in there buddy!" Would do just fine.

I'm over it. ✌

October 17, 2020

#TMI

I dont just think people don't understand the severity of depression. If you couple it with anxiety, its even worse. I've had a clear plan in my head since my mom died in 2014, a plan of what I've wanted to do with my life. I've seen a post of about how they take months to do something that would only take 30 minutes because that's what depression does to you. Its more than a quick moment of sadness or uncertainty;its more than a funk. Its a serious thing that a lof of people just brush off when someone else has it. I think that's why "Glass House" is such an important song to me. Because its therapeutic even if it is sad. Because even if it increases the pain, it makes me feel understood. Even if it is by complete strangers like Kells & Naomi.

I spent all of my 20s in waste. I moved to another state to start over..Im almost 31 and I've done little to nothing to make these plans happen.

And what's worse is that people keep reminding me of how much of a fuck up I am. So when I over post about stuff that makes me happy, that's just me, trying to make myself happy. I dont mean to be annoying.

Ive tried to reach out to people that I thought cared about me, people I've known forever as a last ditch effort. But nothing. They've literally told me no. Don't wanna hear it. Id rather not listen to you talk about sad things..etc. This is why I just keep things to myself. (With the exception of this post)

So, lets talk about you....show me a picture or lyric or quote or link that helps you get through hard times.

I'm gonna have to do a separate post on these songs.

[joezworld]

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Next from the mind of Joe - a Sudrian tale about The Most Wonderful Time of The Year, Past and Present.

Ghosts of the Past 

Wendell the works diesel was a very happy engine most of the time, but around Christmas, he always seemed... well, quite unhappy, for lack of a better term. 

Because he lived in the Crovan’s Gate Works, which shut down for the last two weeks of December except in emergencies, most engines never saw this side of the otherwise cheerful blue diesel, and those that did assumed that it was due to him being shut up in the works over the holidays, away from his friends. 

December 24, 2019

Gordon sighed as the workmen rolled the door shut behind them. Of all the days to fail! He thought to himself with irritation. Christmas Eve! Damn that replacement fireman and his improper training! I shall miss Christmas and New Year’s!

A quiet snore behind him brought him out of his ruminations. Wendell was fast asleep behind him, lifted into the air on jackstands in one of the maintenance bays, with one of his traction motors in pieces around him. 

Gordon was surprised. Wendell had the same excitable temperament as Thomas and James, and Gordon would have assumed that the works diesel would be up until the crack of dawn, waiting for Father Christmas. To see him asleep before eight at night was out of character, to say the least. 

Although, the express engine thought as he settled in for the night, he might be onto something. 

The works were warm - almost toasty when compared to the biting December winds outside, and the excess holiday traffic had meant that all the engines on the Island were feeling exhausted by the 25th. 

Furthermore, with no other engines to keep him awake by asking inane questions about ‘what Father Christmas might bring’, Gordon might actually wake up decently rested on Christmas morning, and wouldn’t that be a miracle?

Electing to follow Wendell’s lead, Gordon shut his eyes, and quickly fell asleep. 

-

Have yourself, a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. From now on, all our troubles will be out of sight...

Gordon stumbled back to wakefulness to the sounds of singing. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he looked around the works in confusion. 

It was still dark outside, and a digital time clock by the break room showed 23:38 on its face. He hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours. 

Searching for the source of the singing, his eyes eventually landed on Wendell, who was slowly singing an old carol to himself. 

“It’s a bit early for singing, isn’t it?” He called across the room jovially - there was no need to be rude so close to Christmas. “We’ve still got half an hour!” 

Wendell started, clearly unaware that Gordon was awake. “What?” 

“It’s a bit early to be singing, Christmas isn’t for a half hour!” 

“Oh.” The diesel said morosely. “I suppose it is.” 

That was not the reaction Gordon expected.   “You suppose it is? Wendell, it’s Christmas Eve - a time for good cheer and goodwill among us all! How can you be so glum?”

“I don’t like Christmas.” The class 47 said simply. 

“What?” Gordon said with faux outrage. "What did the holiday ever do to you? Did you get coal in your stocking?”

“I have bad memories of Christmases past, okay?” Wendell snapped, sucking the levity out of the room.  

Gordon’s face fell. “My apologies.” He’d thought that the diesel was being difficult, not having an actual emotional event. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” Wendell looked pained. “But staying silent hasn’t helped either.”

Without waiting for Gordon to respond, he began his story:

December 24, 1981.

They retired the Deltics at the end of ‘81. All through December and November, they’d run them ‘til they failed, then sent them off to Doncaster to be cut up. I think the ones that survived were retired in January or something - I wasn’t around to find out. 

I was waiting, at York, I think it was? - No, it was actually Doncaster, I remember now. 

Anyways, I was waiting - I’d brought in a fast goods up to this yard from London, and I was going to take a rake of old coaches that were being transferred to a new Depot to the west.

The coaches were coming in on the night express, and it was getting later and later and still the train didn’t come. The men were readying me to go out and rescue the train when it finally limped into sight. It was a Deltic, being towed along by a Class 37. The poor thing had failed halfway out of London, and they’d just hauled it along with the train, because they sent the 55s to Doncaster anyway when the end came. 

And they just dumped the train there on a bay platform - backed the consist in so the 37 could be taken off, and then just left it there. 

“That’s terrible,” Gordon said. “To be left like that. Especially on Christmas Eve.”

Oh yes. And it managed to get worse: it was so late by the time that they got in that my crew had gone home! So I was just left there on a siding until boxing day, right across from the Deltic - who had blocked in my coaches too! 

And,

and,

And she doesn’t say a word for almost the entire day after her crew left her. She said goodbye to them, wished them a Merry Christmas - which I am still shocked by to this day - that she was able to do that without crying, and then said nothing all night or the next day - Christmas day. 

Wendell paused to collect himself. Gordon noticed, but didn’t say anything about the tears beading up in the diesel engine’s eyes.

She was totally silent, until maybe a bit after eleven that night? Probably right about what time it is now, actually. And, there was a family, who was walking home from some party - and they had a radio on as they were walking by the station, and all you could hear in the bleak, snow-covered station was the Sinatra version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. 

And then, the Deltic - who hasn’t said a word to me all day, just slowly opens her eyes and says “I love that song”, and then just closes her eyes again. 

*sniff*

The next day, my driver had me pull the Deltic to the out of use line before we took the coaches. 

I pushed her in between three rows of her sisters and brothers, all covered with snow and ready to be cut up, and then backed away. Just before I’m out of sight, she opens her eyes, and starts singing that damn song to me. 

it

It

*sniff*

It echoed through the yard, and I could hear it until we left. I think a few of the other Deltics started too. 

They had beautiful singing voices.  

-

2019

“It wasn’t your fault, Wendell.” Gordon wished that he could offer more comfort than that. 

“I know.” Wendell said after a moment. “That’s not why I hate this time of year.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow. “Then what is?”

“It’s that I could have done more.” Wendell said, tears streaming silently down his face. “We - we were running late as it is - my engine was cold and wouldn’t turn over. My second man and the signalman just wanted me to take the Deltic with me so I wouldn’t miss my path - and then stick her on the back of the next goods train to Doncaster when I got to wherever I was going.”

He paused, his voice thick with guilt. “But, I had just spent two days next to this - this- this living corpse, and I didn’t want to be that close to her for that long. And I didn’t know any better - I was fourteen years old at that point - BR could do no wrong in my eyes, and if they wanted me to shunt that engine to the out of use lines, then shunt her I would. So when my driver said that my second man was daft, and the signalman was dafter - I - i - I didn’t argue.” 

“Wendell -” Gordon began. 

“I’m not finished.” The diesel cut him off. “Don’t offer me sympathy just yet.”

He continued. “And I didn’t want her with me, because I didn’t know where I was going! It was some obscure coach depot that I’d never heard of before - what kind of a name is Tidmouth, anyways?.” 

The penny dropped in Gordon’s mind. “You didn’t come to Sodor in January of ‘82, did you?” 

“December 31, 1981.” Wendell said sadly. “I came here on an empty stock move and got asked to stay forever, because The Fat Controller thought I looked like a useful engine. Imagine what he would have done if I’d dragged a wounded Deltic along with me?”

He would have kept the both of you and told BR to go hang. Gordon didn’t need to vocalize that thought - he could see in Wendell’s eyes that he was thinking the same thing. 

There was a small *chime* from the digital clock on the wall - it’s red numerals now read 00:00. 

“Would you look at that,” Said Wendell bitterly. “Happy Christmas, Gordon. Did you ask Father Christmas for anything?”

“Not this year, no.”

“Maybe it’s for the best - he never gives me anything either.”

“What do you ask for?”

“The chance to do it all over again. To agree with my second man and the signalman.”

“Wendell, as crass as this may sound, but perhaps you need to move-”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” Wendell looked pained. “For most of the year, my troubles are miles away, and my heart is light.

But for right now Gordon, please don’t ask me to have myself a merry little Christmas night.” With that, the Works Diesel closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

Gordon - more than a little stunned by the night’s developments, took quite a bit longer to fall asleep - the digits on the clock reading 02:10 before he began to nod off. 

His last thoughts before he finally went to sleep were directed at Father Christmas: 

I don’t know if you’re real, and I don’t know if you can do what the children claim that you can - but please help Wendell.

-------

December 26, 1981

55 010 was barely conscious. There didn’t seem much point to it now - she’d meet her end whether she was awake or asleep, wouldn’t she? 

The 47 had shoved her into the sidings between Ballymoss and Highlander, but they were long gone mentally. A few of her family had been able to join in the singing, but most were nothing more than cold, dead metal. 

She supposed that she might have had a name once, but she'd forgotten it - BR had taken away everything else, so it was only fair that she got to take something as well. 

The yard was silent for a few hours, until an engine approached from the end of the line. It looked like the same 47.

--

Wendell was having the dream again. He was back in the dead lines at Doncaster, rolling among the silent locomotives like a spectre. He knew where he would eventually end up, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it - right in front of 55 010. 

If he was lucky, she wouldn’t start singing again. 

If he wasn’t, well, Gordon had already seen him cry once tonight. 

He rolled over the points at the end of the siding, his wheels screeching against the old rails as he trundled down the long line of dead Deltics - somehow there had been two long rows with an empty line in the middle - perfect for a long and heart-wrenching approach to a diesel that he’d condemned to death.

The engine’s eyes opened slightly as he drew near. 

“Weren’t you just here?” She said dreamily.

“Probably.” He whispered - she’d never spoken to him before. 

“Why have you come back?” Her voice drove into him like a cutter’s torch. That she didn’t even seem accusatory made it all the worse. 

“Because I’m sorry.” He said, voice barely audible. 

“Whatever for?” 

“For putting you here.” He didn’t stop rolling until his buffers were fractions of an inch away from hers. 

“You didn’t do that. I failed. I know why I’m here.”

“But I did. I could have taken you - taken you away from here. To Sodor. They would have saved you.” He was openly sobbing now.

The Deltic had opened her eyes fully, and was looking at him not with anger, hatred, or even pity, but instead downright bafflement. “What do you mean ‘would have’? I’m not going anywhere.”

Wendell tried to explain - to tell her that she was a figment of his imagination, that she should hate him, or be angry, or something...Anything...

But instead he broke down crying, his sobs echoing across the works yard. 

-

010 stared at the 47 in total confusion. Nothing about the last few minutes made any sense, least of all the grief(?)-stricken engine in front of her. 

At a total loss for what to do, she remembered something that Alycidon would do when someone in the shed needed to be calmed down. 

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Alycidon might have used Vera Lynn, but had always stressed that the emotion of the song was more important than the lyrics. 010 sang the song low and slow like a lullaby - cribbed from seeing hundreds of mothers calming their babies on station platforms. Each verse took much longer than normal, but it was very soothing. 

Let your heart be light

The 47 began mumbling the lyrics of the songs through his tears

From now on, all our troubles will be out of sight

Neither engine noticed the sparkling white mist pooling around their wheels

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

The 47 stopped openly weeping, but kept singing with his eyes shut.

Make the yule-tide gay

The sparkling mist was now encircling both engines completely. 

From now on, our troubles will be miles away...

The mist covered both engines entirely. As the word ‘away’ faded in the wind, the mist dissipated. Neither engine remained. 

Silence fell over Doncaster once more. 

-----

December 25, 2019

Here were are as in olden days

Gordon awoke to more singing. He mentally groaned and cracked an eye open, assuming that Wendell would once again need a friendly ear in the middle of the night. 

Happy golden days of yore

Sunlight was streaming in through the windows. Perhaps Wendell had managed to sleep through the night. 

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gordon’s other eye slammed open as he realized that the singer was female. 

“Gather near to us onc-What on earth?!” The singer abruptly stopped singing. 

Gordon looked around wildly for the source of the voice, his eyes practically spinning around in their sockets before landing on -

on-

on- a Deltic. 

A Deltic who had been singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. 

“Excuse me,” he said in what he hoped was a calm tone. “But who are you?”

The Deltic opened her mouth to speak, and was cut off by Wendell, who had opened both of his eyes, realized that he was back in the works, discovered who was in the works with him, and began screaming so loudly that he fell off of the jack stands and crashed to the floor. 

The resulting clamour brought the Works’ security officer, who saw the engine that hadn’t been there last night, and called The Fat Controller. 

--

Stephen Hatt was experiencing many different emotions, most of them at the same time. 

The baffling appearance of previously-scrapped Deltic in his works - in factory fresh condition no less! - with no sign of how she got there, was not how he wanted to spend Christmas morning. 

Even more baffling was the story that Wendell, Gordon and the Deltic told him - none of which made any sense whatsoever. 

“Maybe it’s a Christmas Miracle?” His wife suggested over the phone. 

“Yes, and maybe I’m secretly the Easter Bunny.” He said back to her. “I’m not looking forward to finding out who this engine belongs to.”

“You can do that after Christmas dinner, dear.” Helen said in a tone that meant there would be repercussions if he wasn’t home ASAP. 

Hanging up the phone, he took another look towards the Deltic. Something was wrapped around its buffer...

Upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be an elegant piece of red silk, tied into a bow, and a note. 

The note was done on heavy, cream coloured paper, and the text seemed to have been done with an old fashioned dip pen. 

Dear Wendell,

I apologize for the late delivery of your present, but I hope you understand that some presents require more work than others. Hopefully this will ease your slumber. 

Santa Claus. 

Stephen goggled at the note for a moment, before reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone so he could take a picture. His fingers didn’t close around his phone, instead grasping a small round object. 

Pulling it out of his pocket, he was shocked to see that he was holding a small, but beautifully decorated Easter Egg.