#he’d blast that shit in a car like it’s the last time

[alleyross]

theo would listen to adam lambert religiously

[bambii1i]

Hesitation

Authors note: ending is kinda shit and cliffhanger i dunno if I’ll make a part two or just let it be lol

Warnings: angst, man-whore moves, jealousy, pettiness, slight mentions of; alcohol, weed, sex

Summary: ‘what are we?’ That specific question.

Safety net, or whatever that was called. That was you. Every time he gets bored hooking up with someone new, he goes back to treating you like his girlfriend before ignoring you again for two weeks, more or less. You guys have been friends, close friends for a while before the safety net thing, so you didn’t mind. You’ve always liked him a little, he didn’t have to know that you enjoyed that one week where in he’d shower you with affection.

Until you got fed up with it, how he ignored you just right after. You did have sex with him from time to time, just whenever he felt like it, he just avoided you during the ‘hook-up week’. Last night, you were at some party in figure eight, wearing the short black dress with hints of glitter and silver. Rafe eyed you all night, kept you close to him, his arm wrapped around your shoulder. You walked around proudly, giving smiles to whoever Rafe was talking to.

Of course you knew after the party was over, you two would have an after party in his car on the way home. The ride home was not awkward as you two were talking about going to the beach, your friends, his friends while the music was blasted on the radio, windows down. Once he parked his car, Rafe quickly opened his door, speed walking towards the passenger door and opening it for you. After an exchange of thanks and a minute making out he brought you to your door with a kiss goodnight.

The next day you planned to go to the beach together, along with Kelce, Topper, Chloe, and Ruthie. With your bikini, tote bag, sunscreen, and sunglasses already prepared on your table you were quick to change. You waited for the notification that they were downstairs, waiting for you in the car. The little ding was loud and you were running downstairs. Tilting your head as you stood there outside of your door, staring at the car that contained three people; Rafe, Kelce, and some other girl.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and closing the door behind you, making sure it was locked. You walked towards the car, staring at the bleach blonde girl on the passenger seat beside Rafe. “Yo, get in the car already!” Kelce said while groaning on the back seat. Snapping out of it you opened the car door and sat beside Kelce, placing your bag on the middle. “Did you guys bring drinks?” You asked, staring at Rafe, waiting for his response.

“You really think we’d forget that shit?!” Kelce answered, you turned your eye towards Kelce, a firm look. “Well you were a dumbass once that forgot the fucking joint—can’t blame me for thinking—“ you were cut off by Kelce “—yeah, yeah. How have you not gotten over that shit.” Once the car stared to move you sighed. You felt irritated seeing the blonde girl on the passenger seat. Staring at Rafe’s reflection through the rear view mirror.

You were pissed at Rafe, even more pissed at yourself for feeling so jealous even though you know about that stupid thing that Rafe has with you. It didn’t even last a week this time, it was 4 days. Rafe stole a glance at you through the rear view mirror while you were looking out the window, hearing Kelce’s chatter and the laugh of ms. Blondie upfront.

In no time you were at the beach. You sat cross-legged on the sand, fingers idly tracing different patterns into the grains. Every time you take a breath you could smell the air that was thick with the scents of saltwater and sunscreen, which also carried a cool breeze that moved your hair around, hitting your face from time to time. You couldn’t help but keep thinking about Rafe, this happened plenty of times already, but why is this one bugging you so much.

You looked around you trying to find ms. Blondie, spotting her lounging a few steps away from you on her own pink beach towel, scrolling through her phone while her sunglasses were positioned on her nose, the sun hitting her causing her to glisten. Rafe was right beside her, a bottle of alcohol on his hand while the other right on her bare back.

Chloe runs over to you, clearly wet from swimming around the beach with Kelce, Topper, and a few other people that arrived a little later. “Live a little won’t you? Why are ya just there? Swim with us!” She said, chuckling while grabbing the bottle beside you, quickly opening it and taking a sip and giggling. “I’ll catch up! Just left something in the car,” you hummed before receiving a nod from Chloe and watching as she runs back to the beach.

Once you saw her back in the water with the others, you lazily reached over the edge of the beach towel you sat at, your fingers brushing over the car keys beside the empty bottle of beer. You sighed heavily, shaking the loose grains of sand off your hand before grabbing the keys. You sat up, slowly standing up while you dusted your palms against your thighs, brushing off all the sand that was clinging onto your skin.

Each step you took on the sand left a little mark and a stinging feeling from the heat of the warm sand. Rafe on the other hand, glanced behind seeing how you stood up, walking towards the path leading to the parked car.

Ahead was the car, once you reached there, your fingers grazed the door handle. Using her other hand pressing the button with a soft click, the lock released and you opened the door. Reaching across the backseat for her tote bag. “Are you pissed at me or what?” You froze a bit shook with the sudden voice behind you. “Fuck!” you exclaimed, almost folding over the car, dropping the keys on the car floor. “Jesus fuck Rafe!” She added before straightening her posture and holding onto the seat.

“Are you pissed at me?” Rafe asked with a firm voice, staring at you bent over the car seat before quickly fixing yourself up. “What? Why would I be?” Her brows furrowed, as she was confused.

A little scoff left his lips, crossing his arms on his chest, his eye firmly staring at you. “‘Cause you’re ignoring me.” He replied.

“I’m not ignoring you. And I’m not mad at you either, okay?” Her voice was calm but firm, with a slight trace of annoyance before bending over once more to reach for her tote bag. Grabbing it from the edge of the backseat and standing upright.

“Good.” He stepped backwards from the car, giving you a bit of space, the gravel crunching beneath him. “Because for a second, ‘thought I did somethin’.”

“You didn’t,” you said, clutching on your tote bag, glancing down and opening it to check for her AirPods.

His brow lifted, skepticism flicked on his expression. “You sure?”

A scoff left your own lips, looking up from her tote bag and staring at him. “Why do you even care Rafe?” You asked, raising your brows and giving him a little irritated smile. “Well ‘cause you’re fuckin’ ignoring me.” He was quick to reply while staring at you.

Another irritated scoff left your lips. “Do you expect me to be all over you after you fucked me last night while you’re with some other girl right now? Want me to talk about how you were making me scream and making the car shake in front of miss blondie?”

He was slightly taken a back by how upfront you were with your words, his lips parting while raising his brows, noticing your jealousy, taking note of it as his lips curled. “Rafe I’m tired of your shit, you literally fuckin’ ignore me right after.. I’m just— fed up okay!” You exclaimed before taking a deep breath. Staring at him, nibbling your lips out of habit. “I know it’s what we have but I’m fed up with your bullshit. Be straight with me okay?” You took a little pause, closing your eyes for a second before staring into his. “It’s either we’re friends or something.”

“It isn’t that easy.” He hesitated.

“Your hesitation tells me otherwise.” You replied.

[wyngigi]

ꕀ LUST FOR LIFE ꕀ 04

↳ sex money feelings die remastered .ᐟ cross posted on ao3

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“ they say only the good die young, that just ain't right 'cause we're having too much fun, too much fun tonight ”

↳ synopsis: a group of individuals find that their first taste of freedom in the world brings more obstacles than expected. some of them, find solace by drowning in liquor or in the backseat of somebody else’s car. a lot of them have got to get their shit together. a lot of them won't.

mdni » story contains nsfw content intended for 18+ audiences pairings » member specific, not listed for spoiler purposes ↳󠁪󠁪 ateez x female reader, ateez x ateez ↳ genre » coming of age ↳ word count » 2.3k ↳ general warnings » substance abuse & consumption, sexual content, morally grey characters, unreliable narrators, internalised homophobia, angst, basically every struggle young adolescence can go through ↳ a/n┆i hope u guys love this chapter as much as i do !! a little blast from the past always has me excited <3 p.s let me know which pairings ur rooting for after reading hehe (and yes next chapter we will be back at the party dont worry the drama has just begun)

04⌇memories of summer bring you

As San weaves his way through the crowd, past the drunken bodies of guys and girls alike, he finds himself reminiscing in just how much he had changed the past few years. Was it okay to live a life like he was right now? He’s not too sure. San first thinks of high school, then his thoughts float to you.

San watches the clock tick above his teacher’s desk, mind wandering as he scribbles on his worksheet with a ballpoint pen. He’s trapped in a god-awful environmental science class (which mind you would’ve been a free period instead), courtesy of not taking enough science courses earlier on to hit the credit minimum. It’s torturous, making him study about the world in a stuffy classroom when he could be out there learning by simply living in it.

San might just be a little salty, but the lesson isn’t actually that interesting either, so his mind has been elsewhere the last half hour. He’ll listen when it actually gets important, maybe. First he was daydreaming about buying a motorcycle and speeding off into the sunset, away from this boring sad old town to go live some larger-than-life bullshit.

Then he thought it’d be too lonely to do by himself, so he brainstormed an alternative. If he were ever able to do it, he’d probably try convincing someone to come with him. He hasn’t even finished his senior year, yet his ideas still don’t seem all that crazy to him. It might be farfetched to others, but San disagrees. If you aren’t dreaming big, could it even be considered a dream at all?

Then he starts wondering if his thoughts are too reckless most, if not all of the time, if attempting to move through life hastily would be too irresponsible and could scare the people around him. But he really doesn’t want to miss out on living, San wants to go see and do the things you have to go out of your way to experience. Something you make the journey for to begin with, not just a simple detour.

The type of stuff you have to just hold your breath for and jump into with no regret before it’s too late, the tide retreating, water becoming far too shallow. (He truly wasn’t lying earlier when he said he loves to be on the move, or that the thrill of exploring had always been dangerously enticing to him.) Those mantras, principles, whatever you wish to call them replay in his mind daily. They always have.

San knows the world won’t slow down and wait for him too. He sees it outside the classroom window right now, how the cars still pass down the street as the birds fly high into the sky even if he’s confined to his seat. San is well aware that it’s him who has to be the one to take the leap of faith and choose to start living. The problem is that sometimes he just can’t.

When San would think about the daredevils, adrenaline junkies, risk takers of the world, those who love to live on the edge of things, preparing for their big take off, he’d think of how he would love to be like that someday. Yeah, someday. The difference was he liked staying on the edge too much. Didn’t like the feeling of climbing to the highest point just for the glory if he could end up tipping over, see himself falling down and lose control of everything in the process.

When third period ends San makes his way out of class then down the hall, stopping at his locker so he can drop off the notebook and stationery he no longer needs till after his second lunch break. San knows he has PE next, so he quickly grabs his gym clothes. It’s not that he cares much about being late for it or missing out on any of the “action” though, he only really enjoys it depending on what sport they’re playing.

He likes the sports where his only role is to defend whenever a ball or something comes his way. It’s why he thinks volleyball is torture; trying his best to stay in his position once his team scores but then somebody is already telling him to hurry up and rotate. Those days are just endless cycles of torture. Actually, were.  He started to sit in the nurse’s office on those days.

It’s a good thing they’re doing netball today (he doesn’t have any more passes to sit in the med bay now). San has a lot of fun playing it. He’s even claimed the goalkeeper bib before anyone else can so much that whoever he plays with just lets him have it. The people he usually plays with are good enough to the point where the opposing team never even gets to his third of the court.

Goalkeeper suits him for that exact reason, he enjoys getting to win without even having to take a shot with the ball. San liked how it was so much he didn’t think or want to try being a goal attacker or centre. Well, maybe sometimes he did a little. There were a couple instances where he wanted to try a different role for the first time. San had gotten as close as picking up a different position bib even. Thoughts like that were shoved away quickly however, and the bib would end thrown back into the crate. The mere possibility of letting anyone down in case he was terrible outweighed his curiosity (and potential) on multiple occasions.

Failure was a funny thing; it had given him a terrible feeling that would sit in the pit of his stomach or make him so nauseous it was awfully dizzying. The funnier thing was that San had never truly failed at anything in life, simply because he had never tried much to begin with. That was the case, for quite some time in his life as he knew it. He had been growing more than okay with that knowledge as time passed, then one day he wasn’t.

As he turned away from his locker, San spotted you walking the opposite way to your own fourth period class, clearly getting ready to ditch the rest of the day. His heartbeat had sped up and his palms were awfully sweaty but for the first time ever, he shut out every reasoning voice in his head and chose to do something he never had the courage to before.

The two of you were in the same grade, so he had seen you passing by in the hallways always with both earphones in (to drown out everyone else he assumes, you never talked to anyone when you had them in while carrying an almost sorrow expression). Despite how you looked, you would still be humming away to a tune he could never fully quite catch.

He also knew your lunch times were spent eating shitty snacks from the vending machines and that you really liked the strawberry lollipops from the cafeteria (which they only sold every Friday for some fucked up reason, he overheard you complaining about it to your friends in math).

San would also see you after school with all of your cooler, older friends too. You would all huddle around the corner near the bike racks in the parking lot, out of sight from teachers so you could bum cigarettes off of each other. You’d also listen to music while you were there, only with one earphone in though so you could still hear everyone talk. He liked seeing that, you always looked happy and smiley talking to your friends.

The two of you weren’t complete strangers, but nowhere close enough where he could feel safe calling you his friend either. You shared multiple classes with San, greeting him with a small smile when you’d walk by his seat to get to your own (he liked that you’d always say hi to him even when he never did first). The both of you even worked on group projects together, but that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to know more about you, to take even the smallest peek at the inner workings of your mind. To find out how you always seemed to not care when things went wrong.

He thinks of your reaction when you would fail a test, how you’d simply shrug before shoving the paper into the bottom of your backpack. Immediately after, smiling as you’d turn around to talk to your friends about whatever you all planned to do that weekend. Stuff like that didn’t make much sense to him. Why would you not opt out of hanging out just for one weekend and study harder to do better on the next test like he would?

San supposes that’s what separates the two of you into vastly different worlds, yet he wants nothing more than to just step over that line and join you.

When he had spotted you there, on that humid summer day in early June a feeling had begun to settle into his stomach again. The strange bit was that it didn’t feel humiliating nor demeaning, but there was still something unsettling about it. It felt extremely foreign at first but now, incredibly comforting. Because for once, it didn’t feel like failure.

So, he then decided to call out to you. It was the very first time he had ever greeted you, without you doing it first. Your name exceedingly foreign on his tongue when coming out of his mouth while you weren’t sitting at your desks in a shared class. You had turned around at the noise, both earphones still blasting music into your ears.

Once you had recognised who the voice belonged too, you immediately had taken out both of your earphones with a smile. The tune he had never been able to fully hear, was now playing into the world for him to hear freely. He felt the corners of his mouth beginning to prick upwards at that. Yet with no plan of what words he would say now, San was immediately regretting his choice to speak to you. His fists were balled up in front of him, grip tightening on his clothes ever so slightly as he lowers his eyes down away from you.

The edge he always treads so carefully on was now unstable and he felt it beginning to crack already. You don’t leave him any more time to freak out over it though. When he looks up, he sees you already opening your mouth to say hello in the soft tone you always use, ushering him over.

“Hey, San. You want to come skip with me?”

The cool breeze flowing through the corridor, cooling down his cheeks just had to heat up again when he locked eyes with you, of course they did. Because San had always found everything about you pretty, from the first time he ever saw you. Not a day would there be a doubt in his mind of that. But, in that very moment he found you strikingly beautiful. In a split second, where his brain and his heart finally worked in unison he had responded hurriedly, before he could overthink it and regret it for the rest of his days.

“Yeah, I do. I’ll come along,” As he chucked his gym clothes back into his locker, a switch had been flicked on in his mind. When he turned around and saw you then, one lollipop in your mouth and a second in your hand, held out to him, a realisation had been thrown into his face like a bucket of ice-cold water. San had ultimately discovered that dancing on the edge was fun, yet leaping off it was much better. Even if the water was too shallow down below, San thinks he would be okay with that.

While walking away from the gym and instead down the hall with you by his side, San had spotted your earphones tangled up and peeking out of your backpack. That day, he settled with the fact that maybe it was okay to be a little too reckless, to move a tad too fast. Even if it could scare people, even if it scared him.

If you asked San what made him love that summer far more than the previous ones, he might mention his drunken bike rides with you and your friends, or the nights he spent laying on the beach with you gazing at the stars. Hell, he even liked the part time job he had to take up thanks to the party you helped him throw (which ended in that broken window he had to pay for). Spending a portion of his summer working as a server wasn’t fun in theory but when you’d visit him on his breaks or pick him up after his shifts, San had found it pretty worth it in the end.

He was truly happy in every moment back then; he’s enlightened even now, because all the memories of summer bring you back to him. Despite existing only as a brief moment in his own mind, San is content because whenever he closes his eyes he finds a version of you is there with him. He’s able feel the sun on his bare skin, with your lips pressed against his own again. His favorite bit being when the lingering hint of strawberries followed as you both pulled away.

Yeah, that’s exactly when it was. Three summers ago. When San had first decided it was alright to embrace being him, to be the person he still was today. All thanks to you.

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[sunflowergirl522]

Bats

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: you’re in Hawkins for the summer and you bite to show affection.

Word Count: 6109

Eddie Masterlist

You and Eddie have been dating for a while now. You went to a gig his band had and the two of you hit it off immediately. But living a few towns over from Hawkins and being in college you never got much of a chance to see him. So your relationship was mainly through the phone and letters. He’d drive over to your place every once in a while staying for a night or for the weekend but everytime you brought up going to see him he turned the thought down immediately. He was always quick to clarify that it wasn’t because he was seeing other girls or anything he just didn’t want it distracting you from your studies. You knew that though, when he was with you he’d make sure you studied even if you didn’t have a test and that you did your assignments awarding each section you did with a kiss, oftentimes more. But now it’s summer break and you’re on your way to spend a whole week in the Munson trailer.

“Why’re you so distracted today?” Max brings Eddie’s attention away from his trailer back to her as she bounces a soccer ball on her feet in front of him.

“I’m not distracted.” He rests his elbows on his knees as he leans forward.

“Then what was I saying?”

“Uh, something about Lucas’s latest fuck up.” He knows he’s wrong with his guess when she bursts into laughter.

“Dude what’s going on with you today? That wasn’t even close to being right.” She sits on the picnic table next to him. 

“Y/n’s coming to stay for the week.” Max is really the only one out of the group that he talks to about you. They all know about you of course but he likes to keep you to himself so he doesn’t bring you up that much and he’s vague when they ask about you. But since Max is like the little sister he never knew he wanted he couldn’t ever seem to shut up about you when the two of them were together.

“Oh shit that’s this week?” She’s excited to meet you but at the news that you’ll be here today her stomach twists into knots. She’d never admit it to anyone, ever, but she’s anxious about if you’ll like her or not. And she desperately wants you to because Eddie’s the big brother she always wished she could’ve had in Billy and he’s always going on about how he’s gonna marry you someday. Max would love to have you fill in the older sister she never in a million years would’ve thought she could have.

“Yeah.” The smile on Eddie’s face calms her nerves a bit, happy to see him so happy. “I don’t know when she’s gonna get here though we didn’t talk about that last night.”

“It’s still early.” She offers up with a shrug but just as she finishes talking a car with muffled music blasting pulls in next to Eddie’s van in front of the trailer. The door opens and Eddie’s face lights up like the fourth of July as you step out, closing the door with a quick shove before looking up and locking eyes with him.

“Eddie!” He’s up and catching you in his arms before Max even realizes you’re running over. You’re in his arms for all of two minutes before you turn your head to bite into his bicep causing him to laugh.

“I can’t believe you’re here, Bats.” 

“Me either, I almost got lost on my way.” You huff at the nickname before speaking. You were fine with it, thought it was cute even, until he told you about how he got the scars littering his body. ‘I can’t help it if you’re my vampire bat’ is his response when you bring up him not calling you it anymore. “I can’t wait to finally meet Wayne and everyone else.” Eddie talked about his friends a decent amount during calls and when he visited you and you’ve talked to Wayne on the phone a few times when he picked up instead of Eddie.

“Speaking of meeting everyone.” He steps back and over to reveal Max, his hand going to hold your own. “This is-”

“You must be Max!” You interrupt him knowing exactly who’s sitting in front of you. You’re all smiles and excitement that it completely erases her nerves for now and she couldn’t stop herself from matching your vibe if she wanted to.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. He goes on and on about you so often that I feel like I know everything about you!” She gets up to stand in front of you and her words somehow make your smile bigger. You squeeze his hand needing a way to let out all of the love that’s boiling over inside of you.

“Well Eddie absolutely raves about you! Talks about you the most out of everyone so much so that’s it’s crazy to think the two of you aren’t actually related.” You had even thought she was his sister for the longest time before asking him one day when he mentioned going to her place. Something that he had stumbled over his answer because no not really but also yes because that’s exactly how he sees her.

“He does, does he?” She doesn’t let it show just how much that means to her as she looks over at him with a smirk on her face.

“Now Red don’t go blabbing that to everyone, Dustin will never let it go.” He steps forward and brings you into his side wanting more contact with you, still not completely believing that you’re here in Hawkins with him. “Do you have a lot to unpack baby?”

“No, I just have my duffel and backpack.”

“Wanna get all situated and comfortable in the trailer then?”

“But I’ve barely met Max.”

“Max can come with us if she wants, I’ll make some lunch and we can watch a movie or something. You hungry?” You only start to nod before he starts to pull you back to the trailer. “C’mon Red, the lady requests your presence.”

“I really like Max.” You say to Eddie later that night when you’re cuddling into his chest in bed. You absolutely adore her just like you knew you would.

“Good.” He kisses the top of your head before smiling up at the ceiling. He was beyond ecstatic to have you in his arms again.

“I get to meet Wayne tomorrow right?” He was working a late shift tonight but Eddie insisted that you’d be able to see him then instead of staying up all night for it.

“Yeah, he’s off tomorrow so don’t worry about missing him.”

“Okay.” You prop yourself up on your arm then body hoving above his own. “What about everyone else? When do I get to meet them?”

“Well normally I’d be going to movie night tomorrow but I think I’m gonna keep you all to myself a little bit longer.” He pulls you back down on top of him as he speaks causing you to let out a squeal and some giggles.

“No, let’s go to movie night, it'll be fun. You get to have me all to yourself the day after when you show me around.” 

“You really want to go meet everyone that badly?” Eddie’s eyes are shining as he makes eye contact with you as you place your forehead on his.

“More than anything.”

“Then I guess we can go.” He sighs out like it’s going to be the most painful thing in the world for him. You nip the tip of his nose, getting the urge to out of nowhere and his already playful eyes get a new glint in them. “Oh so that’s how it’s gonna be Bats?” He’s quick to flip you over, straddling your hips. “I give in to your begging and you bite me. How is that fair?” His hands are working into your sides before he finishes talking earning him screeching laughter in return.

“Eddie! Stop!” You gasp out the words and he pauses his ministrations just long enough for you to catch your breath and for him to slide his hands up your, his, shirt.

“What do I get if I stop?” His tone is both playful and menacing at the same time in a way that lets you know if whatever you say isn’t good enough he’ll keep going.

“I’ll give you a kiss.” He hums mock thinking about your offer, his hands roaming up and down your waist bathing in the feel of your skin on his.

“Nope, not good enough.”

“What?” You frantically try to back up to escape his hands just for him to drag you back down the bed.

“Give me a kiss and tell me you’ll love me forever.” He keeps his hands firmly on your sides and leans his face over yours.

“Of course I’ll love you forever Eddie bear.” Your voice goes soft and your arms wrap around his neck as you nuzzle his nose with your own. “Now how about that kiss?”

Eddie wakes up first the next morning with a smile on his face at having you in his arms and in his bed. The thought of getting up and leaving you crushing his soul but the thought of waking you up with breakfast in bed and being able to see you light up in gratitude urging him to do exactly that. So he pulls you closer for a minute before kissing your head and sliding out of his warm bed getting dressed and heading to the kitchen where he finds Wayne making coffee.

You don’t wake up much later than he does, the bed is still a little warm where he was sleeping when you do. You lay there for a few minutes beaming up at the ceiling that you’re actually here with him. It’s hard for you to normally be so far apart from him with your love languages being quality time and physical touch. The two of you always made up for the time apart when he would come visit but it was still rough. Which is why you’ve decided that after you graduate you’d move to Hawkins to be with him all the time. You’d been saving up long before even meeting Eddie to be able to get your own place after school so as long as he wants you here you’d do it. 

You throw on one of his shirts and a pair of pajama pants before making your way out of the room excited to finally meet Uncle Wayne. You find both him and Eddie in the kitchen with Eddie making eggs and Wayne pouring his coffee. 

“Is this the famous Y/n Y/l/n I’ve heard so much about?” Wayne smiles your way and Eddie whips around to look at you.

“Sure is!” You gnaw on your lip and shift your weight from one foot to the other wanting to go hug him like you would your own family member but hold yourself back knowing he’s not much of a physical touch kind of person.

“Bring it in kid.” He opens his arms for you and you let out a small happy laugh as you rush into them and accept the hug he offers. Something he doesn’t normally do but he doesn’t know what other way to thank you for loving his boy so much. Eddie can’t help the smile that overtakes his face as he watches it happen knowing how much it’s going to mean to you.

“What’re you doing up darlin’?” Eddie asks as he brings you into his arms after you part from Wayne. “I was gonna wake you up with breakfast.” He pouts resting his forehead on yours.

“Sorry baby, I tried waiting for you to come back but I got bored and I really wanted to meet Wayne.” You peck his still pouty lips forcing them into a smile before pulling away. “So what do you guys do around here?”

You end up spending most of the day binging The Waltons with the Munsons and doing a puzzle Wayne had lying around on the small table in the living room. By the time Eddie’s standing up and telling you it’s about time to get going for movie night you and Wayne have gotten to know each other well enough that you can tell he’s going to be fast family to you.

“Have I told you yet how pretty you look today?” Eddie asks as he holds your door open and watches you step out. You’re a sight in your jean shorts and one of Eddie’s Metallica shirts standing in Steve’s driveway in front of him. “Cause you’re pretty as a picture Bats.” He takes your hand in his own and leads the way to the door.

“I’ve told you before to stop calling me that.” You drop your lips into a fake pout as he knocks on the door.

“Why should I? I’ve got the marks from last night to prove you’re my own vampire bat.” He pulls the collar of his shirt out of the way to show off the hickeys and bite marks you left on his collarbones and shoulder a proud smile on his face as he does so.

“Woah, you burn yourself with a curling iron there Munson?” Steve teases as he opens the door, your eyes go wide and you can feel heat rising up your neck. Eddie’s unphased though, letting go of his shirt and turning to smirk at Steve.

“Can’t help it if my girl wants to latch onto me any chance she gets.” He pulls you into him and you pinch his side for his words.

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were meeting your girlfriend tonight.”

“Hi, I’m Y/n.” All you do is wave and smile as you wrap an arm around Eddie’s waist and hug yourself to him wanting to be as close to him as possible.

“I’m Steve, it’s nice to finally meet the reason for Eddie disappearing most weekends.”

“Are Eddie and y/n here?” Max appears behind Steve and you rush in to hug her.

“Max!”

“I didn’t think you guys were gonna make it.” She melts into your arms feeling deeply comforted by your bear hug. 

“Eddie didn’t want to but I convinced him to come.” The two of you break apart and Eddie comes in to stand next to you and take your hand in his. 

“Come on, now that we’re here Dustin will kill me if I don’t introduce you to him next.”

“Oh hey Eddie! Who’s this?” Robin asks him as she starts to come out of the kitchen as the two of you pass into the living room.

“Sorry Robin, can’t talk.” He keeps pulling you with him passing her by you’d stop him so you could just introduce yourself if you didn’t find the whole thing so amusing. “Dustin, I’ve got someone for you to meet.” He announces his presence getting the heads of the group already settled on the couches to turn to look at the two of you.

“No fucking way, what’s she doing here?” He excitedly gets up and makes his way over to the two of you.

“She’s here for a whole week. Y/n, Dustin, Dustin, Y/n.” His hand motions between the two of you as he does the introduction. 

“Eddie talks about you all the time.” You look away from Dustin and up at Eddie who flushes pink at yet another one of his close friends admitting that to you.

“Yeah so much so I was starting to think you were a myth!” Eddie strides over to the couch to whack Mike in the back of the head leaving you in the entranceway of the living room. You look back over to Dustin after rolling your eyes at your boyfriend's actions.

“He talks about you a lot too. I heard all about that concert in that other realm or whatever the words Eddie used were.” Your face scrunches up as you try to recall what Eddie called that place as you step into the room Dustin leading the way back over to the couch. 

“He told you about the upside down?” Dustin's eyes are wide as you nod. “And you believed him?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s got the scars and PTSD to prove it.” When you and Eddie first started dating and he’d spend nights at your place he often had nightmares about it. You’d wake him up and assure him where he was before staying up almost the rest of the night with him trying to distract him from it. 

“I think you’re all super brave for going through it. Especially because you were what twelve when you first had to deal with all of that? I was still scared of the boogeyman at that age.” You still felt uncomfortable being completely in the dark. “Bravest group of kids I’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting and knowing.” Your voice is soft and your attention isn’t on Dustin anymore and rather on Eddie laughing with the other kids but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t stop at the way you say the words, with a sense of pride and admiration for a group of kids you don’t even know.

Before he can figure what to say in response Eddie’s looking over at you with a big smile on his face and holds his hand out. Your own smile gets bigger and you rush forward taking it in your own and letting him pull you close to his side as he introduces you to the rest of the kids. The excitement is evident in the air around you as you greet everyone.

“She’s nice right?” Max stops next to Dustin just a few steps from the entrance. “I can definitely see why Eddie fell for her so fast.”

“Yeah. You met her then?”

“Yep, I hung out with them all day yesterday when she got to town.” She smirks at Dustin before heading over to the group. The two of them constantly compete with each other over who’s Eddie’s favorite. So this is going to come across as a big win for her.

“Oh. Wait what? Eddie!”

Movie night was fun and you absolutely loved meeting Eddie’s little community of friends, his family. Which isn’t something he’s used to describe them in the past but seeing them all interact with each other you know that’s what they are. You and Robin even planned a day for her to steal you away from Eddie for an hour or two to hangout.

It warmed Eddie’s heart to see you get along so well with everyone. He can’t even start to describe the feeling in his chest as he sees you leaning against his van with Max her head thrown back laughing at something you said as the two of you wait for him to finish saying bye.

“I gotta ask, what’s up with the biting?” Steve asks from his spot next to Eddie in the doorway. You had bitten him a total of only twice during the movie so he hadn’t really expected anyone to notice it much. 

Once was shortly after everyone got seated and the movie was starting. Eddie had kissed the top of your head causing you to recline it back from your spot on the floor between his legs so you could look up at him in his spot on the couch. He gave you a quick peck, gaining a smile and a squeeze of his calf before you turned your attention back to the tv only shortly after turning your head to gently bite right above his knee.

The second time was near the end of the movie. Eddie had been tracing your face lightly with the tips of his fingers and when you began to feel like you were going to burst of all your adoration with how soft he was being with you in front of his friends, something no one had ever done for you, you bit his finger the next time it traced over your lips.

“It’s just the way she shows her love.” Eddie shrugs in response. “She either bites or squeezes, it’s like second nature to her, I don’t even think she realizes she does it sometimes.” Sometimes he thought it was like breathing or blinking to you. “It’s cute.”

You look over then and catch his eyes with your own and blow a kiss to him. Eddie’s smile widens as he makes a show of catching it and Steve and Robin share a look with each other. Neither of them had ever seen him smile that big before.

“Love drunk is a good look on you Eds!” She laughs as she speaks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so full of life and that’s really saying something. You’re naturally extravagant. Get out of here and join your girl.”

“Yeah, we’ll see you around Eddie.”

“Bye guys.” He barely glances back at them, waving over his head, not wanting to take his eyes off of you still deep in conversation with Max. Really he should tell them how he’s glad they liked you and all but all he can think to do is go pull you into his arms and relish in the feeling of having you close until you inevitably have to go back home at the end of the week. 

Eddie fell for you harder and faster than he ever thought would’ve been possible. It wasn’t love at first sight but when he spotted you in the bar in your goddamn homemade Prancing Pony shirt he should’ve known that you were going to be it for him. Instead he just made it his mission to find you after their set to ask you about it which only led to the two of you talking so late into the night that your friend went home and his bandmates all piled into Jeff's car rather than wait for Eddie to be done. It wasn’t until your third date, which was only three weeks after meeting each other, because Eddie could listen to you talk forever and never wanted to stop talking to you so he came up every weekend to take you out, that he realized you were the one for him and he doubted anyone would ever live up to you. Luckily enough for him your mind was on that same track.

“You ready to go Sweetheart?” Eddie kisses the side of your head as he sidles up next to you wrapping his hand around yours.

“Yep, just waiting on you baby.” You squeeze his hand once, twice, three times before pushing off the van. “C’mon Max, I’ll open the back door for you.”

The next day instead of Eddie giving you a tour of Hawkins the two of you end up just curled around each other in bed just enjoying each other's company only getting up to eat. You told him about how you passed all your finals, to which he told you how proud he was of his smart girl and how he knew you could do it, and caught him up on all the gossip in your small college friend group with him hanging onto your every word. Eddie told you about how the bands doing and how you’ll be able to sit through practice this week if you wanted to, to which you sat up in excitement because A that meant you got to see the guys again and B you got to see them all perform again, and he told you stories from when he was growing up in the trailer park.

The day after that Eddie gives you the tour he promised you complete with his favorite places like the picnic table in the woods around the school where he spent a lot of his high school years, the library where he’s planned countless campaigns, and the movie theater where he ends up going all the time with the gang. He took you to lunch at the diner that’s officially replaced Benny’s and then dropped you off at Robin’s telling you he’ll pick you up on his way to Gareth’s.

In the hour and a half that you were over you got to know Robin, the two of you deciding that you’ll be great friends, and you got to meet Nancy. She had shown up about forty minutes after you did. Robin had just greeted her casually while shuffling the cards for the next round of five hundred forgetting that the two of you hadn’t met yet. It was silent for a minute as Nancy looked between you and Robin before she seemed to remember and quickly introduced the two of you. By the time Eddie showed up to take you with him to practice the three of you were in stitches after sharing stories and telling jokes to each other.

“I’m so excited to see the boys again.” You say to Eddie as the two of you walk to the van. You’ve only seen them twice, the first time being the night you met Eddie and the second time being around two months ago because Gareth was craving the wings at the bar they had played at and Eddie had shown up at your door that night to bring you with them, but they were cool and you enjoyed their company.

“I’m sure they’re excited to see you too.” They’ve asked about you a few times since the last time they saw you, about how you’re doing and if he’s gonna let you come visit him anytime soon. Eddie hasn’t said anything about you coming to practice this week so he’s sure they’ll be at least surprised to see you. “Did you enjoy hanging out with Robin?” He places his hand on your knee as he drives away from her house.

“Yeah, I got to meet Nancy. She’s nice.”

“Huh, I thought she was in school for another week. She must’ve just gotten back.”

“I think she said something about getting back yesterday. And something about Jonathan, that’s Will’s brother right?”

“Yeah, they’ve been dating for a while now. I think they’ve been going through a rough patch since she started college though.”

“That sucks.” He pulls up to Gareth's house and stops in front of it then. The garage is open and you can see the guys standing around and talking. They look up as they hear Eddie’s door shut.

“Hey man! Didn’t realize you were here without your music blasting.”

“Yeah well I have a special guest with me this time.”

“Hey guys!” You wave as you round the van and walk up to the garage with Eddie. The group breaks into cheers at the sight of you asking how you’ve been and playfully bullying Eddie for not telling them you were in town.  It took them an extra half an hour to start practice so they could catch up with you beforehand.

“What’re we doing for my last day tomorrow?” You ask later that night head rested on his chest. You didn’t even want to think about it being your last full day with your lovely loving boyfriend but you know that you have to face it sooner than later.

“I don’t know. Probably tie you up or lock you in a cage so you can’t leave and I get to keep you forever.” He shrugs and gives you a teasing smile as he repositions himself to be propped up on his elbow.

“C’mon Eddie be serious.” You poke his side amused with his taunts.

“I could call Max, have her come over for a movie day. Because as much as I want to keep you to myself she’d want to see you too.” He could tell after that first day how attached she was already getting to you. 

“That sounds nice. Maybe we could get that takeout you always rave about since you still haven’t had me try it?”

“That sounds perfect.” He brings you closer to his chest just wanting to feel your skin on his even more. You nip at his shoulder making his smile widen. “I can pick it up and then get your favorite movies on the way back.”

“Perfect.” You yawn through the word and cuddle closer to him.

“G’night Bats.”

“Night Eddie.”

The next morning you wake up to Eddie peppering kisses over your face and shoulders immediately bringing a soft sleepy smile to your face. It’s almost noon by the time the two of you made it out of bed and you went straight to making breakfast while Eddie called Max the girl showing up within minutes after hanging up.

“Smells good in here for once.” She chimes as she crosses through the door.

“That’s because I don’t leave the stove on too high while I cook so the food doesn’t burn. Unlike some people.” You shoot a pointed look towards Eddie who had almost completely burned breakfast the other day before Wayne had shooed him away to take over. 

“What’re you making?” Max makes her way into the kitchen and you give her the task of helping cook the sausage while Eddie gets plates down. 

The three of you sit down and eat, falling into a comfortable silence at times where none of you can think of anything to say. You ask Max about soccer to which she lights up with excitement while she speaks and Eddie tells her about how you grew up playing sports with your cousins on the weekends in your backyard and how you could probably help her practice better than he does since you know more about the game than him. That led to Max asking you questions aimed specifically at figuring out how much you know while Eddie watches and listens in with a smile on his face at how his girls light up as the two of you talk.

The two of you are left there talking about the different sports you watched your cousins play when he leaves to get the take out and stop at Family Video. And when he gets home with food and three of your favorite movies you’ve both migrated to the kitchen to do dishes where Max is telling you animatedly about the time she had a particularly nasty fall while skateboarding recently.

“Red came crying to me to clean her boo boos.” Eddie announces his presence with his joking tone placing the movies and food on the coffee table before joining the two of you in the kitchen.

“I did not!” Max scoffs rolling her eyes while you chuckle at the two of them bickering.

“You totally did, you were bawling like you were a baby again.” 

“You’re such a liar! You were the one who started panicking and making me sit down so you can take care of me.” You smile just knowing that that’s actually what happened while Eddie wraps his arms around you from behind.

“You could’ve gotten an infection.” He defends himself before resting his head on the side of your neck, kissing it softly. “Hey baby. You know you don’t have to do the dishes right? I can take care of them tomorrow.”

“Too late, they’re already done.” You put the last plate over to the side to dry before turning to wipe your wet hands on his shirt.

“You did not just do that.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” You shrug and try to move away before he grabs you. 

“God get a room you two.” Max says before the two of you can start fighting.

“You should change your shirt Eddie baby. I’ll set up the take out and we’ll pick one of the movies.” You peck his lips before moving away and joining the girl in the living room. “Alright Max, Muppets Take Manhattan, The Thing, or Spaceballs to start with?”

“I’ve never seen Spaceballs.”

“Never seen Spaceballs?! That’s first then. Eddie! Why haven’t you ever shown her one of the funniest movies we’ve ever seen?” 

“Woah!” His hands go up in surrender at your small glare. “Calm down, it only came out last year so I haven’t had the time to.”

“Besides, aren't you glad you get to be the one to show it to her?” He adds after taking the movie from you while dropping a kiss to the top of your head.

“Okay, yeah you’re right.” You go to the take out bags to place the food on the table while Max sits next to you on the couch.

Max is asleep by the time the third movie is over, having dozed off somewhere in the middle. And even though it’s only a little after nine you can feel yourself succumbing to sleep as you lean further into Eddie’s chest. You’re stirred slightly out of it when he leans forward for the remote to eject the tape from the VCR, even more so when your source of comforting warmth gets up to take the tape out.

“Let’s get you to bed Sweetheart.” He speaks to you after placing it on the table.

“What about Max?” You yawn, standing up and taking his hand letting him pull you in the direction of his room.

“She’s fine there. Fallen asleep here enough times that Wayne won’t be surprised to find her on the couch when he gets home. I’ll ring her place to let her mom know she’s here after I get you in bed.”

“And then you’ll come join me?”

“Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

You fight with sleep the whole five minutes he’s gone from the room not wanting to waste time sleeping when you leave in the morning. You still fight it after he joins you in bed and wraps his arms around you. 

“Hey Eds?” You turn to face him after a couple beats of silence.

“Hm?” He hums in response, clearly starting to fall asleep himself. He’d never normally fall asleep this early but when it comes to falling asleep with you he can’t help it.

“What if I came to Hawkins after my next semester?” 

“That’d be great. Though hopefully you’ll be coming to visit again before then.”

“What if it wasn’t a visit? What if I came here permanently?” That wakes him up and his eyes shoot open and his mouth drops as he tries to figure out what to say. “I’ll be done with my degree then and besides my parents and the couple of friends I’ll be leaving school with there’s nothing tethering me there. But here there’s you and Wayne and there’s Max. And I think Robin and I could become really good friends. I’ve been saving up for a while, longer than I’ve known you, for my own place so I figure why not just get my own place here. It would be great if you could say something to stop my rambling so I don’t start thinking you’re against the idea or that you might not want me here.”

“Of course I want you here!” He’s snapped out of his daze quicker than you’ve ever seen him snap out of anything ever. “It’s just insane to think that you want to come stay here. I’ve spent most of my life wanting to leave and hating this town just for you to want to live here.”

“Well I didn’t want to ask you about coming to me. You have a whole family here despite how little you seem to realize that. And Hawkins isn’t that bad, it’s really a nicer town than some of the places near me. And if I move here no one will ever give you shit again because then they’ll have to deal with me and I’ll bite their ears off.”

“Of course you will Bats. Put that biting of yours to good use.” He laughs before holding you tighter to him. “If you really wanna do that, move here after you graduate, Hawkins would be a better place for it.”

The next morning after you pack your things into your car and say bye to Max who demanded you call her and write her letters to keep in touch while you’re gone you hug Eddie goodbye with a smile on your face despite how much you already miss him. 

“I’ll come back near the end of next month alright? We can start looking at trailers or apartments then.”

“I’ll be counting down the days Bats.”

Eddie Taglist (29/40):@sadbitchfangirl​ @notbeforelong​​​​ @navs-bhat​ @emotionaldreamer​ ​​​​​ @fangirling-4-ever​  @gaysludge​​​ ​@eddiethesexy​ @mazerunnerrose​ @midnightsgetawaycar   @mushroomelephant @saramelaniemoon @nojamsonmytoast @vintagehellfire @esoltis280 @spikedhe4rt @siriuslysmoking @toobsessedsstuff @alana4610 @gretavanfleas @sparkletash @aactuaaltraash @spookyemorockbabe @jesssssmaybankk @tlclick73 @eddiemunsonslittlemetalhead @bl4ckt00thgr1n @eli-flower @canyonmooncreations

Everything Taglist: @matchamunson​ @bubsonnobx​ @practicalghost​ @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts @rory-cakes

[psiroller]

Stop Smoking, We Love You

I wrote a little thing based on @unkat's chilaios EMS AU, which has consumed my little pea brain. you don't need a whole lot of context though. 1k words, cw mentions of medical trauma, smoking, drugs. title comes from the car seat headrest song which makes me misty eyed thinking about my stupid boys.

Chilchuck relished the icy cold breeze on his sweaty face as he burst out into the rear parking lot of the hospital, the one for the employees that visitors still park in. He patted himself down until the sharp corner of a fresh pack of Newports hit his palm, and he remembered he’d been trying to use the inside pockets after he’d accidentally dropped a pack during a call and wasted thirteen bucks and tax before he’d even opened the damn thing. He was fortunate enough to have remembered his lighter, too; Senshi’s visiting family this weekend and he has no one else to bum a light from. He’d gotten in trouble the last time he asked a patient out of desperation.

He flicked his zippo and lit it in one smooth motion, a party trick that had long worn out its novelty and was just about to put it to the menthol-cool cigarette between his lips when two large hands entered his vision. One clapped the zippo shut and the other pinched the cig by the filter, tugging both out of Chilchuck’s grip.

“Yoink.”

“You mother fucker—”

Laios laughed as Chilchuck lunged after the precious nicotine clutched in his big hands, held just out of reach.

“This doesn’t look like twenty feet to me,” Laios grinned.

“I was going to hold it in until I reached the grass, fuck off, alright?”

“Then you won’t mind if I walk with you?”

Laios returned what he’d taken, and Chilchuck snatched it back. “Fine, fine, whatever. Come freeze your ass off with me.”

They crossed the parking lot, stepping carefully across black ice and hopping the curb to stand in the grass, a foot beyond the premises. Chilchuck made pointed eye contact with Laios as he stuck the cigarette between his lips and flicked the lighter open and shut, taking a long drag. He debated breathing it in Laios’ face, but decided to turn away. He blew a thin plume of smoke that caught on the brisk wind and whipped away. “Happy?”

“Not exactly,” Laios admitted. “You shouldn’t smoke, Chil.”

Chilchuck scowled. “Oh, here we go… listen, it’s my right to poison my body however I want. Just look at our patients.”

Laios fought a grim laugh and failed. “Hey, you asked.”

“What’s it matter to you anyway?” Chilchuck asked, slurred around the filter. He took another long drag and tapped out the ash into the frozen grass.

“As a medical professional, I prefer not to watch people die.”

Chilchuck released the smoke through his nose, rolling his eyes. “Preference doesn’t matter much to us, does it?”

“I guess not.”

Another long drag. He’d somehow blasted half the cigarette already. “You sound like my youngest,” Chilchuck breathed, with a fondly exasperated smile. Laios shifted around, his cheeks going pink in the cold. “She’s in the middle of some kind of health course and it’s got her all freaked out. ‘Daddy, don’t smoke those, they’ve got rat poison in ‘em!’” Chilchuck said, affecting a raspy falsetto. “It was kinda cute, but she was pretty upset,” he sighed. “She was crying. Must be a pretty heavy-handed program.”

“I had that growing up,” Laios said. "They had a cop come in and everything. Showed us pictures of tracheotomies.”

“Is that what they’re doing?” Chilchuck hissed. “She’s nine! She’s too young for that shit. I’m gonna complain to the PTA.”

“Hey, it kept me off. Do you want her on it?”

Chilchuck’s mouth drew into a long, thin line. “I guess not.”

They stood there, Chilchuck smoking, Laios doing fuck all with his hands in his pockets. Chilchuck wondered why he was out here at all if he hated cigarettes and smoking so much. It was biting cold, blustery, damp. It was a holiday weekend and there was only a matter of time before they got another Narcan call, he could be catching a nap before rush hour, but he was here.

“Does it help?” Laios asked. “With the stress, I mean.”

“Gives me an excuse to step out,” Chilchuck shrugged. “Gives me something to look forward to. Gives me a reason to breathe in and out for a few minutes that isn’t that dippy yoga shit.”

“Have you ever done it? That dippy yoga shit?”

“Hell no.”

“You want to try it? I can show you a few poses.”

Chilchuck choked on smoke, something he hadn’t done in twenty years. “You? Yoga?” The ass definition suddenly made a lot of sense.

“I don’t take classes, but you can learn a lot from YouTube videos.”

“Hm.” It had been the class aspect that turned him off the most. It felt somehow more embarrassing than just rocking up to the gym at three in the morning and dissociating on the treadmill for a few hours. “I’ll think about it.”

“I think it’d be fun,” Laios said, and Chilchuck almost believed him. “And it’s helped me, you know. After rough calls.”

Chilchuck sucked down the last of his cigarette and blew it upwards, a brief break in the wind allowing it to coil in upon itself in midair, minute particles glittering in the warm, flickering glow of the light post and simmering down in his lungs. He leaned down to smash the smoldering filter into the curb, putting the butt in his junk pocket to avoid being further nagged.

“Alright,” Chilchuck relented. “Why the hell not?”

Laios beamed at him. Chilchuck could think of a thousand reasons against meeting up with his boss to do anything that didn’t involve getting a beer, but looking at that self-satisfied grin gave him one very good reason in his favor. “It’s a date.”

“No it’s not!” Chilchuck squawked. Laios skipped away. Skipped. “It’s not a date, Laios!”

“See you then!”

“Nice HR violation!” Chilchuck screamed. “Mother fucker.” He muttered to himself, tapping his pack angrily against his palm and flipping up a lid for one more, just to spite him, and looked down at the neat rows of little paper cylinders, pristine and fresh.

Chilchuck crammed the box back into his pocket and trudged inside.  

[sadhours]

stuck in the middle with you - prologue

billy hargrove x mayfield!oc

series master-list • read on ao3

contents: 18+ minors dni, stepcest, psuedocest, forbidden love trope, slow burn ish, mutual pining

summary: the newly mixed hargrove-mayfield household is awkward and a little tumultuous. eldest teens billy and pamela struggle to find a good balance between them. billy was under the impression that susan and neil wouldn’t last long, but once the pair tie the knot, billy has to nip his attraction to pamela in the bud. that proves to be difficult.

It’s a sunny day in San Diego and Billy’s feeling good. Forgoes the numerous cassettes in his car for the radio, thumbs through the channels until he hears Bill Wither’s Lovely Day billowing through the Camaro’s speakers. He’s on his way to work. The grocery store is ten minutes from the Hargrove residence. He got an early start, got to hit some waves and did some shit he’s pretty proud of. His fingers twirl the volume dial up. He hits a red light and fumbles with his pack of Red’s, plucks one out and brings it to his lips. Lights it with a flick of his Zippo and turns his head to catch a red convertible, full of bleach blonde honey’s in swimsuits. They giggle and wave, squealing as Billy revvs his engine. Chuck Taylor on the brake pedal and the other on the accelerator, waves his fingers at the blondes and as the light turns green, he punches it. Life is good.

He clicks the turn signal, switching lanes before he turns into the grocery parking lot. Parks as far as he can from the entrance and uses up the rest of the free time he has, blasting his radio and finishing up his cigarette. There’s a view of the ocean from here, no doubt where the girls in the convertible were headed. Same beach he spent the morning.

Once Billy’s finished his smoke, he takes the walk from the edge of the parking lot to the Albertson’s entrance. Waves to Mrs. Jones, as she's walking out, makes a cheeky comment about how he’s bummed to have missed her and doesn’t miss the way she blushes. He’s the favorite bagboy around here. If not for his looks, then for his skill and diligence. But if Billy can find a way to compete, he’ll take it. If there was a competitive sport for bagging groceries, he’d surely have the first place trophy.

He makes it to the lockers, circles the dial for his lock and pops it open. Retrieves his apron and slides it on, ties it around his waist and reaches for his name tag next, slides the sharp point of the safety pin into his white button up and closes it up. Pops a piece of gum between his teeth before closing up his locker, nods to a coworker as he grabs his time card and slips it into the time clock. Two minutes early.

“How ya doing, Billy?” his coworker greets before grabbing his own time card and clocks out for break.

“Living the dream,” Billy chides, easy and all smiles.

He checks the clipboard to see where he’s stationed first and then makes his way to the check stands. Salutes the cashier as he takes his post at the bagging area. First customer of the day is an absolute babe. Soft, styled blonde hair and blue eyes. Wears a sundress and clings onto the strap of her purse with manicured nails. Red. Billy’s favorite color. He winks at her as he says hello as he smacks his gum.

“Hi,” she replies, cheeks pink and it might be powder blush but Billy would like to think it’s from him.

“How’s your day going?” he inquires, reaching for the groceries rotating his way. Even with the distraction of the gorgeous blonde, he bags with precision. Canned corn with canned soup, double bagged and placed in the cart.

The blonde purses her lips, glances behind her and then turns to Billy, “It’s fine. How’s yours?”

“Can’t complain, got to catch some killer waves before work,” he replies easily and then a familiar face appears behind the blonde. Makes Billy’s face fall.

Susan. His dad’s new girlfriend. She looks at him surprised and then smiles, “Billy! I forgot you work here.”

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckles, shaking his head ‘cause he doesn’t buy it. He heard she lives on the opposite side of town. No reason to do grocery shopping here. “Hey, Susan.”

“So, you’ve met my daughter,” Susan smiles, motioning to the blonde. Fuck. He was flirting with his dad’s girlfriend’s daughter. Gross. Why would Neil date someone with such a hot daughter? That’s like, totally unfair.

“Not officially. I’m Billy,” he offers.

“Pamela,” the girl replies curtly, glancing down at her feet as another, younger girl bounces up beside them. This one looks a lot more like Susan.

“And this is my youngest, Maxine,” Susan introduces the middle schooler.

The younger redhead scowls, turns her nose up at her mother and then looks to Billy, “It’s Max.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Billy plasters on the fakest smile. The few times he’s met Susan, he hasn’t liked her. Doesn’t buy the facade she puts on.

“You, too,” Pamela mumbles and Max looks disinterested.

Billy doesn’t miss a beat bagging their groceries, but he does notice that when he grabs the box of tampons, Pamela’s eyes widen and her face gets redder. It makes him smirk, but he feels like he really shouldn’t be finding his dad’s girlfriend’s daughter so hot.

“Well, we’re heading to your house. You were supposed to meet my girls at dinner but it looks like we got a jump on that,” Susan says, voice all cheery.

“Yep,” Billy smiles again, still forced. This kind of put a real damper on his mood. Seeing Susan does that but knowing her daughter is such a smoke show and so off limits really drives it home.

He doesn’t say much else, keeps bagging the dinner he’s doomed to eat. It’s unlike Billy and the cashier notices and gives him a look. He’s typically a chatterbox. Charming his way through the whole process. Susan pays, and Billy notices she used food stamps. He doesn’t express any judgment but his dad talks real negatively about single mothers who take advantage of the government. Billy has to wonder if he knows he’s sleeping with one.

“We’ll see you at dinner, Billy,” Susan grins, behind Pamela who pushes the cart.

He meets her eyes, tries to read them as he says bye. She averts hers and Billy has to wonder if she’s just as attracted to him.

—

He’s been dreading the dinner his whole shift. Even considers skipping it all together. Sits in the Camaro for a good twenty minutes before he even starts it up. He’s pretty sure there’s a bonfire at the beach but Neil would kill him. And also, there’s a big part of him that wants to see Pamela again. Even if she’s off limits, he can still look, can’t he?

The drive home is too quick and Susan’s dumb station wagon is in his place in the driveway. He sits outside and has a cigarette, listening to the radio as he just watches the door. Half expects Neil to come out and yell at him, or worse, Susan. It doesn’t happen. Of course his dads gonna put on a front for these women. Which buys him something. But the second they leave, that’s another story. And Billy’s gone a month without a black eye, he’d really like to keep that going so he turns off the Camaro. Tosses his cigarette and trudges his way up to the house. Upon entering, Max is sat on the couch, looking bored to hell while Neil’s nursing a beer, sat on his recliner as the news bubbles out from the TV.

“Billy. How was work?” Neil asks, absentmindedly. He’s not really paying attention, doesn’t really care. His eyes focused on President Reagan, talking some bullshit on the TV.

“Fine,” he mumbles, closing the door behind him as he reaches down to untie his Converse. Looks at the three pair of shoes discarded by the front door. He slips his off and holds them between his fingers as he trails down the hallway to his bedroom. Tosses them to the floor and closes his door. Leans against the cheap particle board and heaves a sigh. He can’t be in here too long. Neil’ll come looking for him. Tell him he has to mingle.

So he takes the short time he has to change his clothes. Just slips out of his button up and pulls on an old t-shirt. And yeah. He walks over to his mirror, checks how his hair is looking. Sure as hell can’t flirt with the pretty blonde in his house, but who says he can’t look good for her anyways. A spray of Aquanet can’t hurt and shit, he smells like work so a few sprays of his cologne ain’t gonna kill anyone.

Looking in the mirror, he catches his cat on his bed. Locked in here because Susan insists she’s allergic. He doesn’t believe her because Gloria’s fur is all over this house and Susan never has a reaction. He collapses on his bed and Gloria stands up, stretches all exaggerated and struts her way over to Billy. Cozies up on his lap and nudges her head against his hand. He gets the idea and scratches at the gray fur behind her ears, pouts as he looks at her.

“Wish I could be locked in here with ya,” he mumbles out. Gloria purrs, eyes closing as she nuzzles against his chest.

Then there’s a knock on his door and he huffs, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he calls out, “Yeah?”

The door opens slowly, his eyes catch her feet first. Simple black kitten heels, tights adorning long legs up to her flowy black skirt and baby pink blouse with a frilly collar. Yeah, this night is gonna suck. Pamela’s hair is tied back in a haphazard bun and he wonders if she’s been in the kitchen, helping Susan.

“Salad is re— you have a cat?!” her plush lips pulling up into an excited smile as she moves in closer.

“Yeah, shut the door,” Billy tells her, “Your mom’s allergic.”

Pamela closes the door and steps closer to the bed, “So she says. We had cats when I was a kid, though. What’s its name?”

She reaches her manicured fingers out for Gloria to sniff. Gloria does, looks up at the girl curiously and then nudges her head against Pamela’s knuckles. She scratches the cat's head, smiling all fondly at her.

“Gloria, or Glo for short,” Billy says.

“Such a pretty girl,” Pamela praises with a pout, voice all babied.

Billy smiles, watching the interaction and ignoring how close Pamela is to him. But he can smell her perfume, citrusy and floral. His instinct to flirt is weighing heavy on him and it’s kind of painful not to. Off limits, he tells himself and clears his throat, “So uh, dinner’s ready?”

Pamela nods, hair bouncing with the movement as she keeps scratching at the cat's neck. “Well, salad is. Meatloafs almost done.”

“Meatloaf, eh? Sounds tasty,” he tries to sound like he means it but Pamela catches it.

She laughs, breezy and a sound Billy wants to hear over and over. “Don’t worry, I did all the heavy lifting. But don’t tell your dad that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grins, sitting up and picking up Gloria. Pamela turns towards the door and Billy can’t stop his dumb mouth, “You’re really pretty, by the way.”

“Oh,” she turns slightly and her cheeks are redder. “Thanks.” Pamela exits his bedroom and leaves Billy feeling like a creep. The hell is wrong with him? Why the fuck did he say that?

He puts the cat down and walks out behind Pamela, but he doesn’t follow her out into the kitchen yet. Detours to the bathroom so he can splash his face and get a grip. Off limits, he repeats. Fixes his hair some more and decides he’s not gonna talk to Pamela if he can help it.

She’s already sat at the table by the time he gets there and wouldn’t you know it, the only empty spot is right across from her. Awesome. They’ve pulled up an old wooden chair for Max, next to Pamela. Neil and Susan sit at the other ends. There’s a salad plated for him. He sits down and gulps some of the water placed for him while he waits for his dad to start grace, but he doesn’t. And all the girls are already eating. Neil gives him a look, then looks up at the ceiling so Billy does the same. Tells God thanks in his head and starts in on his salad.

Susan talks a lot so it’s easy for Billy to zone out on his food and not look up at the pretty girl across from him. But apparently, this dinner is supposed to be about the teens getting to know each other. Susan says, in her shrill voice, “Billy! You and Pamela are in the same grade. Isn’t that neat?”

“Yeah,” Billy offers a soft grin, doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Max is about to start the eighth grade,” Susan continues and Billy just nods, pretends he’s listening as she keeps rambling. Then she says, “Max skateboards, your dad says you surf, that’s pretty much the same thing, right?”

He scoffs, a smile that’s not at all joyful plays at his lips as he looks at Susan, “I mean, no. Not really, at all.”

Neil shoots him daggers, he can’t see them but he can feel his dads eyes hardened on the side of his face so he offers, quickly, “But I skate, too. Not that often but I’ve got a board. I like surfing more, been doing it longer.”

“I only started this year,” Max mumbles, luckily getting the attention away from Billy.

“That’s cool,” Billy tries, mostly for the sake of his dad. Neil hasn’t dated seriously enough to introduce his girlfriend’s kids before. And really, Susan’s made an effort to get to know Billy, though fruitless. But perhaps he can play nice for the time being. And when Neil and Susan inevitably fizzle out, he can make his move on the daughter. That’s his plan, at least.

[bullet-prooflove]

Sending hug’s always!

I know it's complicated 'cause everyone that I've dated Says they hate it 'cause they don't know what to do with me

For Benny Miller please and thank you!

Next to Will you are the only person who has ever come through for Benny. The only one that has ever really stood by him, the one that continues to stick by him.

The girls that came before you had given up at the first hurdle but you, you’re a grounding force in his life, the person that anchors him.

He thinks of that as he lays on a bunk in a six by eight cell staring up at the ceiling.

He’s been arrested for fighting again, a guy had started something in the bar and instead of walking away like he usually did, the two of them had gotten into it.

The reason he’d lost his cool? He’s untethered again.

The noise in his head had gotten a little too loud so he’d ran, left your house in the middle of the night while you were sleeping and took his duffle bag with him. He’s spent the last couple of days crashing in the back of his truck outside the bar he’s been drinking in.

It’s you that gets him out. Will’s working abroad and one of your friends is employed by the local PD. They give you a heads up that he’s been arrested, and you manage to smooth things over. This is the third time that it’s happened. They usually let him dry out before calling you.

You’re waiting for him outside, sitting in the driver’s seat of your car as the rain patters down upon the roof. He looks like shit; he knows he does. The scent of nicotine and whiskey clings to him as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“You can drop me back off at the bar.” He tells you as he runs a hand through his dirty hair. “My truck’s there.”

He doesn’t look at you, his gaze is fixed, straight ahead. You sigh, turning the heaters on full blast before tilting them toward him.

“I’m going to take you home, you can take a shower, eat a decent meal and then if you want to leave, you can leave.”

“Just take me to my truck.” He says, his voice raising an octave.

“Benny…” You try again.

“Why the fuck do you even care?” He snaps at you. “Just take me back to my fucking truck.”

It kills you to see him like this. It’s like seeing a wild animal in pain, snarling and biting everyone who tries to help it.

“I love you, Benny.” You snap back. “You may find this hard to believe but I actually give a shit about what happens to you.”

You see the moment the words hit him. Each one impacts him like a bullet, tearing through his flesh and burying themselves deep within his heart. He finds your empathy excruciating. He can’t do this, it’s too much. He’s already shoving the car door open before you can stop him. You call his name but he’s long gone, disappearing around the side of the building.

You reach across the passenger seat, pulling the door closed before sag back in your seat, your eyes burning.

You know that you can’t help someone who won’t help themselves, you do but Jesus Christ you wish that wasn’t true with Benny.

 @crazy4chickennuggets  @kmc1989  @withakindheartx  @aaronhtchnrs @mysoulisasunflower @thanossexual @itspdameronthings @justreblogginfics @pimosworld @dreamlandcreations @harperdoodle @est1887 @creativitybeware @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @legally-a-bastard @words-and-seeds

[dragonnan]

First Sentence Tag Game

Tagged by @chriscalledmesweetie THANK YOU!!

___________

Choice (Sherlock) What had that busybody old neighbor of hers called this? May December romance; that was it – with Martha decidedly in the winter category, grey tips and all. Oh, it certainly wasn’t anything actually romantic. At her age! And not with one, who’d scarcely looked out of short pants, the first time Martha had spotted him outside the club with that awful Jefferies person. She’d seen far too many, like him, given her husband’s line of business. She had nearly sighed and looked past this one, as well, except…

Sed Diabolus (Avengers) It was a pretty great view. He'd been meaning to check it out; sometime. Those weeks spent in his (new) room; dishes of food going cold at his elbow while he'd sat at his computer and clicked through five years of history that he hadn't lived. Most of the news stories had been about the failing economy; the declaration of martial law around the country, the breakdown of infrastructure. His current roosting spot was exactly the same as it had been the day he'd… dusted. Skyline Tower had been scheduled for completion in 2020. Three years later and, like so many other construction projects, it was an abandoned property with naked I-beams stabbing towards the clouds. It would probably never be finished. Not the way things were, now.

Over My Not So Dead Body (Avengers) His cell chirped a tune in his pocket. He ignored it; focused on his keypad with more determination than he’d had thirty seconds earlier. Ten seconds later, it rang again. And again. Aaand… Shit. He dragged the damn thing from his pocket and, reluctantly, answered.

“Yeah??”

“Why are you bugging my kid?”

Fury rubbed at his eye; already feeling that particular migraine blossom to life.

Left Behind (Avengers) I’ve thought of both of these moments but seeing them side by side just... 

How does one live when their heart stops beating?  Is that why everything inside hurts?  Is it because the body is trying so hard to live or desperately trying to die?

He’d thought his time had come and, really, he’d been okay with it.  Terrified, of course, how the hell wouldn’t he be with that... God, he couldn’t even come up with a euphemism... when Thanos had loomed over him like the physical form of Death.  No sickle, no robes, no bony hand - the exact opposite, actually, of that dated caricature.  That was dread.  No expounding on that emotion - no need to detail it beyond the single word.  But, hey, we’ve got time for exposition, now, don’t we?  Isn’t that right, doc?  Time...  The last inhabitants of a dead world that continues to claim all who visit her.  How long, now, for him?  For the cold creature at his back?

Why did he have to survive?

Rescue (Iron Man) One long finger tapped the edge of the wheel. Most of the time she was a passenger in the car. Unlike Tony, she wasn't hyper obsessed with being in control. Well, she was beginning to understand that obsession a little more after having her body burned down and rebuilt. After losing all control to someone who'd wanted to make her both pawn and prize. Today… today she'd wanted to drive. Be in control.

Tinkering (Iron Man) The leg attachments were the last pieces to be removed. Thankful to be the only human occupant of the room, Tony breathed a moment before moving towards the work table.

Four months since the first upgrade had led to lighter yet stronger armor. He'd improved the thrusters and created more flaps for balanced and controlled flight. He'd also adjusted the palm thrusters for sustained blasts. The helmet and torso were stronger as well – able to withstand up to 10,000 psi before experiencing structural collapse. The suit, in and of itself, and for all intents and purposes, was nearly indestructible.

It Keeps Away the Monsters (Iron Man) They'd thought it was fear.

Well they were right.  Sort of.  Hell, Tony himself would have mocked that reality had it ever been articulated. 

He needed the arc reactor because it kept him alive.  Couldn't get more straight forward.  Nobody questioned that.  Happy didn't question that.  Pepper didn't question that.  Tony didn't question that.

A fact didn't need to be questioned.  It was math.  Equations had only one answer.  They were reliable. 

Comfortable. 

Known.

But, then, some people just couldn't add.

Tony would never have banked on himself being one of those people.  It was unsettling.  No, it was... horrifying.

The Home Visit (Doctor Strange) It smelled cold.

Not like winter – which tasted metallic and fresh at the same time, no. No, this cold had the aroma that was patently October. Black cats and scudding cloud and ripened pumpkins. It was the earthy snap of fallen leaves and the far off sound of hunter's rifles and the call of geese and ducks headed for warmer lands. For many people, Autumn was their favorite time of year. Maybe... once, when he was younger, Stephen could have said the same.

Now it... it just felt...

The heels of his boots made a soft clomp on the road. He kicked at a loose stone, as he passed the hand painted sign welcoming visitors into town; watching it bounce and roll into the ditch.

Nothing had changed.

We Are Men of Action - Lies Do Not Become Us (Psych) Cool, that morning; just on the right side of chilly, actually. Early, even for the early risers. Far too early for a guy who hadn't slept in two days. Far, far too early for that guy's father to demand they share coffee while watching the sun rise over the waves.

Because it was never just about the coffee.

Emotionally neutral ground, at least. Not the office, where too fresh memories of Juliet's anger still overlapped the concussion fantasy he'd drifted into for most of the night. Not dad's house, where too fresh memories still whirled of seeing his parents go all Wild Kingdom; God no.

The beach, near the boardwalk and close enough to see the vendors setting up for the day's tourist rush. At least the coffee was still hot.

Tagging: @sgam76 @disappearinginq @teejaystumbles @the-apocrypha @tj-dragonblade @aelaer @gabessquishytum @kitcat992 @ceruleanmindpalace @cuubism @bovivinator

[stevesjockstrap]

Go Your Own Way

Steve/Eddie • rated T • modern era, mistaken identity, meet ugly, New Years Eve • read on ao3

I know I just posted a fic but this popped into my head on my way home and I had to get it out. Happy New Year, and be safe 🎇🎆

Steve grumbled to himself as he poked ineffectually at his phone, just trying to get the damn Bluetooth to connect so he could drive home. It had been a long night, and he just wanted to leave. But he couldn’t deal with listening to terrible music any longer, for even the short amount of time he would be driving.

“Hey man, thanks for waiting, the last one left me,” a guy slurred at him as he settled into his backseat.

Steve blinked, trying to make eye contact with the stranger in his rear view mirror.

It was New Year’s Eve, and the streets were packed with drunks. He should know, he’d just kicked everyone out of the bar he worked at and decided he didn’t care if Keith wrote him up for not cleaning up tonight. He’d come back tomorrow to do all the closing stuff, he was exhausted.

“Um, I’m not-“ Steve started, but the guy looked down at his own phone.

“Do you have a charger? I know I’m a pain in the ass, but mine is about dead and I think I have to be signed in to tip you? Or I’m not sure how this works, really. My friend Gareth usually DDs, but he had to go out of town…”

Figuring it would actually take less time to just drop this drunk guy off than argue that he wasn’t an Uber, he just sighed. He passed back his phone charger and music started blasting from his car.

“Oh, sorry, let me just turn my shit off, no one likes it,” the man slurred.

“No!” Steve cleared his throat. “No, leave it. I couldn’t get mine to cooperate. So where are we headed?”

He pulled out into traffic, going anywhere would be better than sitting on the side of the road with a stranger in his car.

“The Lakeview apartments, the ones up front,” he offered. Steve nodded, he knew it. A little further than he’d hoped, but the guy seemed alright.

His music wasn’t terrible, either. They sat in companionable silence for a few blocks, Steve trying to pretend like he was a very professional Uber driver, even though he’d never been in one.

“Have a good night?” He asked finally, once he felt like the silence was verging on awkward.

“Not bad, not bad. This isn’t really my scene, honestly. Give me a tiny dive bar or an open mic night any time over the pounding bass and grinding up on strangers,” the man laughed.

“I’m with you there, pal. I don’t understand why anyone would want that over actually having conversation with people. But saying that makes me feel about a hundred years old now.”

They laughed, and he looked in the rear view mirror again to see that his passenger had thrown his head back, making his dark hair shine in the street lights as they passed, the little crinkles in the corners of his eyes and mouth so genuinely handsome.

“Oh, red light!”

Steve stomped on the brakes, shooting a quick apology as the man had to put his hand up against the seat in front of him.

“I won’t take any points off you for that,” he laughed.

“Ah, yeah, um, about that-“ Steve wasn’t sure how to go about this conversation. He didn’t particularly care that he wouldn’t be getting paid for the ride, but it seemed somehow impolite to let this guy think he was a vetted driver when he wasn’t. “I don’t really drive for a ride share, I work at a bar downtown, and uh, I was just heading home myself…”

“No way,” the man breathed. “I’m so sorry, you can drop me literally anywhere. I’ll get out and-“

“No, it’s fine, I’m glad you were being safe. I’ll get you down there, I just felt bad, I don’t know.” He sighed, raking his hand through his hair awkwardly. “This is weirder now, huh?”

His passenger laughed again, and he tried not to get lost in it this time, forcing his gaze to the road in front of him. “A bit, yeah. But if you were an asshole you would’ve kicked me out immediately, and if you were a creep or a murderer, you wouldn’t have told me at all, right? Just drove me to the lake and had your wicked way with me.”

“Uh.” Steve had to catch his eye in the mirror at that. “Well-“

“I’m messing with you,” he grinned, winking at him. “Hey, what’s your name? Since I presume you’re not … Harold?”

Steve chuckled. “No, it’s Steve, actually.”

“Cool. I’m Eddie. See? We’re on a first name basis now, you know where I live, we’re on our way to not being strangers at all!”

They both laughed, Eddie’s strange energy somehow erasing his exhaustion as they got closer to his destination.

“I should invite you up for a drink, Steve!”

“Oh, no, that’s alright, it’s okay really.”

“No, I shan’t take no for an answer! I can’t pay you, or tip you at all, I don’t have cash! This must be avenged!”

He found himself ushered into an elevator, suddenly realizing Eddie could be the murderer and he didn’t know anything about this person, but he went along with it.

After a few beers, some part of his brain didn’t care at all that Eddie had just appeared into his life an hour ago.

“You’re somethin’ else, Eds,” he laughed, shaking his head fondly.

“Am I? You like what you see, Steeeeve?”

The tendril of want that he had been pushing down since the car reared up, and he looked down at Eddie’s plush lips. He’d taken off the leather jacket, and lost the flannel at some point after the drinks. The sleeveless band shirt that was left fit him just right, hugging his shoulders and showing off his trim frame.

“What if I do?” He asked, looking up at him from under his lashes, knowing his puppy dog eyes never failed.

Ringed hands slid into his hair, cupping his head just so as those very soft lips brushed against his own. He hadn’t expected the gentleness, and it made him gasp. It had been a while since he’d kissed a boy, but those were always rough, hard and forceful. This was so tender he wondered if he had gone to sleep, brushing his lips against silky sheets.

Eddie pulled away before he could think, chuckling lowly at him as he chased after his mouth. “Easy, baby. It’s okay. We have the rest of the year to explore. C’mere.”

[love-kurdt]

Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters: 21

word count: 966

PLEASE READ THIS IS ME TRYING FIRST, AS THIS STORY RELIES HEAVILY UPON THE CONTEXT OF TIMT

May 17, 1989

Dear Will,

Today started out pretty rough, since one of my tires on my bike popped when I was halfway to your house. And given how quickly Hawkins has become a fucking sauna over the past few weeks (thanks, rural midwest), it was not a blast to push my bike the rest of the way on foot. Again, I could have taken my car to begin with, but I think in some way shape or form, we crave that element of our childhoods, riding bikes through the neighborhood like old times. Plus, Lucas and I are the only ones who have cars right now, so majority rules. Anyway, I still wound up at your house about half an hour early, and we spent that time trying to figure out how to patch up and refill my tire. No dice, unfortunately. But our hands brushed a few times, so it wasn’t too inconvenient.

Jonathan ended up coming into the garage at one point to grab a few tools (he’s been helping Hop out with some home projects, like a new shelving unit for your living room and a deck out back— but you already know that, why am I going on about this?) and suggested I just share your bike with you. You laughed so loudly that I thought I was gonna puke. I forced my anxiety back down and reminded Jon of how tall I am (last time I went to the doctor they said I was 6’3”– no, I’m not kidding), and he insisted that I, “just try and sit on the handlebars, or something.” I thought the idea was insane, but you seemed to be pretty entertained by it, so I shook my head with slight embarrassment before I motioned for you to mount the bike.

You swung your leg over the bar and rested your feet on either side, a huge grin on your face. “Do your worst, Wheeler,” you told me. I was so tempted to dramatically fling myself over the handlebars like a ragdoll, but then again, I didn’t feel like throwing out my back at the ripe age of eighteen. I turned so my back faced you, reached behind me to grip the handlebars, and hoisted myself up as best as I could, while you reached a hand out to hold my side and keep me steady. I must’ve looked like a fucking praying mantis or some shit, with my knees almost hitting my chin because of how I was balancing my toes on the front fender, but I didn’t care, because your reaction was fucking priceless. You were hysterically laughing, and I couldn’t help but begin to laugh as well.

Before I knew what was happening, Jonathan had disappeared and come back within record speed, and a bright flash hit my eyes as he clicked the button on his camera. I glanced back at you, and thankfully, you didn’t look fazed at all. In fact, you said to Jonathan, “please tell me I’ll get a copy of that,” while catching your breath from laughing so hard.

After that whole debacle, we actually tried riding the bike with me in front, but you couldn’t really see on account of the top of your head barely reaching my shoulders. So we eventually gave up on trying and just walked to Dustin’s to meet the rest of the Party, since his house isn’t too far away from yours, and Jon was still busy with his project and couldn’t drive us. Which I was totally fine with, because… duh, time alone with you is time well spent. We played D&D, and I kind of got a little too invested in your campaign. I think I just love seeing you so happy. I don’t think I could ever get tired of watching you in your element.

Once the session ended, Lucas gave us a ride home (I love how I just referred to your house as my home, I might’ve gotten a little emotional just now while writing it). We walked into your living room and saw Jonathan sitting on the couch with a bunch of photos spread out across the surface of the coffee table. Apparently, he’d gone and processed all of his films at Melvald’s while we were at Dustin’s; there were two copies of the photo he’d taken earlier.

He gave me one before asking if I wanted to stay for dinner. As much as I would’ve loved to, I actually did need to take care of Holly tonight, since our parents are in Ohio right now at some conference for my dad’s job. You offered to drive me back to my house, and I tried not to look too excited as I said yes.

Once we arrived in my driveway, I leaned over the center console and hugged you, telling you I had a great time with you today. You hugged me back (you hadn’t for the first few seconds and I nearly had a panic attack) and said you had a great time with me too. I went inside, holding the freshly printed photo of us in my hand.

So… I might have framed it. I know, it’s weird and frankly kind of stalker-y, but… deal with it. You’ll never actually know about this anyway. Not unless I leave the frame sitting in plain sight when you come into my room, or if I recklessly forget to hide these letters detailing where exactly my copy of the photo went, as well as the countless times I’ve talked about wanting to kiss you. For now, I’m keeping it under my pillow. 

Okay, I’m gonna stop writing now in order to stop myself from sounding like even more of a creep than I already am.

Love,

Mike

-

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[ayaz--ates]

I'LL MISS YOU FOR ALL THE DAYS:

Same as part one. I'm sorry I did this to you, my man. You are and will always be one of my most beloved characters. ♥ Date: March 16th, 2024. Warnings: Drug use, overdose, implied prostitution, character death, sad times, both Kate and Ayaz having a mental breakdown.

‘The place in Wood Green we had to shake down last week. He’s there.’ ‘You’re sure?’ ‘I wouldn’t have said anything otherwise.’

“Imagine being this much of a fucking disappointment…”

As he restarted the engine of his Aston Martin—cautious about idling this long anywhere in Haringey lest he end up on bricks—the man muttered away angrily to himself. Tossing his phone into the front passenger seat in frustration, Ayaz quickly pulled out into the sparse, late-evening traffic.

It was like babysitting a grown fucking adult.

In fact, that was precisely what it was.

Rumours had been circling around Haringey in the weeks since Valentine’s Day—unfortunately, he spent more than enough time there these days to have picked up on it—and he’d heard all about Berat’s fight with Kerem over Nevra. Speaking of fucking disappointments. The apparent year-long relationship was something he’d bring up with her another time, but her ex-fiancé had evidently made his feelings on the matter known. Even if a conversation with Giordana regarding their date had set his mind at ease about Berat’s mental state, Ayaz was still concerned.

In the blink of an eye, that man could and would spiral…

The few Rutherfords he trusted with the task asked why he cared enough to have people keeping an eye out for a Turk at all, let alone reporting in when they thought he might’ve been gearing up for his next fix. A waste of manpower, someone had the gall to suggest. Ayaz must have missed the part where he’d asked for their opinion on how he chose to conduct business in his borough.

His thumb tapped impatiently against his steering wheel as he hit a red light.

How the fuck was Berat still sinking this low?

How could he put Nevra through this if she really meant that much to him?

When Ayaz had beat the shit out of him the first time—punch after punch to a face that ended up so mangled it was almost unrecognisable—it’d been for Ceren. Partly for himself, too, he supposed. The man had been so fucking blasted on heroin and whatever else, he hadn’t even managed to keep it together long enough to make it to her funeral. Hadn’t even said goodbye. And the truth was, as soft a spot as he would always have for Berat, Ayaz would never be able to forgive him for that. Not when he knew the waste of space was his cousin’s whole world.

This was for her, too, he assured himself.

Not for himself.

Not for the memories he still clung to of looking out for him when he was a tragic kid trying to find his way in a new country. Not because he’d once seen him as a little brother, and that kind of bond never really went away completely no matter how much bad blood was spilled between sides. Because it’d never really been Berat that’d turned on him or his family. Ayaz recalled vividly a moment after they’d been cast from Haringey when he’d dared come back to visit his cousins, and whilst everyone else circled like predators, ready to be the ones who got to claim an Ateş, Berat had been the only one to defend him. It’d ended up violent, but Berat had stayed with him.

No doubt he’d paid for that. Maybe Ayaz would pay for this one day, too.

Getting to the run down club had taken a lot less time than he’d been expecting, Allah'a şükür. Maybe he’d be able to make it inside before he even had chance to get a needle.

Ayaz was going to drag him the fuck out of there and give him the hiding of his life.

If being with Nevra was what he wanted, if a relationship with Leyla was what he wanted, he was going to stop fucking up, because they deserved better.

The car had barely stopped before he was in the street.

It truly was an awful area to find oneself; a shit stain on the borough in its entirety, which was saying something when Haringey was exactly that to London. There were scantily clad women gathered around the doorway, cocaine at their noses, drinks in their hands, a sway to the hips that said come inside. There was shattered glass. Boarded up windows. Even the sign overheard was missing a letter. It looked exactly the type of place where you could slip into the basement and shoot up.

They didn’t even try to hide it.

When the security guard outside caught sight of Ayaz, he looked petrified.

“Berat Yalaz, is he here?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he went insi—”

Ayaz didn’t give him the courtesy of finishing because it was all the confirmation he needed. The Rutherford weaved through the Saturday night crowd, ignoring people who recognised him, ignoring the people heckling him, and focusing solely on the staircase across the room that he knew took anybody who wanted it right into the pits of hell.

The man guarding the top of the stairs had tried to stop him until Ayaz had put a gun in his face.

He’d been less confrontational after that.

“It’s almost like you ignored our little talk entirely, Deniz. So are you deaf or fucking stupid, because I very specifically remember telling you not—”

—to sell to Berat Yalaz.

The women were so pale and grey, one could’ve been fooled into thinking they were translucent. They were skin and bones and sunken in eyes and gaunt faces with shadows that made them look twenty years older than he was sure they were. The room smelt of damp and piss and reminded him a bit of the tube but without a coherent crowd, and if it hadn’t been for Berat, he would have been quite literally anywhere else. These people deserved to be subservient when they lived like animals and his disdain was radiating.

“You need to leave right now, Ateş. You are not welcome here.”

“I don’t remember asking for permission.”

There were two men passed out against a wall, but neither were the one he was looking for.

Someone was getting their dick sucked. Another ghostly woman cried in the corner.

They’d been so sure he was here, and yet…

There was a commotion coming from behind one of the curtains that sectioned off the room into semi-private areas for those who’d pay more. Checking them had been his next priority, but now that his attention had been drawn to the sound of muffled crying and something rustling just ahead, he knew where he was going to start.

“Ayaz,” Deniz continued, angry now as he limped after the Rutherford lieutenant. “No!”

The man dared grab for the shoulder of his jacket with his grubby fucking hands and absolute fucking audacity. The action was timed perfectly with Ayaz reaching out for the dank curtain and tossing it aside, and even though Deniz had tried to yank him back, the old man’s frailty betrayed him. It might’ve taken a moment for Ayaz to register precisely what he was looking at, but it would’ve taken much longer to be removed from the situation before he could.

And that was unfortunate for everybody in the room.

The rustling was coming from a comically large, cloudy sheet of plastic.

The crying was coming from the girls attempting to use it to roll up a lifeless body.

And for a moment, he felt himself falter.

“We didn’t know, Ateş. It was a bad batch, or maybe it was laced with fentanyl or—”

The words were wasted when all of a sudden everything seemed to go very quiet. Deniz might’ve been attempting to explain himself to avoid meeting a similar fate, and yet all Ayaz could hear were the whimpers of the women who seemed to think themselves to blame as opposed to the piece of shit behind him. An unfocused gaze dropped down to Berat’s face; eyes opened but empty, vomit very obviously starting to dry around his face and neck and at his shirt and…

“Look, maybe Kerem will be okay with this after everything that happened…”

Whilst he might not have heard the excuses, Ayaz had sure fucking heard that.

What?

Until that fleeting moment, it’d been his intention to drag Deniz out into the streets of Haringey and make an example of him like he fucking deserved. A reminder that when he said something, demanded it, he expected people to listen. But, as if he no longer possessed control of his body at all, the very same gun he’d used to scare the guard just upstairs unloaded two piercingly loud shots right into Deniz’s terrified fucking face without so much as a hint of what was to come.

Let’s see how much he’d have to say after that, huh?

And he was shaking now as the body hit the floor. Not like the women who had retreated in fear that they might be next, but enough that he’d almost lost the weapon in his hand.

Almost stumbled into the wall beside him.

Ayaz had expected to come here and scream obscenities at him. Tell him how much of a waste it was that he’d lived whilst Ceren had died and how he wished every day that’d been different. Maybe throw a few punches to bring him back to reality, and maybe a few because he wanted to, and perhaps, in a worst case scenario, get him back to Tottenham so he could sober up before he could do any of those things…but this?

Suddenly, he felt ill.

“Is he dead?”

It seemed stupid to ask when he hadn’t moved an inch since he’d gotten there. No breathing, no blinking, no choking…

“We tried—we tried to help him but—”

“Why didn’t anybody call for help?”

“Sir, we’re not allowed to call for help.”

Ayaz reached a hand up to his mouth. It’d been out of exasperation, shock, and yet he found himself using it to stifle a sob he hadn’t even known was building. As if it was the first step in a chain reaction, his vision went blurry with tears, and he dropped to a crouching position beside his old friend as if it might once again afford him the ability to breathe.

When he reached out to feel for a pulse, he already knew it was in vain, but what if they were wrong? What if they’d assumed the worse in haste, and…

“I’m sorry.”

The woman didn’t dare reach out to him, but the pain behind her eyes was so sincere when she muttered the words, he couldn’t help but wonder how many times she’d been in a situation like this before tonight.

Berat was dead.

Berat was dead, and he decidedly couldn’t fucking breathe.

‘Look after him once I’m gone, won’t you? We’ve never been away from each other before, and I think it’s going to hurt him…’

Ceren’s words echoed in his head, mocking his abject failure, and he’d never been horrified to recall any part of her until that moment.

How little would she think of him now?

When his cousin had pleaded with him to keep an eye out for Berat in spite of the fact they’d chosen different sides, she’d meant because she was headed to Porto Velho with her Rutherford boyfriend. It’d all seemed less serious, less important. And then she was gone, and suddenly a mild concern sounded more like a dying wish. If only she’d known how much he’d end up hurting, maybe she wouldn’t have asked something so monumental…

Ayaz pinched at the bridge of his nose, damp from tears.

Took a deep breath as his eyes once more focused on Berat.

The realisation he’d never speak with him again weighed heavy.

That he’d likely never see him again, more so.

As he pulled out his phone to call one of people, his voice was so thick the first few words of his statement had been lost entirely:

“I need a couple of cars here now. Deniz is dead. I want these girls out of here.”

“Is…what’s going on? Are you good? Did you find Berat?”

“Just send the fucking cars, Greg.”

[sisterspooky1013]

What Desire Will Make Foolish People Do, 1/3

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

His best guess is that the guy is an ex-boyfriend. They aren’t too far from Stanford; she could have called ahead and set something up. He doesn’t think she’d pick a guy up at a bar—not that he’d judge her if she did. It just seems unlikely that she’d risk it after what happened last time. 

  Maybe it’s that hippie guy she told him about. The one who had greasy dreadlocks and played guitar. Or maybe it’s one of her former classmates, some guy who’s a brain surgeon at Cedar Sinai or fixes kids’ cleft palates for free out of the goodness of his heart. Someone smart and accomplished. Someone worthy of her time. 

  Scully laughs, high and girlish, and Mulder clenches his fists. His fingernails dig into the meat of his palms and it hurts. The physical pain helps distract from the mental anguish, so he digs them in deeper.

  She’s been on the phone a lot since he told her about their travel plans a few days ago. At first he was worried that she was talking to her doctor, and his lingering fears about her cancer returning kept him awake all night devising new plans to save her life for good. But then he caught a wide, toothy smile on her mouth during one of those calls when she didn’t realize he was watching her, and his stomach dropped out. The good news is, she isn’t dying. The bad news is, her brush with death seems to have inspired her to live her life more fully—with someone else. 

He knows he holds no claim to her, but that hadn’t prevented him from feeling like shit when she turned down his offer to eat dinner together and disappeared into her room the second they wrapped up their fieldwork for the day. He should have gone down to the local bar to drown his sorrows, but, being a glutton for punishment, he stuck around to catch a glimpse of the competition (Tall. Blond. Completely average looking). He watched them get into the guy’s Lexus and drive off, and when they returned a couple hours later he shamelessly peeked through the curtains to see whether she’d kiss him goodnight. The kiss itself was a punch to the gut, but then after several minutes of hushed conversation she invited the guy in, and now Mulder is lying splayed out on his bed listening through paper thin walls as Scully slowly wades into a sexual encounter with someone who probably makes twice as much money as he does and has half as many idiosyncrasies.     

  He knows Scully doesn’t care about stuff like that. She’s not shallow. But it’s more comfortable for him to imagine that she’s chasing rich doctor dick than to confront the fact that she’d rather get her rocks off with some nobody from her past than give him the time of day. He doesn’t blame her—he knows he’s no prize—but still. He’s always kind of thought there was something between them. Something that meant they wouldn’t see other people, even if they weren’t seeing each other. At least that’s how he felt, and the realization that it wasn’t reciprocal hurts in a way he doesn’t know how to process. 

  He hears a low, deep moan from the other side of the wall, and something angry and wounded wells up in him. It’s one thing to hear her feeling good, but knowing that she’s pleasuring another man feels like such a betrayal that tears prick at his eyes. He wants to be angry with her for allowing him to hear this, but he went to great lengths to make her think he’d gone out so he could spy on her, including moving the rental car, turning off all the lights in his room, and ignoring her knock at his door shortly before her “date” arrived. He just wanted to see what the guy looked like, but he’s getting a whole lot more than he bargained for. He hears the snap of her bedside lamp switching off and he gets to his feet, not really allowing himself to think about what he’s doing. 

  He pounds on her door with the side of his fist, his heart blasting in his ears and his jaw clenched. It takes entirely too long for her to answer, though he can hear muffled whispers through the chipped wood and sees a flash of light through the peephole. When she opens the door it’s only wide enough for him to see her face, which is flushed beneath her mussed hair. Her lips are parted and swollen, and she seems out of breath. She looks unkempt and beautiful, and he feels equally relieved and devastated. It’s only after staring at her for a handful of seconds that he realizes he’s going to need to offer some explanation for his abrupt arrival outside her door. 

  “What is it?” she asks, her eyes flashing over her shoulder and giving her away.

  He almost tells her that it’s her mother, but he doesn’t want to make her worry, and honesty is definitely not the best policy in this particular circumstance. 

  “There’s another body,” he blurts out, and her shoulders sink. “Sheriff just called me.”

  “Okay,” she says with a defeated sigh. “Give me ten minutes.” 

  He pulls the car around and watches her door as he waits for her. He doesn’t see the mystery man, but the lights in her room are still on when she emerges thirteen minutes later and closes the door behind her. He wonders if the guy will wait for her to come back. Lord knows he would. 

  “Where is it?” she asks as she slides into the passenger seat, smelling like toothpaste and hairspray. 

  He looks at her while she buckles her seatbelt and pulls down the visor to check her makeup in the mirror. She’s wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt with her suit jacket thrown on over top, and he wonders how far they got before he interrupted them. In his experience, the woman’s shirt is always the first to go, and he has an image of her topless against the ugly motel bedspread, her nipple perched between the mystery man’s lips. His cock stirs and he blinks the thought away, disturbed by his own bodily response. As he’s interrogating how he could possibly get turned on by thinking about her with another man, he realizes that she’s staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

  “By the river,” he says, putting the car in reverse and backing away from their rooms and the scene of Scully’s almost-indiscretion. 

  She doesn’t ask any other questions, and he certainly doesn’t offer additional information seeing as how he doesn’t have any to give. He’s not even sure if there’s a river in this area. He just drives, mentally mapping how far they are from their point of origin so he doesn’t get lost. The longer they drive, the more panicked he becomes about how to get himself out of this situation. He doesn’t want to take her back to the motel, but he also doesn’t have a body to show her. To his own shame, he makes a Hail Mary plea to the universe that there’s another murder just so he has a reason to keep her in the field. 

  “Mulder,” she says after a time. 

  Her tone carries the hint of a question, but there’s an undercurrent of accusation that only he could possibly detect. He swallows and decides to accept his fate. This situation probably can’t get any better, but it can definitely get worse. 

  “Yeah?” he rasps through a tight throat.

  “Where are we going?”

  The question has a singsong quality that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It’s how she talks to him when she’s preparing to hand him his own ass. He pulls off on the side of the road and kills the engine, then stares straight ahead through the bug-smeared windshield as she bores a hole in the side of his face with her eyes. 

  “Are we lost?” she asks derisively, like he’s a stupid child. 

  “No, we’re just a couple miles off the main drag,” he answers flatly. 

  “So where’s the river?”

  “Not sure if there is one.”

  A pause. 

  “And the body?”

  “Not sure if there’s one of those, either.”

  He can’t bring himself to look at her, but he doesn’t really need to. He can feel the shifting energy in the car as she works through confusion, suspicion, realization, and then something else that he can’t quite read. The windows are slowly fogging over and he realizes just how sufficiently he’s trapped himself. There’s no obvious way forward. 

  “Why did you knock on my door, Mulder?” she asks. She sounds afraid of what the answer is. 

  “I’m sorry, Scully,” he tells her, dropping his head to stare at his own lap. “I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “Take what?” There’s so much trepidation in her voice that he starts to feel guilty instead of worried about what she’s going to do to him. 

  “Hearing you—” he starts, then stops. “That guy. I just…I couldn’t.”

  The silence is so thick he starts to become lightheaded. He can’t look at her, can’t allow the image of whatever face she’s making right now to be imprinted on his brain. He hears her breathing pick up into quick, heavy breaths that could mean tears or rage, and he waits to find out what happens. To him. To her. To them. Probably, the option of there ever being a “them” is now off the table. 

  “You were listening to me?” she finally asks him, removing any doubt about how she is receiving this information. She’s furious. 

  “Not intentionally,” he defends himself, glancing at her only long enough for his testicles to self-protectively retreat into his body. “The walls are thin.”

  “You weren’t there, Mulder. The car was gone, the lights were off. Did you—did you hear me knock on your door?” 

  “I think it’s best that I don’t answer that,” he says contritely, and she sucks in a huge breath. 

  “What the fuck , Mulder?!” she yells, making him jump. Scully rarely swears, and she’s never sworn at him before. “I am genuinely asking, what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

  He does look over at her then. He can’t believe that she’s talking to him this way. Not because he doesn’t deserve it, but because Scully is always careful with her words. He needs some visual feedback to understand what she’s feeling. Her eyes are wide, nostrils flaring, jaw set. But there are also tears pooling along her lash line, and her bottom lip is trembling. 

  “If I knew the answer to that I would have saved my parents a lot of money on therapy bills,” he quips, inexplicably returning her anger. “It’s not like you were exceedingly discreet, Scully, taking your little secret phone calls all week and then ditching me for the evening. I could have come back at any time, only to walk into my room and be greeted by you getting railed by some Silicon Valley hotshot who hopefully doesn’t give you chlamydia, or worse.”

  Her jaw begins to drop partway through his diatribe, and by the end it’s gaping open in utter disbelief. He immediately wishes he could take it back. He’s not even sure why he’s getting angry at her when he knows he’s the one in the wrong. She collects herself, blinking away tears and regaining composure. He thinks she’s going to ask him to take her back to the motel, but she doesn’t. 

  “I suppose you can’t get sexually transmitted infections from 1-900 numbers, can you, Marty ?” she spits at him, and a flare of shame joins up with his anger. Anger is all he’ll allow himself to feel. The rest hurts too much. 

  “Yeah, well, pathetic as it may be, I find it a bit more noble to get my jollies from a stranger on the phone than sticking it in anyone who happens to be in the same city as me at any given time,” he shoots back. “I mean honestly, Scully, would I have to be the last man on earth? It’s hard not to take it a bit personally.”

  Once again, there is immediate regret. He hadn’t meant to say it, though he’s certainly had the thought many times. He feels her staring at him, but she doesn’t say anything right away. 

  “Let me just make sure I have all the facts straight here,” she says, too-levelly. It feels like a trap. “You knew that I was having someone over, so you tricked me into thinking you weren’t at the motel in order to spy on me, and then you became so enraged when you realized that I intended to have sex with that person that you practically beat my door down and lied to me to get me away from him because…you think I should be having sex with you ?”

  All of what she said is absolutely true, but hearing it laid out in that way makes him sound like a really awful person. At some point he’ll have no choice but to explore the possibility that he is, in fact, exactly that. 

  “I do not think you should be having sex with me,” he corrects her. “I’m simply drawing attention to the fact that you seem inclined to have sex with anyone but me.”

  She laughs and he looks over at her, surprised. Her smile is somewhat crazed, certainly not happy. He suddenly wonders if she might hit him. 

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she says quite loudly with that same maniacal smile on her face. “Is this a joke? Are you actually sitting here, in this car, right now, telling me that I would have sex with anyone but you?”

  He takes the question to be rhetorical, but when he doesn’t answer she juts her chin out and raises her eyebrows at him. 

  “Is that not accurate?” he asks instead of answering. 

  “Is that not accurate?” she repeats under her breath, turning her face toward the foggy window briefly. “You know what’s accurate, Mulder? I have invited you to spend time with me outside of work on numerous occasions, and you always say no. It’s also accurate that I have been almost embarrassingly flirtatious with you to no effect. It would also be accurate to point out that I practically threw myself at you when we ditched that damn conference so you could go play in the woods, and you ditched me too.” She pauses, and her anger dampens to something closer to frustration. “I would say what’s accurate is that I have done all but directly asked you if you have any interest in…things being different between us, and you have ignored or declined every single advance. That is accurate, Mulder. So forgive me if I find it just a bit hard to understand why you’re acting like I broke your heart and handed you the pieces because I got tired of waiting for you to look up from your case files and decided to live my life. One that I nearly lost, if you recall.”

  He blinks at her, trying to assimilate the information she just unloaded into his mental schema for his and Scully’s relationship. Embarrassingly flirtatious? Threw herself at him? He has no idea what she’s referring to. 

  “Scully—” he tries, but she cuts him off. 

  “Take me back to the motel, Mulder,” she says curtly, turning to face the windshield and crossing her arms over her chest. “Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve already heard more than enough.”

  He starts the engine and drives until he finds his way back into town. He doesn’t speak, and neither does she. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

[edupunkn00b]

Overruled, Chapter 6: History Lessons

Prev - History Lessons - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Day 6 of @loceitweek , Blast From the Past. His time with Remus makes a few things clear to Janus. WC: 1881 - Rated: T - implied sex, swearing

Bright, mid-morning sunlight streamed into Janus' bedroom through a gap in the curtains. But the sun had nothing to do with the warmth he woke to. Remus was still asleep, face buried against his chest, each breath warming his bare skin. One leg draped over his hip, the other tangled with his, Remus slept so close, sleeping on him might be a more apt description that sleeping with him. The closeness was… welcome.

“Jay,” Gabe would laugh, tickling his ribs to get him to move away in the steamy Georgian summer nights. “You’re too warm…”

“Too warm?” he’d laugh back, nuzzling against his belly. “That’s not what you said last night…”

Janus squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Remus’ hair. He wasn’t Gabe. Neither of them were. No-one was.

Last night, after their time together, Remus had pulled the blankets over him, then turned away, searching for those tattered jeans of his. The room had been dark, but the streetlamps outside cast a single beam across his face and Janus caught that same lost look he’d had outside the grocery store.

“Remus?” he sat up and reached for him, his alcohol-fuzzed reactions too slow to stop him from getting up. And too slow to keep Janus from wanting him to stay. “It’s late…”

He nodded, grabbing his jeans. “I know, Janus. I’ll let y’sleep.”

“No, ‘mus…” Janus tried again, this time catching his arm and tugging him closer. “Come to bed.”

“Didn’t I already?” he laughed, thin and brittle. He hadn’t pulled away, though.

Throwing back one corner of the blankets, Janus smiled, “Sleep here. Morning will arrive soon enough.”

He fiddled with the loops on his jeans. It was now too dark to see his face. “Really?”

“Really.” Janus tugged him closer. “Please?”

Remus melted into his arms, curling around him with those same strong, lanky limbs he’d touched and mouthed and tasted. “You’re warm,” he murmured, voice already sleepy.

Hand nestled in his curls, Janus whispered into his hair. “So are you.”

~

The first time with Gabe, they’d stayed out as long as they dared. Cocooned together in car blankets and an old sleeping bag, they’d held each other under the protective branches of an ancient oak deep in the forest behind the old school. Stars peeked out between the leaves and they’d spent hours afterward gazing up at the sky and sharing soft touches and kisses. They’d hiked back to Janus’ car long before either was ready, each all-too-aware of the consequences if they returned home much later than the end of the Homecoming dance.

Gabe had kissed him one last time before they got too close to the edge of the trails where the chances of being seen were greater. “Being with you is like coming home,” he’d whispered in his sweetly frayed voice.

~

Fully awake now, Janus’ head throbbed and a panicked voice screamed through his veins to slip away, to get up, to go… anywhere. But, just like that night with Gabe, he was in no way ready to let go. Careful not to wake him, he nuzzled against Remus hair, breathing in his scent of cloves and cinnamon, a faint sour whiff of whiskey. A tang of sweat. His phone buzzed but he ignored it. Whatever it was could wait.

The sunbeam spilling through the curtains traveled up the bed from their feet to their knees and his phone buzzed three more times before Remus groaned against him.

“Headache?” he murmured, reaching up to massage the back of his neck.

He groaned again. “A herd of elephants had a party in my head,” he mumbled, voice fuzzy. “They busted shit up.”

“You need fluids,” he nodded, pulling himself away. The panicky voice stilled, mollified. “And so do I.”

One eye peeking out from under the covers, Remus watched him stand, then stuck his head out all the way. “It looks like you need something else, too,” he purred, looking pointedly below Janus’ waist.

He chuckled and instantly regretted it, massaging his temples with one hand. After a moment, he pulled on his robe. “If I stayed in bed every time I was…” He closed his robe and Remus pouted adorably. “I’d never leave this room.”

“There are worse ways to go,” he laughed then winced and wiggled deeper under the covers.

Janus rubbed what he guessed was Remus' chest through the comforter, humming quietly. “I’ll return with some tea.”

~ 

“More dead leaf water?” Gabe laughed, nuzzling against his neck. 

Grinning, Janus pressed his hand against his heart. “Agh! The disrespect,” he laughed. “It’s good. Here, just smell…”

Gabe leaned over his shoulder and scrunched his nose. “I don’t know…” But he inhaled deeply and his eyes fell closed as a soft smile replaced his grimace.

“See?” Janus grinned, turning and placing the cup in his hands. “What’d I tell you?”

~

“Um, Janus?”

Lost in thought, Janus hadn’t heard Remus come in. “Yes, Remus,” he nodded, “The tea’s nearly done.” The kettle was steaming and he quickly filled two cups.

“No, um, not that… I mean, it smells great, but…” Remus held out Janus’ phone. “We have the same phone and… yours buzzed and I thought… and…” He glanced over at the door, twisting his fingers together. “I didn’t mean to peek, but… You’ve got a lot of notifications from Logan. He… he sounds worried.”

Janus blew on one of the cups, then handed it to Remus. Then he sat, almost falling into a chair as he stared down at his phone. Remus grabbed his tea and set it in front of him, then moved a chair to sit right next to him, rubbing against his shoulder.

“It looks like he really cares about you.” Remus sipped his tea, both hands wrapped around the mug and his heels tucked up on the chair seat with him. “You know, when he didn’t want to…” he shimmied his shoulders halfheartedly, “Come inside last night? I…" He looked down at his tea. "I figured he was probably going to go find you.”

“Me?” Janus set down his cup and stared. “Why would he go looking for me?”

Remus shrugged. “He likes you?”

“How did you—” He stared back at him. “Did he tell you that?”

Shaking his head, he smiled sadly and leaned his head against Janus’ shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

~

Remus drank the rest of his tea and finished dressing. Janus watched him pull on his clothes, his thin cotton shirt just as much armor as his heavy combat boots. Fingers rapping against the sides of his mug, Janus nursed his tea, desperate for anything to think about than the moment when Remus would actually go.

What the fuck was wrong with him? This was meant to be his—second—favorite part of a bit of company. A return to his quiet, peaceful home, his privacy. Independence. Instead, dread pooled at his shins, rising with each passing second as he watched Remus get ready to leave.

He knew there was no delaying it further, but still he tried, lingering at the door for just one more kiss. Then one more. “I don’t ordinarily do this, but…” He brushed another kiss against the corner of his jaw, then just below his ear. “But I’d like to see you again. Can I call you?”

“That’s okay, Janus,” Remus hung his head and bounced on his toes, hands shoved into his pockets. “You don’t have to say that. I get it. That’s what everyone says but… they don’t.” 

“Wait—” He'd started to turn away but Janus grabbed his hand and followed him out to the hall. “What? No, Remus…” Still holding his hand, Janus cradled his cheek and slowly turned his head to face him. He met Remus' eyes, and his heart cracked at their glossy sheen. “Remus, I want to see you again.” Remus stared back at him, rubbing his cheek against his palm, hand covering his as though Janus might rip it away at any moment. “Would you… would you like to see me again?”

Eyes wide, Remus’ head bobbed, ever so slightly. “Yes,” he whispered when Janus remained silent, a tiny smile brightening his face. “Yes, I would.”

“That’s settled then,” Janus murmured and pulled him in to a kiss.

When they broke away, Remus frowned. “So… you really meant you would call me?”

Fear clawed at his throat, threatening to choke out his words, but Janus was more afraid of what it would mean to let Remus go, to never hold him in his arms again. To never wake up to the scent of cinnamon and cloves. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I meant it.”

“Okay,” he nodded, smile growing. “Are you gonna call him, too?”

“I…” His phone buzzed loudly from the dining table and they both turned to look at it.

“You’d better.”

~

Janus picked up his phone and re-read the series of messages Logan had left him, then scrolled back through the history until he hit their first exchange.

Personal favor, 👔. 🏠 

He closed his eyes and Gabe's voice filled his mind. ‘Being with you is like coming home.’

Janus had felt anything but at home when he’d returned to his empty apartment after that strange morning with Logan. He’d missed the little sounds of him puttering in the kitchen, of waking up to the presence of someone else, that almost sixth sense of knowing someone was there. Of knowing he wasn’t alone. He'd felt more at home sitting with Logan in his unfamiliar apartment than he'd felt in his own since…

Fuck.

The longing wasn’t for just someone, for just anyone to be there. Either because the weather was atrocious or it was stupidly late at night, he’d had dates sleep over before. But instead of soothing him, their tiny sleeping sounds or pattering about the next morning as they got dressed had… irritated him and he’d been relieved when they’d left. Clearing away Remus’ empty tea cup, all he felt was alone.

He tarried, delaying until he’d finished the dishes before responding to Logan’s texts. Surely Logan was still in class and wouldn’t respond to a text message anyway. The additional message he received while drying the tea kettle demonstrated the fallacy of his argument.

Finally, Janus sat down and picked up his phone.

I'm safe, Necktie. I overslept. I'm sorry to worry you.

There was so much more to say. Logan replied as he was still composing his next message and his cheeks warmed.

I am deeply relieved. Is there anything you need?

No immediate admonition for missing classes, no guilting him for not responding sooner. Just… concern. Care. He closed his eyes and he was instantly back on Logan’s couch, hands shaking as he tried to drink his ginger tea. Logan was right there, those wonderfully strong hands wrapped around his, steadying the cup.

He could picture Logan holding his phone, watching the bubbles pop as Janus typed and retyped a message. Was he at the café again? Sipping his coffee with one hand, phone in the other? Or was he already home, stripping off his tie and—

‘Look elsewhere…’

Tears burned his eyes and Janus tapped out his next message, smashing down send before he could chicken out.

We need to talk. Are you available this evening?

[youhavetosmile]

Karedevil prompt: AU where matt is karen's bodyguard

Thank you so much for the ask!

I'm not usually one for AUs, so hopefully this is AU enough. FYI it gets a little smutty.

Find it on AO3

Matt liked to think he was shrouded in mystery, what with his black suit and dark glasses and neutral expression.  But to Karen, he was an open book.  She knew exactly what he’d been thinking about all night.  He told her without words; every time he laid a hand on her back to lead her down the red carpet, every time he licked his lips as she spoke to a reporter, every time he “accidentally” brushed his hand against hers.  She could practically feel the jealousy radiating off of him as she was told over and over how good she looked.  Honestly, she was surprised no one had figured them out yet.

After several hours of very professional interactions, Karen slid into the back of a limo and calmly rolled up the divider, Matt following close behind.  “Uh-uh,” she smirked, stopping his incoming kiss with her fingers, “you’ll mess up my makeup.”

Matt moved her hand away.  “I don’t really care.”

“You may not, but everyone else will, and then they’ll all know about us.”

“Welll, then, I guess,” he scooted closer to her and ran his hand up her thigh, “we’ll just have to be really careful.”

His left arm pulled her to him by her shoulders as the right continued its trip up her body to cup her breast.  “Matt—” she sighed, more erotically than she intended as her body responded to his touch. 

He knew it, too; she could feel him smiling as he kissed her neck.  “Yes, Ms. Page?” he asked innocently.  He was such a little shit.

She gasped when she felt his teeth rake over her collarbone.  “If you leave a mark, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Relax,” he replied, gently moving the hem of her dress down, “you know I’ll only leave them where no one else can see.”

Karen had to bite her lip to stifle a moan as his lips closed over her nipple.  She didn’t know what to do.  One of her hands pushed at his shoulder while the other held his head against her skin.  Her love and desire for him fought against all the reasons this wasn’t a good idea.  The drive between the awards ceremony and the after party wasn’t long, and she had to be flushed at the very least, but he felt so good that she had a hard time caring.

As the car turned down the last block, reason made a push for the win.  “Matt,” she murmured, lifting his head to rest it against her own, “we can’t.”

“What if we could?”  His tone told her he was no longer teasing.  “What if we didn’t have to hide anymore?”

“You want to go public?”

“Yes.  Why not?  I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

“I—I don’t know.  I love you, Matt, you know I do.  But if we tell people about us, then everyone will have an opinion and they’ll blast us both and never leave us alone—”

“Hey,” Matt interrupted, holding her face in his hands.  “I love you.  No matter what anyone else says, that won’t change.  I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.  I’ll keep you safe, Karen.  It is, quite literally, my job.”  Karen chuckled.  “Just—think about it,” he continued, pressing a kiss to her hair.  “We can talk about it later tonight.”

The car pulled to the curb.  Matt opened the door and got out, and Karen thought that was the end of it.  But as he stood there, hand outstretched, she changed her mind.  Maybe it was the way he was smiling at her, with an infinite love just dying to burst out.  Maybe she was still recovering from his ministrations to her in the car.  Or maybe it was just time.  Regardless, in that moment, Karen stopped caring what other people think.

She took his hand and he helped her out of the car and ahead of him.  But instead of going inside, Karen stopped and turned back to face Matt.  “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied.  Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and just kissed him.

Immediately, a collective scream erupted, and she was sure she couldn’t have seen a thing behind all the camera flashes, but Karen didn’t care.  The next day, pictures of them would be splashed across the front page of every newspaper and magazine in the country, but Karen didn’t care.  They’d hardly be able to leave the house without being swarmed by photographers, but Karen didn’t care.

She had Matt; nothing else mattered.

[redrosesandforgetmenots]

Through Your Eyes

All Grown Up (Chapter 1)

2,677 words

"Five more minutes," Craig groaned as his sister shook him awake. It was too early for the sun to be up yet, but the early spring air was brisk. The window he had left open last night was a far better alarm clock than his sister. Said sister threw a pillow at him.

"You said that ten minutes ago! Get up, get up! You're gonna make me late!" Tricia shrieked. Craig rolled over, letting out a heavy sigh. 

“You could walk you know,” He mumbled, only to somehow, despite the angle, be hit with a pillow to the face. “Okay fine, I’m up!” Craig sat up, throwing Tricia off the bed. “Now get out of my room!” Tricia flipped him off before running out and slamming the door shut. Craig sighed, finally getting out of bed. His normal getting ready routine consisted of throwing on the least crusty pair of jeans and the least musty t shirt on his floor, (today, the black shirt emblazoned with the album art for Green Day’s “Dookie” was the best smelling, ironically enough.) On his way out the door he threw on a blue hoodie, his signature blue chullo hat, (the yellow puffball had fallen off a few years ago, the stars hanging down now secured by a few threads,) and a pair of blue converse, now held together by silver duct tape. The sharpie doodles he had given them in class had faded to mere smudges.

Craig grabbed his keys, rushing out the door. “Get your ass in the car,” he said, “we’re gonna be late again.” “It’s your fault!” Tricia was tying her red hair up into a ponytail, “now my hair’s gonna look like shit! Thanks asshole!” Craig rolled his eyes as he unlocked the car, hurrying into the driver seat. At least he had left his backpack in the car last night. The rest of the ride to school was accompanied by music blasting so hard he could barely think, but it was mostly a deterrent from his sister trying to talk to him. He wasn’t ready for this shit so early in the morning… 

After everything, the two were five minutes late. Tricia scurried to the office for a late pass, but Craig had more pressing matters. He made his way to the school’s basement where the gym was held, down to the one vending machine in the school that still sold certified junk food. He pressed the half glowing, half broken buttons to get himself a monster, nearly dropping it when a familiar voice snuck up behind him.

“Late again, Tucker?” Mr. Mackey, the school counselor who had somehow followed them all since elementary school, stood behind him. “Let’s prioritize getting to class, mmkay?” Craig turned on his heels, raising his middle finger to the old man before absolutely booking it past him. There was 50/50 chance he’d be given a detention slip mid second period now, but flipping off Mr. Mackey was always worth it. He ran all the way to his first period, barely having time to open the energy drink he’d bought.

From: Little Hellspawn

Tricia: The office lady said you need to get over your senioritus and get me to school on time.

Craig couldn’t help but scoff as he put his phone back in his pocket and made his way to his seat, making his teacher turn around. She gave him a look, but said nothing, turning back to the white board. It didn’t matter to him either way, sitting down and finally getting to have his drink. Oh, sweet battery acid, how he loved thee. 

The blonde next to him threw him a judgemental look. Normally, he’d brush it off, but this blonde’s piercing green eyes had a way of getting under his skin. “What?” he asked in a whisper. Tweek folded his arms over his chest, his oversized sweater sliding off one shoulder.

“That stuff is disgu-disgusting…” Tweek replied, sneering at the Monster can on Craig’s desk. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot your parents meth coffee was so much better.” Craig hissed back, wiping the look off of Tweek’s face. Tweek sunk down in his chair, mumbling something about how they didn’t do that anymore.

Admittedly, Craig did feel slightly bad. He wasn’t a complete asshole, as much as people liked to believe that. It wasn’t Tweek’s fault his parents were arrested for lacing their coffee with meth. It wasn’t Tweek’s fault they did that in the first place… Craig just hated people thinking they were better than him. That was all, he didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh. Still, he knew he was punching up in this situation. 

Tweek was popular… sort of. Being the only openly gay senior at South Park High School, he had been claimed “Gay Best Friend” to head cheerleader Bebe Stevens, and student council president Wendy Testaburger. If Tweek really had a problem with it, he could have Wendy beat the shit out of him, or have Bebe completely dismantle his reputation, not that he thought he really had one. Tweek had the power here, so he could give him a little bit of shit, right? Still… Craig also sunk down in his chair slightly. He didn’t care about Wendy or Bebe, but Tweek seemed genuinely upset.

Whatever… it wasn’t his problem.

*****

Although there was no detention papers given in second period, or third for that matter, no day in the cursed grounds of Craig’s high school would be easy. He had barely entered the cafeteria when he was cornered by Wendy Testaburger. Wow, this day just couldn’t get anymore fun… sarcasm. “What did you say to Tweek? He won’t talk to me and I know you two have first period together!” “What the hell? You’re just gonna assume I said something? That’s a stupid thing to think-”

“You are an asshole Craig Tucker! Just tell me what you said!” Wendy said, backing the taller against the wall. She wouldn't physically lay a hand on him, but there was no way she didn't know that this many eyes on him wouldn't overwhelm him to the point where he felt like he was choking? He felt his breathing begin to pick up in pace.

"I told him his parents meth coffee wasn't better than my fucking monster okay? Lay off!" Craig raised his voice- he hadn't meant to, this was just stressing him out. Wendy did immediately back off, however, a disgusted look gracing her normally gentle features.

"You are a fucking asshole…." Wendy said, before finally heading back to her lunch table. The eyes on him pointedly turned away, and a low murmuring started back up again. With the buzz of the overhead lights, all the noise made Craig feel dizzy. He ignored his friends calling for him, turning out of the cafeteria and heading for the blissful quiet of the art hall. His final class of the day was AP art history, so at least he had an excuse to be there. He made his way up the short steps, almost not noticing a familiar fluff of blonde hair buried in a sketchbook.

From this angle he couldn't see Tweek's face very well, but it was one of the few he could actually point out in a crowd. He hadn't meant to memorize the other's features, but something about them was so intriguing.

"...Hey." Craig said softly, making Tweek jump. He clutched his sketchbook to his chest, before looking up to glare at Craig from where he was sitting on the steps.

"What do you want, Craig?" The other hissed, his normal stutter absent with his menacing tone. Craig resisted every urge to roll his eyes. If this was such a big deal, he should at least say something to make the other feel better.

"... Just wanted to say sorry. For what I said. It was pretty uncalled for." Tweek suddenly looked confused, an expression Craig mirrored. Why was Tweek confused? Had he forgotten what Craig said?

Tweek sat, dumbfounded for a few beats. He released his sketchbook from his chest, closing it with the pencil still inside. "Oh.. I-I mean, it's not… it's not a big deal.."

"Seems like a big deal if Wendy says you won't talk to her. Can I sit here?" Craig was actually hungry, thank you very much, and genuinely needed to sit and eat. And if it was with Tweek around, he might as well get it over with. Tweek nodded, gesturing vaguely to the stair above him. Craig sat, pulling out his lunch box from his backpack. Shit… he had forgotten to actually pack a lunch after leaving his backpack in his car overnight. All that was in there was a bag of goldfish crackers. He dug into his bag to try and find one of the protein bars he kept at the bottom.

"Is that a R-red Racer lunch box?" Tweek asked, eyeing him warily. Craig looked back, just as wary, before giving a small nod. "... I like that show a lot. S-so… ha-have you heard about the l-live action movie?" Craig immediately relaxed. Finally someone who could appreciate Red Racer beyond it being a kids show. 

Craig finally found the Cliff bar at the bottom of his bag, two of them, even! "Yeah, I'm not super excited about the casting. I don't know if Margot Robbie would make a good Tracy."

"Oh man, I e-expect this movie to bomb so bad! None of the casting makes any sense!" Tweek had a bright smile on his face, actually showing his yellow teeth. He had a gap between the two in the front that made Craig smile for some reason. "H-honestly I'm probably gonna hate watch it! Di-didnt they already make a live action in 2008 anyways?" Craig nodded to confirm, before holding out one of the bars to Tweek, who's smile immediately dropped.

"Oh- sorry… I-I don't take food f-f-from other people." Craig took note of Tweeks lack of lunch, having only his backpack and sketchbook, and then looked at the overly prominent collar bone sticking out from under the neck of his sweater. He shrugged

"Makes sense." Craig would probably need to eat both of these anyway if he wanted to make it through the rest of the school day. "Did you eat lunch though?" Tweeks eyes suddenly went wide

"I-I mean- not today? B-but I'm eating later with W-Wendy and Bebe an-and I bring one almost every other day I swear-"

"Woah… I'm not like the food police dude. You just didn't seem to have one today. It's okay, Tweek. You're not in trouble." He saw Tweeks shoulders relax, and he readjusted his sweater. Before Craig could say anything else, the bell rang, and the other absolutely booked it up the rest of the stairs, dropping a few papers in his wake. Craig shrugged to himself, picking them up before anyone else could step on them.

The memory of Tweek absolutely beaming at him, gap between his teeth and all was now burned into Craig's memory. Tweek would make a really pretty girl.

****

"I just said if he was a girl he would be really pretty, I don't know why you keep insisting that's gay! I said if he was a girl!" Craig found himself defending his stance to Kenny and Clyde. They were smoking weed in Craig's garage, the smoke filling up the space and turning it hazy. Thankfully his mom and dad were at work still. 

"Dude, you think a guy is pretty! That's gay!" Clyde said, while Kenny nodded in agreement. He didn't know when Clyde and Kenny became such good friends, but it was getting on Craig's nerves.

"I'm not gay! I just think Tweek would make a pretty girl!" This was why he should just shut up when he was high. He always said dumb shit that made the other two laugh at him.

"You think Tweek fucking Tweak is pretty?" Kenny asked, taking the joint from Craig. "Like, pretty like a girl pretty?"

"I said he'd make a pretty girl."

"So you think he's pretty? Dude! No offense to your tastes but Tweek kind of…" Clyde pursed his lips, choosing his next words carefully.

"He looks like a tweeker!" Kenny said, "Sorry, man, it's not his fault and everything but he looks like he's been on meth for years." Craig made a move to zip Kenny's parka back up. He always talked too damn much when his mouth was uncovered. "Woah, no need to try and undress me, hot stuff! Take me out to dinner first!"

"I'm trying to zip your fucking parka up you dumb ass!" Craig replied, successfully zipping it up all the way to Kenny's mouth.

"Woah, Craig putting more clothes on a guy? Guess he's not gay…" Clyde said, eyebrows raised in fake shock.

"I keep telling you dick wads that! I'm not fucking gay."

"I mean, it's not a problem if you are," Clyde said, Kenny nodding in agreement, "But there are so many other popular guys who are… more in your league?"

"What about Tweek is not in my league? Are you calling me ugly?"

"He's calling Tweek ugly," Kenny clarified in a muffled voice, leaning back in the camping chair he was sitting in. 

"Fuck off… He's actually nice looking, unlike you assholes." Clyde laughed, and Kenny did too. "You just don't get it…"

"Yknow what? You're right, we're being totally unfair," Kenny said, unzipping his parka again. "What do you see in Tweek, Craig?"

"I don't know, he's just…" Craig bit his lip, playing with one of the stars at the end of his hat. "He's got really delicate features… his face is heart shaped, and his nose is like… elegant I guess? And he's got these huge eyes… he looks like a painting."

"Tweek definitely has big eyes. He kinda looks like a bug…" Clyde replied, before Kenny held up a hand to stop him.

"No, I kinda get it… Tweek definitely has a deer in the headlights kinda look. So he's pretty like a deer is?"

"No, Kyle looks like a deer… or a moose, maybe," Kenny laughed, nodding, "Tweeks kind of like…A rabbit. Or something." That effectively made the other two bust out laughing, and Craig leaned back with his arms folded. "Fuck you guys…"

*****

That night, as Craig's star protector drifted it's lights lazily across his ceiling and he had actually closed the window, he decided to pull the papers Tweek had dropped out of his back pack to look at them. He was going to hand them back either way, but he might as well see how important they were so he'd know if he could hand them over first thing in the morning or if it could wait until after lunch. A few assignments covered in doodles, a few blank sketchbook pages, and…one portrait. 

Craig held the paper, absolutely stunned. It was a drawing of him, his profile captured with gentle pencil strokes and hatch shading… Tweek had to be some sort of artistic genius to not only make him like himself, but also… beautiful, somehow. Maybe it was the lighting in their first period class, there was no way he looked like that in person…

Most of the assignments didn't seem that important, but the sketch was only half finished. He'd wanna finish it, right? Craig pulled his phone off his nightstand. Tweek didn't have Instagram, but Wendy did. And thankfully her dms were open.

Messages from RedRacerFan98 to wendytestaburger 

Craig: hey tweek dropped a bunch of papers at lunch can you ask him to meet up with me before school tomorrow. they're assignments and stuff

Wendy: Fine, whatever. Where do you want him to meet you?

Craig: in the art hall is fine 

Wendy: Okay, I'll text him.

Craig turned his phone off, carefully slipping the papers back into his backpack. He'd make tomorrow a good morning, try to be as bright and early as possible. After all, now he had an actual reason to try.

[olderjodijournals]

Thursday, January 1, 1998

 

Tom just got back in from working on Eileen’s daughter’s computer and what did he get for it? Cupcakes. Just cupcakes. He says Eileen will make it up to him, but I just knew it. I knew that as soon as that house sold the users would come crawling out of the woodwork again. Not that I’m not glad the house sold, but if I had business pals, I’d expect to be paid up front.

Tom said my doll could come on Tuesday since mailmen typically don’t deliver packages on Monday, unless they’re first class, cuz they have a higher volume of regular mail those days. It seems I spend more time waiting for dolls than I do enjoying them.

Tom read in an ad in a magazine, that John Saul’s Blackstone Chronicles was a TV miniseries. It was? Since when?

Last night’s movie was great, and no one was pregnant or gave birth! I couldn’t believe it.

I heard not one stereo blast by all weekend. I was shocked. I really thought Halloween would bring out those bangers.

OK, here’s our freeloader’s behavior report - first off, no one was dumb enough to knock on our door last night, and there were a lot of people out this year. I saw more adults out there than kids, too.

There was no music all weekend. At 6:30 yesterday evening, I came out of the bedroom where the fan had been blaring and where we were lying together reading and talking, and I saw the white car out front. I figured they were out making their rounds, although Tom said he doubted they trick or treated in this neighborhood. Yeah, that’d make sense. I’m sure they have enough enemies around here. It looks like they did, though, unless they came out of their house and not from the streets at 8:00. All I know is that I suddenly heard a car door that I knew was next door and was thinking, the car’s leaving. That was easy enough. Then the reality of how they operate came through again and I told myself, they’re not gonna just leave. You know them. They want to be heard. Especially by you. They’ve got to slam some doors, honk some horns, and do some yelling before they leave. You know that. So, there weren’t any honks, but there was a good 5-10 minutes of door slamming and yelling. That bitch was furious about something and was yelling at what sounded like some other woman.

Today, Tom reported a small white car that he’d never seen before came to get the bitch at 7:30 and then brought her back later. She must��ve snuck out unnoticed at some point, cuz at 3:00 I saw the white car, the bitch, and a black boy that looked too young to be the one I spoke to when I threatened to shoot the dog. It jumped up and swung off the basketball hoop, which I hopelessly prayed would break while it was doing so, then they both disappeared from view, and the car left. It didn’t look like the bitch or boy left in this car, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

I think I figured out why that bitch goes to church. Well, it obviously isn’t because she’s so kind and believes in being all nice and loving and wonderful and non-selfish and all that good stuff. The church may preach hate against gays and against those who are different than them, but they do give to and pity the poor. That small white car could’ve been from the church she goes to and I’ll bet you the only reason she goes to church is to see what she can get.

I asked Tom if he felt that there’d have been nothing we could do about the music if they were owners and not renters at risk of losing the house, short of beating the shit out of them, and he said no. People can still complain and people still get citations for breaking the law. Yeah, but I think going about it the legal way would’ve been much harder, and taking illegal action would’ve been much more necessary.

When I see Bill, I see a bit more sense and maturity there, so I’d think, I’d hope that he’d try talking some sense into his daughter and her cronies, and say, “If all they want is for your noise to be kept out of their home, give it to them. That’s no big deal, and it’s a reasonable request, so just shut up and leave these people alone. They didn’t do anything to you to start all this and to deserve it. It was only after you so selfishly and rudely ignored their reasonable request that they fought back. They gave you enough chances to quiet down before going to the city and I’m sure they didn’t want to and I’m sure they didn’t want trouble any more than most people, but when you shit, you get shit on. You get treated how you treat folks.”

She’s just lucky I didn’t severely maim her that day she took her tantrum on my doorstep, and Mikey’s lucky, too. If it weren’t for Tom, I’d have beaten the shit out of them a long time ago. No doubt about it. So they have him to thank.

Speaking of good ole Mikey, I haven’t seen him. When he moved out late ‘96 - early ‘97 he’d still come around on weekends, but I haven’t seen his car in weeks. Does he pick her up in the mornings? Bring her back at night?

Tom still believes that they’ll stay as good as they have been till we move and that we’ll go first. If they’ve got to say hello with the music every 3 months, fine, but they don’t have a choice but to be as they have been. He still feels June’s a likely time for us to move, but admits that anything could come up to stall us. If something can come up to delay it, it will. My June vibe’s weakened and now I’m wondering about August. I do strongly vibe that that was our last Halloween here, so that’s good.

Damn, bitch! You really get out and about on Sundays, don’t you? I just heard a car door, looked out and saw Bill’s car, then someone was reaching into the backseat, then they shut the back door, then Bill left. I assume this someone was the bitch, even though it’s dark now. I could tell by the aggressive manner in which her shadow moved and by how hard she slammed doors. Anyway, I’m sure she’s tucked in for the night now. And in just 12 hours she’ll have to leave for quite a while again. Yuck! I can tell she’s not the homebody type.

If there are two things I could ask this bitch, one thing would be, are you ever in a good mood? Secondly, do you always have your hair in a ponytail tucked under at the nape of your neck? I only saw it down once.

Now for my best news. I’m so proud of myself, too! I didn’t eat a damn thing yesterday. Just a good 500 calories worth of drinks. I felt OK, too. Just a little weak and shaky in the heart, but my fast-beating heart was probably due to having to be woken up too soon. I had Tom wake me up with caffeine coffee since I’d have slept all day otherwise. After I’d had a TV dinner and had been up a few hours, I felt fine.

I still don’t know what I’m gonna do about the eating, though. Do I want to go hungry and stay around the same weight? (I woke up 4 pounds lighter today at 113) or do I want to satisfy my hunger and get God only knows how big?

Tom and I didn’t end up screwing yesterday, but we spent time together, so that was nice. We made an attempt today, but he was too tired, so he’s napping now and I’ll be getting him up in 20 minutes. He has to go into work at 8:00.

Tom’s decided he’s gonna do the roof.

Later...

Jesus fucking Christ! Is that bitch’s day gonna end yet? Doesn’t she have to go to bed early and get up early? I guess she snuck out unnoticed again, cuz I was just distracted from proofreading when I heard yelling. A boy of about 8 years of age was yelling, and I could hear an adult voice, too. Only the freeloaders could be out screaming at the top of their lungs at 8:00 on a chilly night. So I went and spied out of the music room window and sure enough, the voices were coming from there. Somebody was bringing that bitch back, but I couldn’t see any vehicle. Just its headlights as it pulled out. Joebitch, Joebitch, Joebitch! If you can’t get my attention with music, you do it with screaming, huh? Yes bitch, I know you’re there. I know you’re there, OK?

Later...

Nighty night, bitch. Yeah, it’s lights out over there now.

Friday, January 2, 1998

 

I better get writing before I get any more backed up.

The last few days have brought us pleasant daytime weather. Even warm weather. Before that, it was chilly in the day and freezing at night, but that will return for another month and a half or so.

So far, I’m doing well with my New Year’s resolution. As I said, there is knowing you can’t change something, and then there’s learning to live with that fact. So, I’m bound and determined to have this be the year that I learn to live with and accept the things that just cannot be changed. If I try not to let things get me down and eat at me, maybe I can have a happier and even more productive life.

Now let me get the neighborhood animals out of the way first. I had worried that the freeloaders would be a part of our New Year’s Day, but guess who decided to be a part of it instead? Someone I haven’t heard from in years - the lonely, wanna-be-heard-and-noticed college boys across the street. It wasn’t by them playing music in their little band they used to form but by their car stereo. Leave it to them to have a car with this kind of stereo. However, God was on my side with this one as he was when I told them to shut their band up. I asked once to turn it down and they did so. They didn’t have selective memory loss and not give a shit and blast it again a few hours later.

So far I haven’t heard the freeloaders, but Martin Luther King Day is later this month, so I know I’ll hear them on MLK Day. That brings me to another part of my new year’s resolution and that is that 1998 will not include their shit and their noise. As soon as he steps out of line with the music, I’m either gonna put him in his place and beat him into utter fear of fucking with me, or I’ll terrorize the shit out of them and drive them out of here. I was here first, and I don’t want these freeloaders to be an on-and-off part of my life anymore.

Every time I think I’ve got a handle on just what they’re up to next door, they throw me a curveball. I don’t know if the pigs had anything to do with me, with him, or what, but they can’t be broken up. Not with the way his car sat there for days and how they were talking earlier. I’d say that yes, there was no one there on New Year’s Eve and the night before, but they’ve been back since yesterday. I know the car has finally moved, cuz it was out front when I heard the mad bitch. Amazingly, the dog hasn’t returned yet, but anytime now I’m sure it will. His music hasn’t been a problem yet, but like I said, when it is, I’ll either put a final end to it, or I’ll dish back some shit of my own and really play with them like they were toys. It might be fun to make their lives a living hell and be their worst nightmare. However, kicking his ass would be a quicker solution.

I haven’t been a member of Gloria’s fan club in years now, but they’re still sending stuff. There was a holiday postcard with her photocopied handwriting that said she designed the front of it on her computer. A boring design it was, and her handwriting’s sloppier than mine.

Tom set up the VCR/computer so I could capture more Norah pictures than just the one I’ve been using all along, for my random screensaver/wallpaper collection. This was a lot of fun to do.

We got a new color inkjet printer and a color flatbed scanner, and I love them! I re-printed my old Norah pictures and some of Gloria’s and they’re so much better! They’re almost of photographic quality for sure. The scanner’s pretty sophisticated and now I can just scan any drawings for my folks or for Tammy and attach copies with my email to them, or print out copies for Larry, but there’s a catch. So far, I’ve been teaching myself how to use the stuff. The printer’s pretty easy, but there’s so much entailed within the scanner and each procedure seemed to take forever. I scanned in an old, small picture of Gloria. Then I tried to enhance the quality, but it took forever. I’ll have to ask Tom some questions about this, but boy did I shock the shit out of myself last night! I did things I can’t believe I did on my own without being taught.

I had taken a break from my video captions project, then went back to it later, and forgot to put them into my wallpaper file. So, it took me a while to find them, which I amazingly did. Then I had to figure out how to cut/paste them into my wallpaper file, then dither all the colors. I couldn’t believe I figured all this out myself! I’m sure if I kept poking at the scanner’s program I could learn more, but I’d rather wait for Tom for now.

Sunday, January 4, 1998

 

I hear noises every now and then outside and am like, is it the cats or the freeloaders? You never know with the freeloaders, who are mostly night people. Tom says, though, that the car hasn’t been moved. Then I either saw wrong when I thought I saw it out front, or he parked it in the same exact spot. If that car’s still there either way, then they obviously aren’t broken up. If he isn’t there and isn’t driving something else, then where are he and the dog? It shocks the shit out of me that I haven’t heard the dog or the music, but I know it’s just a matter of time. Especially when it comes to the music. I wonder if the beast could’ve turned on and attacked him and laid his ass in the hospital, or if he could be in jail? We heard a car door or two in the early evening, then a short while later, we heard a kid cry and car doors again.

Well, the cats are definitely making noise now. I can hear them banging on the back door. I open the door and offer to let them in for a while, but they either just stand there and stare at me, or come in and walk around for a few minutes, then they’re all anxious to split.

Tweety chirps on and off, but there’s something about running water. He really loves to chirp to the sound of that. Also, I was playing a CD by Linda earlier and singing along and there was just one song, out of the 5 or so I played, that Tweety must’ve really liked, cuz it’s the only one he sang to.

The kittens love to sit outside the back room window and swat at bugs that are drawn to the light that’s just inside it.

Anyway, Tom says my singing was excellent as usual but better in the way that it’s clearer. Yeah, I definitely don’t have to clear my throat every other line anymore, but it’s still rather nasally.

Later...

Boy, have I been having fun with the new scanner! Tom showed me a few little tricks to make scanning, enhancing photos, and printing them, much easier. I showed him a thing or two myself. Things I stumbled upon while exploring/experimenting with the program.

We scanned and printed out a larger version of a couple of small pictures I had of Gloria, and even a journal cover of mine, too! I want to have a picture of the cover of each of my written journals at the head of each of their typed versions but I’ve got to wait till I update my old word processor first. Tom thinks Mary can get us a copy from where she works.

I also scanned several photos of Tom and me for Paula, Larry, and Anne & Harry. I even sent a couple to Tammy. I am amazed at the quality of what they printed! They’re almost as good as the original photograph.

I was dead wrong about Andy’s new roommate Gary. He is not a druggie. According to him, all he does is smoke cigarettes. I was shocked.

It figures - we pump more water out of the pool and what does it do? It rains.

I was right on what I saw after all. Tom said he saw the car in the same spot, only it was parked facing the street. Yeah, I knew the fuck was there. He was gone all day and asked if I slept OK since he knows how they can be with slamming car doors. I slept fine fortunately for them and won’t do anything more to them till they make their next move with their noise. They haven’t been heard yet, but one of us will hear the music any day now. But I don’t know what I feel more of - shocked or thrilled, that the dog’s still not back yet!!

Monday, January 5, 1998

 

I just did some singing and now I’m back to write some more.

I hope to hell the guy at the pet store knew what he was talking about when he said that mice don’t become sexually active till 6 months, cuz I’ve been seeing a lot of screwing. I hope it’s just a case of instinct taking them through the motions like with a puppy dog and nothing that’s reproducing. If it is, though, we’ll just do what Tom said and take in boxes of mice. Lots of mice.

Later...

I ended up scanning some pictures for Kim and Bob, too.

I’ve decided that if I don’t hear from Anne and Harry in the next few months, I’ll do what I did with Shelly and write no more. Remember, I don’t want any 1-sided relationships of any kind.

I asked Tom if Ma was getting cold feet about moving cuz I thought by now she’d be in with Mary and have the house up for sale. Tom told me that she’s decided on March 1st to be moved and I guess that’s when she’ll place the house up for sale, too. I hope to hell it doesn’t take a year to sell. Then poor Tom will have to mow it and have the responsibility of that house for even longer.

As soon as that house sells, though, God will fill Tom’s time with other stuff. I really believe that he’s always wanted us to screw part-time and not have much time together for another reason, along with the ones I’ve already mentioned. He (God) that is. Well, due to us not being able to see each other much or screw much - it makes it more special when we do. However, things have changed as far as the sex goes. We seem to be the opposite of what we were towards the beginning of our relationship. Now he seems to want sex more than me. Thankfully, it’s not that his appetite’s that much higher than it was, but the sex has really “died” for me, so to speak. The only reasons for it that I can think of are that it isn’t new anymore (we’re not newlyweds), and all the shit/teasing he’s pulled.

If I could have my way, I’d never screw again during prime time, as sterile as I am! I don’t ever want to be the source of his teasing, lying games ever again! I’m going to make an excuse to get out of sex from the 9th to the 11th or so, and he knows it. I can tell he knows that I’m gonna want to bail out of bed then and I’m afraid he’s gonna try to lure me to him at that time so he can play with me yet again. And suddenly “forget” how to get inside me. And act as if he’s never fucked a woman before in his life. But I see right through Tom S. I see the real fun in it for him. And the fear, too. I asked myself time and time again - why’d he cum the 5-7 or so times he came during prime time? That’s the one and only thing that contradicts my belief of his being too scared/not wanting a child. The only thing that comes to mind is that he took the chance to see if he could create a cover for the truth.

Later...

Tom and I went to the store earlier so I could pick up the next few months’ worth of birthday cards, although there are no March birthdays. For January, I got cards for Larry and Lisa. For February, I got cards for Jen, Sandy, and Andy.

While I was at the store, I also got a couple of refrigerator magnets with cactus/desert scenes. They also had scorpions embedded in round plastic domes, not that I’d ever get one. David and Evie had plenty, though. Some construction work that was going on near where they live stirred them up and they were finding them in their drawers in their clothes and everywhere. Evie wanted to move. Instead, though, they got a scorpion expert to come out and exterminate them.

God and his fucking compensations, I swear! Now that I can breathe, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t fucking sneeze! Tom and I both think we’re allergic to the stinky mice, but they’re worth it.

Anyway, some days may be easier than others, but I still miss my cigarettes every day. It’s still a lot like trading in one misery for another. You either smoke and suffer from lung trouble and pay the cost of it, or you quit and suffer the cravings and the weight gain.

Remember how I said that now that the holidays are over, and as we get closer to Ma’s house being sold, God would give Tom other jobs? Well, he’s trying. A crazy woman that Evelyn knows called looking for Tom to tutor her on some project she’s working on. She said she had surgery and wondered if the anesthesia killed her brain. She reminds me so much of Ellie and Ma’s crazy sister Margaret. Ma has a lot of half and whole sisters. There’s Opal, Geneva (Neva), Evelyn, Margaret, and Betty, who’s passed away, as well as a few others I’m sure I’m forgetting. Nonetheless, Tom told the liar who said she called only once when she really called twice according to the caller ID box, that he was too busy.

Tuesday, January 6, 1998

 

Tom scanned a picture of me which he cut to fit in one of his little picture frames that my folks sent. He put it on his monitor.

David and Evie sent me an email that I didn’t get cuz I have a block on mail from those who aren’t AOL members. They’re gonna resend it to Tom, who’ll forward it to me. I think it’s Evie who sent me an email. She’s home alone all day with two kids and probably feels she has no life. We have nothing in common, though, so I don’t know what I’d write about when replying to her, but I’ll think of something.

Something insists I deal with junk mail for sure. There’s no escaping it. First it was just mail from other AOL members and now AOL itself is sending it. Are they ever gonna set up junk mail controls for themselves? Of course not! They’re so fucking annoying, though, cuz every time I go into something, I have to wait for this form to come up for some bullshit item they’re selling, be it encyclopedias on CD-ROM, etc.

It is freezing out there! I just went to empty the recyclables and it’s cold. It had only been getting down to around 55º but I’m sure it’ll get close to 40º out there tonight.

My TV dinner’s just about ready, so I’ll return after.

Later...

It’s a good thing I have an eye for detail. When we went to the hardware store a while ago, I saw a light identical to the one that Tom put up in the back room. Now those two old, ugly ceiling lights/fans are gone and now there are two nice-looking fluorescent lights. These ones, though, aren’t too bright.

The new king-size comforter we got is nice and I love how it’s colorful, but I could never get it into this small washer to wash. Tom says that the old one’s easy to fix and that it’s the same problem we’ve had before, so he knows how to fix it. So, we’ll just run a hose to it when we want to use it in the garage where it’s at now, drain it in a tub, then dump it out back. This way I can do big things like that. He doesn’t have to worry about a hookup to where there’s hot water either cuz we can wash things like a comforter and curtains in cold water.

The mice’s cage is in 5 sections, so to speak. There are the 3 Play City cages, the maze, and the aquarium. I created a new setup that both of us really like. I cleared some of my stuff off my little worktable and ran a tube down from the house that sits on top of the aquarium, to the maze that now sits on my worktable. So as I write by hand, the mice are just a few inches away. Some of them are, anyway.

Everyone’s making babies around here (except for us, of course) and we’re gonna have to get rid of that bitch of a mother cat somehow someday soon. She’s gonna have more kittens for sure, cuz Daddy Cat’s been hanging around like crazy. Tom says he hopes that Mama Cat will leave when she gets pregnant. Not a chance. Naturally, she’ll stay where the food is and where she already knows she’s safe. I still wonder about these mice, too.

Tom and I have been getting along better lately. I tell you, it’s cuz we haven’t had much sex and cuz we haven’t discussed this child we can never have that he doesn’t want. As soon as that’s the topic of discussion and as soon as there’s more sex than once a week or so, there goes the fights. Sex and relationships really don’t mix too much better than oil and water.

Wednesday, January 7, 1998

 

I am waiting for Andy to arrive. He’ll be late, as usual, but he has to leave by 10:30 when I get Tom up, cuz we have to go to the store. We’re looking into something they’ve got that’s supposed to speed up your metabolism. I’m now 122 pounds and it’s getting hard to just accept my weight as it is. Unfortunately, though, I have a distinct feeling that something up there does not want me to lose weight. Therefore, if this doesn’t work, nothing will, and I’ll really be forced to just deal with being fat.

Later...

Andy miraculously showed up when I completed my last sentence. He’s on the Internet now.

Anyway, I hope I can find a way to speed up my metabolism, cuz that’s the key to weight loss/gain. People think it’s all diet and exercise. A good diet will keep you healthier and exercise will keep you more fit, but that’s not where it’s at for me right now.

Friday, January 9, 1998

 

It’s time for me to be all stressed out. The weekend’s here. According to Tom, the car’s been moving again. In other words, the asshole’s still there, as I figured, and will be up to his usual shit in just a matter of time.

I’ve been so busy that I haven’t written much lately, so I hope I can remember to cover all that’s been going on.

Andy got led on and blown off by yet another guy. It’s just not meant to be for him. He enjoyed Stevie cruising on the web and visiting with me.

Tom got a bottle of Metabolics and like I said, if this doesn’t work, nothing will. He said he talked to someone there and since it’s from a health store, it shouldn’t have any side effects. We didn’t see anything written about that, anyway. The person there said this is their most popular brand that I’ve got and should see results in two weeks.

Tom also got his new glasses. They’re a lot nicer. He wears contacts more often, though.

Now for my frustrating, yet wonderful new toy. Tom got a print studio program that lets you do so much in the way of graphic art. The things you can do with it amazes me. The possibilities are endless. I can make my own stationery by adding some kind of border design (including pictures of Gloria and Norah to border with), or by making a background page that I type over. And the thing I love about this printer is that the ink doesn’t get lighter and lighter till it dies like a dot matrix with ribbons does. It stays the same sharp colors till the ink runs out of its cartridges.

I’ll be getting a wire-bound unruled journal for sure, so I can insert clipart and graphics into my text and type over pages with designs on them.

The clipart and pictures this thing contains are amazing. There are so many. Everything from artwork to live images. There’s every subject imaginable, too - animals, food, textiles, floral, icons, woods, metals, fun designs, plants, etc.

It even has a card-making program and I made some really cool cards of a few different sizes that fold differently from one another. In a way they look just like something you’d buy in a store, only the paper’s not as heavy or as glossy. They have glossy paper you can get for inkjets that print pictures out of say, Gloria, Norah, anyone, in an even more realistic and higher photographic quality.

I made tons of samples up for Tom that I did to practice with and learn with. I also made up a card for his ma. It’s got pretty scenery on the front, ducks on the back, with a brief message saying that I made it special for her.

Tom was right when he said I’d like it for letters, but not for journals. The word processor it has is really one fucked up program. It’d be very hard for me to describe why that is. You’d have to know a little about computers and know the different programs I’m talking about, but it’s bad. It does have a spell checker, but you can’t tell what line you’re on, selecting is a bitch, you can’t change fonts, sizes or colors easily, and the page doesn’t move as you type.

Later...

I saw that they’re up next door, cuz I saw a light on 15 minutes ago. I guess the freeloaders mainly leave at 7 AM. I’m waiting to hear how he leaves. It’s when he comes in for lunch that’d give me an idea of what he’s up to at the moment, but I’ll be asleep through it. I don’t think this weekend will be a problem as far as any parties cuz they’re out of season. The company, outside chats that last more than a minute or two, and bopping around the carport, won’t escalate till it warms up. And you can only have so many birthdays. There wouldn’t have even been a party all winter if it hadn’t been for him being around (the kid’s party).

I still can’t believe the dog’s gone! I just can’t believe it! She must’ve got caught with it. I can’t imagine she’d give it up voluntarily. I don’t miss that thing barking for 2-3 hours a day and sometimes more, but how’s this gonna affect the music situation if this dog stays away and isn’t replaced by another dog?

I wish these fucking freeloaders would just move on. I may not get anyone any better over there, but still, they’ve been 3 feet away from me for too long. They’ve got to go. I just don’t want them there anymore. I was here first and I’m saying it’s time for them to move on. So, as soon as they act up and I know about it, I’ll make them wish they never moved in there. As I said before, there’s something I could do about the music quickly, but it may just be worth my time and effort to slowly terrorize them. If I began harassing them on February 1st, for example, I’ll have them out of here by June 1st. I drove those Mormons out of here. I mean, I know a part of their moving probably had to do with the city, with a house that was too small for them, and other things, but I think I was a part of their moving. I didn’t mean to drive them away; I just didn’t want their kids screaming 3 feet away from me. I would take that and a dog over the music, but I’d rather not have to deal with anything as far as other people’s noise. I’ve had enough of it. Someday, though. Someday we’ll be out of here and won’t live where we and the neighbors could reach out from our windows and practically be holding hands. When you live where your bedroom is closer to the neighbor’s driveway than your own, that really sucks.

Later...

El cocko left just after 7:30. It didn’t play any music. It didn’t even slam its door that hard. Just someone saying, “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

I decided that since Tom’s so against me doing anything violent or scaring someone to their face, I’d compromise with him. I won’t deck them, but I will be heard, too. God may see to it that they don’t hear me, but I will do everything in my power to not only be heard when I hear them (when I hear a lot more of them than what I just heard, obviously), I’ll make them want to move. Haven’t heard those sounds coming from their yard, so I’d guess that those scraping sounds I heard were the dog nosing and pawing its bowl around. It did sound like it could’ve been plastic scraping concrete after all. I’m surprised he’s still parking in the carport at this time of year with the dog gone, but then again, I’m not. It’s easier to see someone that may mess with your beloved car stereo when they’re in the carport, versus just outside of it. After that letter, I doubt he’ll park outside the carport much.

I realized something that this letter could’ve ensured, unfortunately, and that’s their staying together. She may use this as an excuse to keep him under her wing and he may want to play big, tough man and stay with her cuz of this. Anyway, enough freeloader talk for now.

What the fuck was that? I just heard this really loud bang that was even louder than their damn car doors, but I can’t blame this one on them when they’ve already left. Maybe it was a big truck, but all I hear right now is the guard dogs. Thank you, God, for not having me be asleep for this big bang!

Speaking of God and noise, though, he sure does have a way of balancing things out. It makes me wonder - if we move to where it’s remote, will he give me other problems, like having me be bothered by some unknown source of noise that Tom and I won’t be able to identify? Or will I just start waking up a lot for no reason? Not that I’ve had a problem sleeping around here cuz 97% of the time I’ve been here I slept just fine. It’s the disturbances I get when I’m up that are the issue, but that’s better than having my sleep be an issue like it was in the NHA. If these freeloaders ever stole my sleep, I would kick their asses in a heartbeat.

This winter, so far, has produced less of other stereos blaring by. I’m sure God figured he’d spare me the drive-by stereos this winter, knowing that the stress of Mr. Fuck next door would compensate for it and any shit I may get from him.

Tom’s passing his test with flying colors. What I mean by “passing” is that he’s doing just what I knew he’d do. Not that this was a lie on my part, but I made it clear to him enough that I wanted to just accept fate and move on, so to speak, and I figured he’d take that to his advantage. I had told him that if having a kid meant that much to him, he could let me know and ask me to make a doctor’s appointment. I know he thinks I’m fertile, but he had said he was gonna take the beginning steps and get a physical “just in case” once we got our new medical cards (our insurance is now Intergroup), but he hasn’t made a move yet to make an appointment. He’s had the time, too, but he hasn’t read their brochures or anything. That’s some motivated guy! He really wants that kid!

Anyway, since you either have kids or life, I really appreciate my sterility/freedom when we get new programs like this graphics thing that provide hours of fun that I couldn’t have had with a child. I also have nothing to worry about as far as our getting together this weekend (prime time) so he can have an attack of amnesia and forget how to fuck me. I’ve dropped enough hints about how many things need to be done this weekend, so I don’t think the scaredy-cat will bother. He knows I’m uncomfortable about it, too. He hasn’t said so, but I just know, and I know where his true feelings lie, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to forget about sex till next week. Unless he really wants to play games and tease me. Also, my schedule’s gonna be on nights, and he’ll probably be working on Mary’s car. Mary always needs work done on her car.

Paula left a message last night, but once again, we’re playing phone tag.

Andy left 3 goddamn messages Wednesday, tried calling twice yesterday, so I’m sure I’ll get 2-3 messages today of the same old.

I called to see what was going on with Tammy and she was on her way to her second home - the doctor’s office.

God, these freeloaders have really scarred me, so to speak, with their fucking bass. Just like the NHA scarred me with other sounds. If I hear anything, like a big truck that resembles a bassy sound, I totally tense up. Thanks, freeloaders. Thanks a fucking lot! Well, hopefully the nasty, hateful things I said in my letter to them will make the lasting impression on them that they’ve made on me. Speaking of lasting impressions, though, as much as they’ve stressed me out and made my life miserable on and off, when we move, I won’t remain so scarred as I did after leaving the NHA. After leaving the NHA, there were still similar sounds and the same sounds that triggered that old familiar tension in me and that brought me right back there in my mind. But when we leave here, there’ll be no kids, bass, dogs, slamming, banging, screaming, and all that shit that I had to live with, to remind me and to stress me out.

Sunday, January 11, 1998

 

Boy, is it foggy out there. I can barely make out the nearest houses. It rained on and off all day yesterday.

I attached that scan of my hair I had made to my folk’s email as a joke. I got a reply back saying that was a cute picture, they know how those things work and are busy with business and doctors. I asked about the doctors, but who knows if I’ll get a response to that one? We’ll see.

Andy also wanted me to scan and send a picture of him to this guy he met on the meeting line. Of course, I know it’s another loser, but I’m amazed someone who’d call this thing would have a computer. So, I scanned and sent it and Andy said I could let him know if he was his type if he sends a picture back of himself.

I had a block on my email, blocking out mail from anyone who wasn’t an AOL member, but that’d mean I couldn’t get a reply from someone Andy wanted me to send mail to who wasn’t an AOL user. So, I typed in only those I selected to get an email from. A part of me wishes I never told Andy about AOL and the scanner, cuz now he’s gonna bug me to send this and that.

Yesterday turned out to be a very pleasant day. I only hope God doesn’t compensate me for it by having today be an uncool day cuz that’s how it usually works.

I did some more experimenting/learning with the graphics thing and made Tom up a calendar for this month. Every month I’ll make one up with a different border. I gave him basketballs this time.

I also made a really pretty ballerina banner that’s almost as long as I am.

The mice are so cute when they get all playful. They jump up and down and run around just like the pig and rabbit.

According to Tom, he’s seen some wild orgies and threesomes going on. He says that he doubts they’re actually screwing unless some of them are gay since one would screw one and then the one doing the screwing in the first place would get screwed. I suppose that if some humans can be attracted to the same sex, that rule could apply to animals, too, but I just hope that guy’s right and that in February all the boys will be gone and I won’t have any pregnant females. If I do, though, I’ll just bring them those batches, too.

White Feet is in the window now. The cats sit on the pool pump to keep warm. Tom forgot to turn off the pilot light after draining the pool so its flat surface is warm.

I was nervous as all hell about this, and wouldn’t have initiated sex if he didn’t, but I did get brave enough to screw with him twice yesterday. I got what I expected, and I didn’t get what I expected. I expected him to take advantage of his fears and tease me by not getting in there. He got in there, but as I did expect, he didn’t cum. He tried to tell me he did “a little” and that there was more in the way of feeling than juice. Of course, though, I know a guy can’t cum without letting out some juice, but still, it was fun and I hope his games and God’s interferences (although God did try!) can be a thing of the past. I just want to move on now. I accept I can’t have a child, am OK with it now, and am prepared to deal with it, but I don’t want Tom or God to insult me with a freaky sex life, either. Even though yesterday didn’t turn out to be Tom’s fun and games in bed, I’m still reluctant to screw today too, cuz like I said, things have a way of making up for themselves and I don’t want today to be the day that he decides not to go in there. I was shocked that I could get up, run to the bathroom to throw some KY down there for some dryness, return to bed, then resume screwing. In the past, he’d be so distracted by that, that he’d have to “clear his mind” and start all over again. He said things change and people progress, but I still see the fears/excuses. So that’s why I can go out of my way to not smoke, get a new bed, do this, do that, and it doesn’t really change things all that much, cuz the bottom line is his fear and wanting to tease. Nothing I can do can help with that. If our sex lives had started off with us using birth control, that’d be different. Then we wouldn’t have had the freaky sex nearly as much.

He says that not smoking has made a difference for the better right away, but it’s mostly a gradual thing that occurs over time. Yeah. Whatever. I don’t want no more shit. That’s all. He’s obviously never gonna come clean, so if I don’t mention a child and all that, he gladly won’t, and then this is the only way we can move on. I know the truth and that’s what counts. And also, his wants are more important to me than my wants, so even if I still really wanted a kid as bad, his not wanting one and his not wanting to go to a doctor is more important. So, I’ll try to keep the subject a closed chapter as best I can cuz I want him to be happy and as we all know, people won’t always say what’ll make them happy, cuz when someone loves you, they’re more self-conscious about what they tell you.

Later...

Except for the barking dogs that prevented me from even eating a bagel in peace in my own damn kitchen, it’s a damp, cold, dead-quiet day out there. Personally, I wish it could be like this every day till we move. Especially as long as we have the sickos for neighbors. However, I’m also sick of being cold and if they really wanted to irk me with noise, they’d find a way. So far, though, it’s been a quiet weekend. Is this cuz they assume the letter was from me and are just biding their time? Or are they assuming it’s from me and hoping to catch me doing something else? I hope that they are hoping to catch me doing something else (which they won’t do), cuz this would mean they’d have to behave. It wouldn’t look good for them to drag me into court complaining that I did whatever, all the while they’ve been harassing and bugging me with music, etc.

Well, the toys may be gone, the dog may gone, the music may be quiet at this time, and the cops may have been there, but they’re not breaking up or moving. I just know it. My gut tells me that if there’s to be a significant change of any kind over there again while we’re here, it’s not happening till around September.

Another thing we did yesterday that I forgot to mention, is that we played around more with those push molds. We used clay and plastic to mold roses, bunnies, and teddy bears.

We screwed earlier and today was a repeat of yesterday - got inside/didn’t cum. At least he’s a lot braver than he was last month. Last month he wouldn’t even stick it in there.

Monday, January 12, 1998

 

Andy, Andy, Andy! Him and his calls and his favors! Well, his favors aren’t nearly as frequent as his calls, but he really bugs me. He really bugs me! He’s on my nerves constantly, but he just doesn’t get it!

I scanned and sent a picture of him to this guy he could just meet in person if he really wanted to know what he looks like. Then he left a message asking me to rescan it for him cuz the dude couldn’t open the damn picture. So I scanned and sent it again and left the guy step-by-step instructions for viewing the picture. Then I had to play phone with him some more. You know, from now on, I’m not gonna check my messages when I first wake up. It’s too overwhelming to have to sit there and listen to 5-10 minutes of his babbling when I first get up. These are the things that should make me grateful that I don’t have a child smothering me right when I first get up, then all day long, too.

That’s a debatable subject as far as pre-cum impregnating a fertile woman. We screwed 3 days in a row. The days that are the most likely for a woman to conceive if she can. So, if I was OK, some would say I should be pregnant, some would say I shouldn’t be. It depends on who you believe. Some say that all it takes is one and pre-cum is enough to do the trick. Especially if there’s a few days’ worth of it. Others say it’s not enough and there wouldn’t be millions of sperm if just a few could make it. Well, whatever. The bottom line’s still the same - it isn’t meant to be whether I was fertile or not, whether he came or not, whether he came a lot or not.

It’s been the quietest it’s ever been next door with him there. There’s been no dog, no music, not even as much door slamming. Maybe the letter really did scare them into laying low-key and quiet so as not to provoke anyone. I love the peace they’ve been giving me, but now that I’ve got so much anger worked up due to the two years’ worth of shit they’ve given me in intervals (although sending the letter’s eliminated some of the anger), I kind of wish they’d give me an excuse to act up on my end cuz I’ve got so many things planned for them. In time, though. They’ll go back to their usual shit, at least music-wise, soon enough. Then I’ll be there to make them wish they’d never moved in there. They’re gonna really think they’ve got a crazed, hate stalker on their ass once I put my ideas into action! The first thing I thought I’d start with once the music cues me in, is to throw one of my wine cooler bottles over the block wall into their carport, or at the house itself, in the middle of the night. With my luck, they’ll sleep through it and not even come to investigate, but we’ll see. I’m gonna be provoked into action soon enough, so I’ll let you know what I do first, although I still wouldn’t be surprised if I kicked someone’s ass over there when Tom wasn’t around.

Still learning and having fun with the different cards, stationery, banner, envelope, programs and so much more. Andy really loved the Gloria border I made. Yup, I can print a bunch of tiny pictures of her for a border. I may do up these to cut out and glue into my written journals.

Tuesday, January 13, 1998

 

Oh, that never-ending pain in the ass! Andy, who just can’t accept things that aren’t meant to be, leaves a message about how this Randy’s blown him off and the only thing he can think of is that he finally managed to download his picture and didn’t like what he saw. Well, I’m sorry for him, but what can I do? I told him yesterday that I really didn’t want to keep playing phone back and forth with him. I had things to do, and phones remind me more of smoking. But what does he do? Leaves me a long message to wake up to and says he’ll call me later as if nothing I said sunk in. Andy really does still have some of that old selfishness in him from back east.

Speaking of back east, poor Laura’s going through what I went through back there with him. I mean, I believe the things Andy’s told me about her and I know she’s no angel and neither was I, but he’s doing it again. They fight for a few days at a time and meanwhile, he’s on the phone bitching to me about his problems with her. He says he does go to her, but I still wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t discussed more of their problems with me, than with her.

What doesn’t remain the same, though, is that both of us couldn’t imagine living alone again, when for years, we swore we could never live with anyone. So, when he’s mad at her, he wants her out and to live alone again, but when he’s not mad, he likes the company of a roommate.

Later...

I have bad news pertaining to Tammy and that household, but for once, I actually have some very good news, too!

First, though, Tom and I discussed getting the materials to make my own journals, so I can really use and enjoy this graphics program.

Also, I guess the cock quit coming in for lunch lately, but here we go with God’s balancing act. There’s some dog across the street, about 3 houses diagonally from us, that just won’t shut up. Backyards come around to the fronts of houses out here, too, if you know what I mean. It can come from the back and up to the side of a house and be heard in front, too. That’s why any dog next door that’s obnoxious out back, is all the more obnoxious when it’s on the side, wedged in between the few feet that are between our house and theirs.

Now for the bad news. To begin with, well, I had thought a child would really help ensure I didn’t give in to the many urges to smoke that I still have, but since that can never be, I had hoped for another reason to keep going with it. Better health is enough of a reason, but the more, the merrier. Then I found out that Lisa started smoking 5 months ago. She said she was afraid I’d be ashamed of her for this and that I’d tell her mother. No, I’m not ashamed and won’t tell, I told her, but I am disappointed. I hate to see her have to go through what I went through, which I told her all about. I reminded her how we promised not to commit suicide if our lives got that tough, and I asked her to please not smoke with me and give me more reason to not go back to it myself. She said she would, as hard as it is and as much as she’ll miss them, but I agree with Tom. Initially, she won’t quit, but hopefully she will in time if she sees I’m still not smoking. She said she kind of likes them. Yeah, I kind of liked them too, and I was hooked after just the first cigarette too, but she just doesn’t get it. Just like I thought cigarettes wouldn’t hurt me and that if they did, I’d have to be really old, she doesn’t realize how much they can and will hurt an asthmatic. I started smoking at her age, too, and by the time I hit my early 20s, is when the trouble began. If she keeps smoking, she’s not gonna be able to sit down and enjoy singing without having to clear her throat a lot, either.

At Tom’s suggestion, I called Dad yesterday to see if he could give me any tips since I still have urges a lot. As a child, I hated being lectured by him, but now, I could use all the reminders as to why I shouldn’t smoke. He said everyone’s different as far as how long and frequent urges are, but that the bottom line is willpower and that no one should smoke.

Now here’s the good news in Tammy’s life. Good news for once! And I’m so happy for her. I haven’t heard her sound this happy in years. Maybe never at all. She is divorcing that self-absorbed, negative husband of hers and is seeing someone new and wonderful, she says. I don’t know if she fell in love with this guy Mark enough to know she wanted to be with him and that’s what prompted her to finally move on and ditch Bill, or if she ditched Bill, then realized her love for Mark. Tammy’s never lived alone, and she could never live without a man, so I’d bet it was her falling for Mark that made her dump Bill, but more power to her.

I think that the mistake she made marrying Dick was cuz she was young, naïve, and desperate to get out of the house and the mistake she made marrying Bill was cuz Ma pressured her so she could get her and Lisa out of the house. Ma’s favorite pastime was to get rid of her kids any way she could.

Anyway, she says this 47-year-old Italian guy that owns his own business, really treats her well both in and out of bed. She told me that with Bill, there was no foreplay and the sex was over in no time, but with Mark, she’s got the foreplay, etc. She says she can really talk to him and that he really listens and is into what she’s into, but Bill never cared about her interests. This is so true, too, cuz on my visits to them when I lived back there, Bill never asked me about my life (not that I had much of one to discuss) and he never seemed to give a damn about the things that mattered to me.

Mark and his wife Mary, who died a few months ago of cancer, knew both Tammy and Bill. I forget if they all met through Tammy’s job working with terminally ill cancer people, or if they knew each other before she started that work. Anyway, Bill doesn’t know they’re lovers. She’s staying at the house and she’s changed the locks, too. Hopefully, Bill won’t be allowed visitation rights, but with people being so into biology, versus what’s best for kids, I’d doubt that he’d be ordered to stay away from them.

Another wonderful thing about this guy is that Tammy says he’s good with the kids and really cares about them, too, whereas Bill and most guys could care less. He and Mary had two kids who are 18 and 21 and Mary had a few kids with her first husband. The neat thing about this is that Tammy’s described him a lot like I’d describe Tom, and you know how wonderful Tom is to me, with the exception of his not coming clean about wanting a kid, and his sloppy, disorganized manner. I’d constantly wish that Tammy could have a husband like mine and I always believed that she’d envy me had she known Tom like I do. Not anymore! I hope that this really is the right guy after all this time, and I get the feeling it is. I’m really happy for her, cuz she deserves happiness for once! If I remember anything else she told me about Mark, I’ll write it in.

Wednesday, January 14, 1998

 

Jesus fucking Christ! You can’t even go out in this city without being screamed at! Just what I need when I’m still so tensed out from not smoking. I go to the library. That went OK. We get to Ross’s to pick me up slippers and hair ties, and there’s this fucking kid screaming at the top of his lungs a few feet away from me while we’re waiting in line. I came home so stressed out that I drank too much too fast and felt woozy and a bit nauseous. Fortunately, though, the effect didn’t last very long. Like I said, maybe a part of me is glad Tom’s in denial so that he doesn’t have to deal with what a doctor might be able to do, etc. The struggle with not smoking is hard enough right now that I’m just too overwhelmed to even think of kids. The missing cigarettes outweigh anything else and make everything else just not matter as much. I know Tom sure as hell won’t admit I’m sterile and decide he wants a kid and get down on his knees and beg me to see a doctor with him, so I’ll think about seeing a doctor myself after we move. I think that’d be a good time, cuz then I’ll be so used to missing my cigarettes and trust me, if I still miss them as much as I do, I always will. Also, it’s easier to move two people instead of 3 and if we had a kid in the picture, we wouldn’t be of any help to each other, cuz one of us would have to watch the damn thing. So, I’ll rethink the situation after we’ve moved, but that won’t mean that anything’s changed. I’ll still know a doctor can’t help me and that God said no to a kid. I cannot handle it and God knows it. But I would like to maybe know someday what makes me sterile. Is it a problem with the eggs? Or with the uterus as I think?

Speaking of the things this wimp can’t handle, I begged God to please make the ball player go away that came to play next door. He did, thankfully. Another rude, brazen kid just waltzed right up to the hoop as it was passing by and played for a few minutes. I got a good look at the hoop as we pulled out today and it is untangled, so someone did get the lock out of it as I suspected.

Sunday night is my tentative night for smashing a wine cooler bottle next door. I can’t say for sure that he’s back to his usual shit, but I’m sure he is and that it’ll be more than obvious that he is by the time the day’s out. Yesterday he had pulled in with no music and parked where I could see him up front. I knew he wasn’t in for the day yet since he was up front, and I heard 3 car doors (he doesn’t seem to blast off as much when he’s got the bitch and kid with him). I had to play fucking phone and favors with Andy again a little while later when I heard some music, but then when I looked out, the car was still there. Just a few minutes later, though, I heard voices and the car left, so that tells me that it could’ve been a passing car, but probably wasn’t. Then later, as I was waiting to fall asleep, I heard music 3 different times. Again - a passerby? Or the freeloader? One of those times was the freeloader, I’m sure. So now that we’re gonna be on one of his music harassment campaigns again, he’s gonna have to deal with my harassment campaign, too, and be made to wish he never moved in here. The reason I’ve decided on late Sunday night is cuz Tom will be at work, it’ll suit my schedule better, and it won’t look too obvious (this way I won’t be doing anything till the music’s been a problem again for nearly a week). Yes, I eventually want them to know it was me who terrorized them, but slowly. I want there to be some mystery and confusion for them while I toy with them before I jump out at them in whatever way I’m gonna do so. You see, nothing major’s gonna change over there till September. Meanwhile, that “major change” could be 3 more freeloaders moving in over there. So I have to start now with getting them to see that they’re not welcome here and that their living here is gonna create problems for them.

I just realized, though, that MLK Day’s Monday and that we’re in for a 3-day weekend. So Sunday night’s bottle tossing may have to wait. I know there’s gonna be some kind of shit from over there on Monday. Especially with him living here. Yeah well, they’ve got my shit to listen to, too. The bottle tossing isn’t my only idea of harassment, either. There are others, but I’ll get into it another time.

I thought I just heard some door slamming next door with no music, but I’ll be honest and say that due to these houses being so damn close, you just can’t always be sure who’s doing what.

Tom and I figured out how to sex the mice. It’s really pretty simple, but we’ll have the store people verify that we’ve brought them all males when we go to bring them in.

According to the email I received, both my folks are having physical problems. Ma’s dreading having to use needles for her diabetes, but it’s looking like she’ll have to. She’s got back, thyroid, cholesterol, and arthritis trouble too, and Dad has got to have a triple bypass done on his legs in the spring. It’s similar to open-heart surgery. He’s been having a lot of pain when he walks, and I guess this has to do with the arteries and blood vessels.

I hopefully set Andy straight once and for all about his calls and all that and I think he’s sensitive and understanding enough to my situation, and will back off and cut me some slack. He won’t be around from Saturday to Sunday, cuz he and Michelle are going to a Xena convention in Los Angeles. I was trying to write last night when the phone rang, and I saw it was Andy with yet another fucking call. I said to myself how I was so sick of his calls and favors, and the first thing I heard when I played back his message was, “Jodi, I need a favor.” He said he was afraid Laura would go into his phonebook and get my number and call me, wanting her rent money now for drugs. He said not to give her the money and that she won’t kick my ass or anything. I left him a message that I don’t want these druggies he’s associated with to have my number and that if she came to the door, I’d kick her ass. If he wants friends he can’t trust, fine, but I don’t want to get involved. Besides, we made an agreement a long time ago that we wouldn’t share friends. I also told him that I just cannot handle the daily calls and that I still associate smoking with phones.

So, he left a reply saying he was sorry to put me through Laura’s shit and that he won’t want the money till the end of the month as planned. He also said it “finally hit him” why I don’t like phones now that I “finally” said it. The cigarettes are just a part of it. Meanwhile, I’ve told him time and time again that I’ve outgrown my phoneaholic ways and that I can’t stand to sit still for very long like he does, on phones, while watching TV, etc. I told him not to take it personally and that it doesn’t mean I love him any less. It’s just the way I am, and I’d prefer messages every 3-4 days and a live chat once a week. Not messages and chats every day. And I also reminded him that this excludes emergencies. The only thing that could prevent us from talking if he really needed to talk bad would be if I were asleep or out. So, I thanked him for being supportive and understanding and I also filled him in on what’s up with my parents, Tammy and Lisa.

Thursday, January 15, 1998

 

I called Larry, who has another cold, to wish him a happy birthday. The poor guy’s going through what I went through back there. Jen’s sick, too, but Sandy’s OK. He says they’re expecting 14” of snow and that it was a whole 23º! Wow! That’s actually pretty generous for January. But they just had their January thaw spell (a lot of people get sick now due to the temperature changes) and now it’ll refreeze itself again till spring. It’ll be close to 70º here today.

I can’t believe how much my sister and parents share with me these days. They used to tell me absolutely nothing that was going on with them and I know I said so in my first journals. My folks would talk to Tammy, but not to me. Tammy even told me how wonderful the sex is with this guy she’s seeing. She mentioned something about him measuring her Jewish nose and her measuring his Italian dick. Nobody’s dick is as big as my husband’s, and I told her so (I’m sure it’s true, too).

Mom also filled me in on her and Dad’s medical conditions, as I said earlier. I just asked her and am waiting for a reply as to why they’re waiting till the spring or summer to do something about my dad’s leg pain.

Ma said she’s been taking something called Synthroid for 8-10 years cuz of her thyroid. She said when it’s too low it can tire you down a lot and cause your hair to fall out. When it’s high, you’re overactive. And thyroids do control the metabolism which controls weight. However, some of what she said makes no sense. I’m still kind of hyper, yet my thyroid’s low and my metabolism is slow right now. I sure as hell aren’t tired a lot and my hair is not falling out either. Oh no, this hair’s still thick enough to fill in a few bald heads while leaving enough for me.

Yeah well, speaking of metabolism and weight, I’m now furious! Furious enough to do what I need to do now to finally get this fucking weight off of me. When I stepped on the scale and saw I was 125, I knew I was right when I said it’d just keep going and going and going if I don’t find a way to ward off fate. I’m tired of God and his compensations and his different standards, etc. I’m not gonna “pay” for my lungs back. Just cuz I can breathe now doesn’t mean I should have to get fat for it. So, I’m on a liquid diet. If I did it once, I can do it again. When I was 19, I didn’t eat for about 3 days. I just had liquids. It obviously did something to my thyroid/metabolism cuz I started losing weight the second day of not eating, then continued eating as I usually did, only to keep losing weight for the next year while I could resume eating as I usually did. I went from 140 something down to 100. Well, I may be 32 now and the hunger pains may be vicious, but I really think I can do this now and I’ve got to try my best. I really want to be thin again and able to wear most of my clothes again.

So I’ve basically made two personal decisions. I’m gonna lose weight and get back down around 100 lbs. And when I’m 35, I am gonna go to a doctor about my sterility. Not cuz I think something can be done to fix me or to make Tom cum more or to change God’s mind, but just cuz I want to know, out of curiosity, if I really do have a deformed uterus. I just want to know what it is that makes my plumbing not work.

I know another reason God stuck so many of other people’s kids on me and harassed me with their noise in the NHA and other places. What goes around comes around. My mom had to listen to plenty of my noise (till she’d slap me to silence), but he knew, though, that I’d never have my own kid to pay me back, so he went and used other people’s kids. That’s another sure sign of what’s meant to be and what isn’t.

Later...

God, I not only get the same stuffy nose I had when I smoked but my feet and hands still get so cold. That’s supposed to happen to smokers cuz their blood doesn’t circulate as well. Guess some of my body doesn’t realize I no longer smoke.

I had another hilarious idea as far as next door goes, but this one I’m not gonna do. Assuming they’re like most people, they wouldn’t be happy at all to see any mice in their place. I thought of dropping the male mice through their mailbox slot and into their house, but that’d be cruel to the mice. It’s still a funny thought and I bet she’d freak! He, on the other hand, is such a ditz that he probably wouldn’t even know what the fuck was happening.

I forgot to say that I don’t know how it came in yesterday. It may have come in while I was listening to music, so I can’t say for sure what went on.

I broke down and fried up two pork chops. Barely 40 minutes later, I was starving again. I’m just gonna have to tough it out, though.

Later...

I got my listening to music done and out of the way, so we’ll see how the freeloader comes in. I’d assume that if the dog isn’t back yet, it won’t be coming back at all (I hope!). That goes to prove my belief - that the dog was for me and that they never gave a shit about it. If I had a dog that I cared about that someone threatened to shoot, I’d either kill the person or get the dog in the house. They didn’t, so I think they made a deal with someone shortly after I yelled at them that July morning, to borrow the dog for a few months to harass me with it. Or they could’ve gotten it for free from some animal shelter, knowing they’d return it or dump it somewhere in the long run.

Got a letter from Bob. I dug how he said he was having trouble with a racist bitch of a guard and would like to shove his fists down her “throught.”

I got some animal cards with matching address labels from the Wildlife Federation and I also dug how they put “Phoenix Arizona, AZ” on the address.

God, how I dread this long MLK holiday weekend coming up! These assholes next door are literally MAKING me not like blacks. God, spare me, please! I’m sure his answer to that would be, yeah right! Like hell I’ll spare you their shit/noise! Let’s just say that once MLK’s Day gets here, I may not have the patience to slowly torture and toy with them. I may just want to kick their asses and get it over with.

I wish I could know for sure if they are gonna move in September. I think that if they don’t move by then, then we are stuck with them till we move unless I step up the action to drive them out of here sooner, but there’s also a huge advantage to being the first one out of here too, and I think it’s rather obvious what that is. Tom thinks we’ll be out of here in two years, but I think it’ll be 4.

Friday, January 16, 1998

 

Today’s the day God killed my nephew a year ago. I just hope Larry and Sandy aren’t too depressed right now, but what can you expect?

Tom took the time to download this thing that lets me view and install/delete fonts, but it’s fucked up. It tried to tell me one wasn’t installed that really was installed. It wouldn’t let me delete any, either.

As hungry as I am, my diet’s working so far. I awoke at 118. Tom got an old-fashioned dial scale too, since digital ones fluctuate more. So, I know I can still begin the weight loss process by eating just a few bites, but the question is, will it keep going after I start eating again? Or will I just stay the same or gain the weight back? The trick is to manipulate the thyroid/metabolism enough to get it to learn to lose weight on its own and not worry about what I eat. Well, time will tell what’ll happen with it.

Later...

I realize now that Paula likes to play phone tag. I know she’s busy with that kid, but it’s become rather obvious, so I’ll just talk to her whenever I talk to her, but at least she doesn’t call me every day.

After listening to music, I looked out front and saw the car there. I said, damn! I didn’t get to hear how it came in. But I knew it wasn’t in for the night being parked up front, so I waited and heard him leave quietly a short while later. He hasn’t come in yet and I’m anxious to hear how that’ll be. I only heard one door shut softly, so he’s coming in by himself when he does come in.

Later...

I had some popcorn today and fried up some French fries. This is cuz I’ve been stuck, and I know the grease helps with that. Those fries put a couple of pounds back on me, though, so I really have to watch it. I cannot believe how hungry I am and the appetite to which I’ve become accustomed. Something up there really wants me to have my share of starving bouts as an adult. It nearly starved me off just for letting me come out here. I mean, I really had to pay for coming out here by not having food. And now I have to sit and suffer through hunger pangs or keep eating and keep gaining weight. The bitch of it is that I can’t see myself ever getting lucky enough to just happen to lose weight without even trying. I think I’m gonna have to really starve the shit out of myself in order to lose it. Then after I get done doing that, I better hope the weight doesn’t come right back on.

Like I said, something up there insists I pay for every little thing. I still have a bad feeling that there’s no beating it and that if I want to enjoy the ability to breathe, I have to get fat for it. The missing cigarettes should be enough compensation, though, but no, I have to pay dearly for every little thing.

We screwed yesterday and he didn’t cum like I thought he would cuz of the time of month, but then again, that’s something he rarely does anyway. He thinks that a woman ovulates a whole week, but it’s more like 1-2 days. No wonder he cums so little if that’s what he thinks! Well, at least it keeps the sheets clean.

The werewolf (Randy) did get in touch with Andy after all. He said all he got was a frame, but no picture. He thanked me for trying, though, and says he’s gonna mail him a picture. Why? Why not just meet the guy in person?

Later...

If he came in next door, I didn’t hear him.

Last night, I contemplated throwing a bottle over there. I mean, I really thought about it good and hard. I looked out front to make sure that RV wasn’t visible from the front (they still come to see the old man, but they haven’t brought that whiny, shrilly dog of theirs since my note, thank God!). It wasn’t visible, but it was from out back and I don’t need any witnesses. They sleep in this thing, and someone could come up front for something where there are no curtains drawn and see me hurling the bottle. Another problem that could come out of the bottle-throwing idea, if I threw it into the carport, is that I don’t want it to hit the car and look too obvious (like someone doesn’t like its stereo). If I were to walk out into the street to see how deep in the carport it was parked so I’d know where to aim, and was seen walking out there and looking, that’d seem awfully obvious, too, not that it could prove anything. I intend to wash that bottle and handle and throw it with plastic gloves on. So then there’ll be no saliva or prints. So, I thought about different things I could do, but then I realized that problems could come out of these things. I’m not gonna worry too much about them, cuz if I’ve got something I really want to do to them badly enough, I’ll do it. However, the first thing they’re gonna do if I throw a bottle is come over here either with or without the cops and ask if I did it. If they didn’t do that, then they’ll go around to the neighbors and ask if they saw anything. So, there are some potential problems if I do something and if I don’t do anything. I don’t want to not do anything and have them end up thinking that letter was a joke. I want them to take that letter very seriously and let them know someone means business. Maybe they have and that’s why they’ve been quiet up till now. Maybe they really don’t want to take the chance of provoking anyone around here, in case it’s me that sent it, and I know my name has crossed their sick, selfish little minds. Or maybe they don’t want to look bad themselves if they ever get in any legal battles. If I go with the late-night banging sprees, and if they hear them, that will look obvious too, and it could also drag others into it, too, and wake them up. This is between me and them only, so I may go a more destructive route, obvious or not.

Monday, January 19, 1998

 

Now that the long weekend’s just about over, and now that it’s later in the evening, I can relax enough to write. Plus, I’m alone now, cuz he’s gone to work, so I can concentrate better. I don’t concentrate well with others around even if they’re quiet and not right near me. The weekend went surprisingly, but pleasantly quiet. There were weekend stereos cruising through, but all next door gave me were some door slams. I’m still blessed with there being no dog over there, and the music has yet to become a problem again. If the door slamming’s as deliberate as I think it is, they may assume, but they don’t know for a fact, that the door slamming gets on my nerves too, so maybe, like I said before, they suspect me and don’t want to do anything that they know may provoke me into harming them or the house. Or maybe the door slams were cuz they heard us talking out back when he was working on the old washer and they wanted to be heard back. One of the door slams they gave me was so fucking loud, the house shook. Then later, at 10:40 PM, the shithead went out and slammed me a few more times, so I went out and pelted back and beat an old waterproof radio on the side of the house by their house a few times.

Later...

I felt a bit warm and dizzy there, so I stepped out for some cool air and you know what? Unless they’re in bed early, they might not even be home next door, cuz there are no lights on.

Anyway, Tom fixed the old washer and we washed the new, big comforter that won’t fit in our stackables. It was pretty funny what with the washer being out on the patio!

The weekend may have been peaceful enough as far as any neighbors go, but some stereo, that you could tell was miles away, was a real annoyance for a good hour or more from out back. It could’ve been worse, though, since it could only be heard out back, but what a sick world we live in - knowing that someone’s stereo from miles away can be a problem. They’re that bassy, and bass travels that well. And like I said, people would cruise up and down our street with those fucking things that are so goddamn common now. Another way I can tell if it’s a freeloader that just bassed in or out is by the motion sensor security light in the carport. Cuz of the soundproofing material that’s in the bedroom windows, I can’t tell if it’s on or not, but from the window in the back room, I can as long as the back room is not too lit up. In the daytime, I’d have to go to the side of the house to see if it was on.

In answer to why dad’s not getting his legs taken care of now since he’s in pain, it’s cuz they’re busy at the store, and it’s not a life or death situation.

I’ve been appreciative of the cut-down in calls from Andy, but since it’s been several days, and since I’d like to hear all about his trip to L.A. with Michelle to see Xena, I left him a message.

As for my weight, once again, you really can’t fight fate and win. Yes, I must be compensated. My losing weight is 100% hopeless. I’m just not meant to be thin again and nothing I do can change that. These metabolism pills I’ve got are a bunch of bull. They’re probably just sugar or some substance like that that fills the capsules. And I’m just too much of a wimp to stop eating altogether. So I’ll be fat, but at least I’ll be a fat person who can breathe. I’ll use the money I save on cigarettes to buy new clothes as I keep getting bigger, and I will keep getting bigger. I just know it like I know I’m sterile and meant to be forever childless. You might say that’s got some good in it, too, after all the shit I go through trying to handle the not smoking, as well as for other reasons.

Tom’s still doing and is always gonna do what he does best - deny I have a plumbing problem, so he doesn’t have to deal with it. It gets more and more obvious each year that he doesn’t want a kid, or to go to a fertility doctor, so his way of dealing with it - there’s not a problem. I understand his ways, though, cuz I was once that way myself. If something was going on that I didn’t like or didn’t want to deal with, I too would deny it or I’d play it down.

Tom’s been passing a few tests I’ve set up and again, I know when he’ll do what I say he’ll do, and when he’ll do the direct opposite of what I said he’ll do. Due to my saying things that implied I didn’t want to screw when I was mid-cycle, he made sure we did. And due to my saying he preferred sex the most right before and after my period, he made sure he didn’t touch me all weekend, which is close enough. It’s due on the 25th. I don’t know if my getting so fat has a play in it, although he does tell me I’m beautiful all the time, but part of it is cuz he doesn’t balance things well. He either has to work or screw, but he can’t mix business with pleasure. I see it to my benefit as time goes on, though. If it were new, or if one of us was gonna die soon, or if we had a shot at a kid, then I’d still be bitching about the part-time sex we have, but I know that he likes it this way deep down, too. He could’ve asked for it any day, but he didn’t, so that tells me that he must think full-time is too much too, and I also understand it’s not in his nature to have a high appetite and that he’s in his 40s.

Anyway, after all the questioning I’ve done in the past about sex and Tom, now I question sex and myself. Just what has happened to my appetite? I know we’re not a new couple, we’re infertile, etc., but I thought women got hornier into their 30s. It seems that for the last month, month and a half, my appetite’s been much lower. This isn’t a complaint, though, but merely an observation. I kind of like it this way, cuz he couldn’t keep up with me when I’d want it nearly every day and it seems that the lower my sex drive is, the lower my desire for a kid is, too.

I scanned all my favorite drawings (about 40) into the computer. Tom created a new directory for me to put them in there. It’s similar to my directories for Gloria and Norah pictures and for my journals.

I love this thing called Media Manager, which lets me view my drawings, pictures, etc., on little icons.

Tuesday, January 20, 1998

 

The fact that I can’t handle a kid and don’t deserve one is beside the point right now. The point is that this husband of mine has jerked me around about this kid shit from day one and I’m sick of it. I’m more than sick of it!

If I stood the slightest chance of being fixed, I can’t be cuz of his denial and refusal to cum much. He’s totally stolen even a one-in-a-million chance if there ever was one, and I meant it when I said I give what I get. His number one dream is to work at home and I’m gonna make sure he never has that. Never! He can’t just tell the fucking truth. Instead, when there’s something Tom doesn’t want to do or deal with, Tom denies it and makes excuses. What? Did he think his denial and his not doing anything to create a kid or fix me would make this all go away? He lied to me again. He told me he’d take the first step and make an appointment for a physical this month, but he hasn’t. Instead, he makes excuses about not having time, but he has time for other calls. If he wanted to make the appointment that bad, he’d set his alarm, get up and make it, then go back to bed if he had to. But he doesn’t want to see a doctor. And he can’t admit that, either. I also feel really angered and insulted over all the so-called remedies I’ve used for his so-called lack of cumming problem. He suggested I wear certain clothes, that we sleep together, that I quit smoking, and so much more since I’ve known him. I did almost everything he suggested I do to “fix” him and where is our sex life now? Right where it’s been since the summer of 96. Nothing I do is good enough for him. He’d rather lie, deny, and make excuses.

Here’s a classic example of how he won’t say no to something he doesn’t want to do. For nearly a year now, he’s agreed that he’d send my nieces letters and I remind him periodically, but does he do it? No. Instead of saying no, he says he’ll do it, but actions speak louder than words and when actions don’t go with someone’s words, that usually means that they’re liars. It could be cuz of fear or for some other reason, but it all comes down to the same thing and that’s not doing what you say you’re gonna fucking do! I’m tired of his not doing the things he says he’ll do and I’m tired of him, God, and this whole damn issue playing on my emotions.

Wednesday, January 21, 1998

 

Here we are already halfway through the week. This week’s going fast, thanks to the long damn weekend.

I just went out and made a dump in the recycle bin, which was empty, and boy was that loud! Especially with the glass bottles I dumped. Hope the shitheads enjoyed that, but I doubt it. I’m sure that as God would have it, no one heard it and if someone did, it wasn’t the freeloader. Still only hearing door slams from them.

I can’t wait till we move!!!

Tweety sure is chirping up a storm right now. It seems that noise makes him sing more. When I wash the dishes, or when the washer’s going, or when the fryer’s going, he really sings away.

I got some really nice cards from the HS today. Cats, dogs and ducks. I think I’ll use them for the next 5 things I don’t have cards for and that’d be Becky’s, Mom’s and Dad’s birthdays, and Mother’s and Father’s Day.

I guess Andy’s gonna do whatever he can do to get my attention and to get a conversation with me, although it’s not every day he runs off to Xena conventions. He left a message saying that he had a great time and would talk to me about it in person when he picks up Laura’s rent money, so I don’t have to deal with the phone and missing my smokes. So now he’s gonna come over more often and show up 2-4 hours later than we agreed on? Oh, brother!

I did not discuss what I wrote in last night’s entry with Tom. First off, there’s no point and it won’t change anything. Secondly, I’d rather let January come and go before I say he’s broken his promise and discuss it with him then. We got together before he left for work, but he just couldn’t get into it. I couldn’t really, either, but I did enjoy our time together just talking and cuddling, and that’s most important.

We’re both still having allergy problems and suspect it’s the mice, but soon, half of them will be gone. Then, we’ll decide what to do if they’re still a bother, but as we both agree, they’re so cute! Gotta pay for everything, though, but in the meantime, I’ll do a good dust and vacuum job in here.

Later...

I sure had the shit scared out of me earlier. Maybe I did wake the freeloader up and maybe God used the huge moth that was in here as a way to get me back for it. It just wouldn’t die, either. I kept spraying it with Raid, but the damn thing kept swirling around the room, and I lost sight of it. I haven’t seen it for hours, so hopefully it finally kicked the bucket.

Ziggy’s looking awfully chubby lately and I hope she’s not pregnant.

When I called Lisa to wish her a happy birthday, she said she did quit smoking. Tom says give her the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t know. I hope she’d never lie to me about that or anything. If it’s true that she did quit, I’m really happy for her and proud of her. I know how hard it is. Especially when you’re this young, stubborn, naïve kid who doesn’t think it’ll affect her.

Andy’s right back to his same old shit. He agrees he’ll cut his calling down, but what do I get? I get two messages on the same day.

Tom says that due to his being given such unpredictable hours at work, he’s gonna look for a new job within the bank. He said that now that his ma’s moving into Mary’s, he won’t have to worry about what hours he works. I’ve always wondered if his ma was a factor in our sex lives. If he can choose to get his job based on his mother, he can choose a sex life based on her, too. I wonder, though, if another reason he’s been afraid of a child is cuz of the time it’d take away from taking care of her, although he says he could take care of both. He feels obligated to take care of her cuz of all the years she’s taken care of him. I would feel the same way if I had had a mother like that, but sometimes I think he lives his life a little bit too much for her. I doubt, though, that her moving into Mary’s would change the sex. The sex is the sex, Tom is Tom, and Tom doesn’t want a child. If only he knew I was sterile, but he just doesn’t believe it. If he could know it, though, and not be afraid to accept it, he could relax more. He could at least have sex without worrying about his fears coming true.

That very subtle, yet obvious feeling has come on saying that my period is just a few days away. About 2-4 days away. So, whether or not pre-cum really can impregnate a woman well enough, I’m still sterile. I just know it. Every core of my woman’s intuition, my vibes, my feelings, my gut instinct, my 6th sense, my logic, belief, etc., tells me that. There is no doubt about it. I just don’t know if it’s cuz of bad eggs or cuz of the uterus, but I know it’s nothing as simple as clogged fallopian tubes.

This is a serious long shot, but I wonder if it’s at all possible that the dog not being there has any connection to the letter to the city? But then why’s he still in the picture? Maybe they came out in person to see her at a time when he wasn’t there and she claimed that he just visits. Meanwhile, they saw the dog and told her to get rid of it. Like I said, I doubt this, though, cuz then I’d surely hear about it. She’d be over here screaming or seeking revenge on me by dragging me into court. I still say that they didn’t like my yelling at them so early in the morning any more than I appreciated the music at any hour, but more so in the early morning, and so they got or borrowed the dog for my sake, then ditched it.

Later...

No naughty freeloader yet. I got up at 7 PM and saw the car out front and knew he wasn’t in for the night. I then went out to feed Bunny and the kittens and to chase off Mama Bitch and could smell food from over there and hear a voice, too. It was I female voice I’d heard before, but again, although a black voice is a loud voice, I couldn’t make out what was said. It wasn’t the bitch, though, and the person talking wasn’t so mad as she always is. But why would they open their windows on a chilly evening of 50-something degrees?

Then at 8 PM, he left quietly. Very quietly. In fact, the only way I knew he left was cuz of the motor starting, which I wouldn’t have heard if I weren’t in the living room with no fans or TV on. I didn’t even hear a car door. I guess they go to bed early cuz the lights were out at 9 PM. Well, they do leave early. At just after 9:00 I heard one car door parallel to the back room where I am now that wasn’t very loud at all, so I knew he pulled into the carport for the night, then wondered - maybe the door slamming is the bitch’s doing. Whenever the slamming goes on, it’s when there’s more than one asshole coming/going.

Anyway, as much as I can’t stand them and wish they’d get the fuck out of here, they’ve been behaving well enough not to deserve a bottle toss unless I gave them one for all the times they didn’t behave (but that’d take 1000 bottles and more). Another thing I wonder, though, is if a bottle would prompt them to get another dog for protective reasons.

Yesterday was the first day I went without any wine since I began having wine coolers every day.

Thursday, January 22, 1998

 

I have quite a bit to write about. Most of it’s not too bad, but first, let me get Andy’s same old shit bitched about and over with.

I don’t know who’s worse of a rebellious opposite-doer. Him or Tom. Everything I tell him goes in one ear and out the other. He still knocks, rather than uses the doorbell when he comes over. I’ve told him a million times to ring the doorbell, but Andy’s gotta do what he wants to do. Same thing with the calls, of course.

He leaves me a message which could’ve waited a few days since we just left messages, and he says, “OK, I got something to say. I told Laura, I told Michelle and now I’m telling you, so please don’t be mad at me, but I got a date with Quinn tonight. He’s been really respectful to me lately, I still have feelings for him, and if I get hurt, I’ll get exactly what I deserve.”

So, then I leave him a message telling him that although I disagree with it, it’s his life, so why should I be mad at him? What I didn’t tell him, though, was that he was acting like a naïve teenager. It’s just a matter of time before the true Quinn returns and he will get hurt again by this sick fuck. I also implied that he’s selfish and can’t compromise by saying that he couldn’t have gotten the letter I sent, or else he wouldn’t call me again so soon. And yet again, I went through the 3 or so reasons why I only want messages every few days and a live chat once a week or so, etc.

Then he calls right back saying he’s sorry he’s so forgetful (which I doubt in this case) and tells me that he loved the letter, it was very dear to him and well written, it was the first real letter I’d written him in 15 years. Then he teased me about a spelling error I made since my spelling had gotten so good (I must not have used the computer’s spell checker). Anyway, I’m glad he loved the letter, but then what does he say in his next breath? He says, “Talk to you later!” and I’m like, no you won’t! You’ll talk to me in a few days. So, unless he sounds like he really needs to chat, I’m not gonna respond regularly to his messages. Maybe that’s the only way I’ll be able to get my point to sink in. I hope he doesn’t take it personally, it’s not that I don’t care, but he’s always there. He and his calls just won’t go away. He just doesn’t ease up on me. Maybe I should also not let him know how much it bugs me, cuz of how he is. He may not be as selfish as he used to be, but generally speaking, the more you tell him he’s doing something that bugs you, the more he’ll do it.

Now, onto a very nice talk Tom and I had. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter what he thought or did, cuz I’m sterile and unfixable. I reminded myself that back when his parents were having kids, there was no birth control, they screwed as normally and as regularly as any couple could, yet it took Mom two years to conceive David after Ray was born, then 5 years to conceive Mary, then two to conceive Tom, then 5 to conceive Steven. And it took my folks 12 years to catch me after having Larry and Tammy. Then I tried to remind myself that I swore I’d never get married and how I just couldn’t “see” that as ever happening, etc. However, the bottom line’s the same no matter what anyone else’s experiences have been, and that’s that I’m sterile, and I am bothered by Tom’s not believing/accepting this.

Earlier, he could tell something was up and I finally came out and told him my period’s beginning and that he could go right on with his denial, though. But then to my shock, he said that it was very sad I got my period, he just wanted to give me that one-in-a-million chance to be wrong, but he does believe me. He says he doesn’t believe I’m sterile to the degree that I believe I am, but that he understands that it’s more than likely the case. I was glad to hear him say this as it makes me feel like he’s more on my side and like I’m less alone with this shit. I just hope he means it and isn’t just saying so to please me. He seems sincere enough. I told him I understood the natural urge to deny and not accept something. I used to be a very stubborn and arrogant person in that respect, and he admitted he was stubborn about it.

Then he told me we couldn’t do anything for a few weeks cuz of his mom, but maybe we can do something before his mother dies and before we move, and I’ll now explain all this.

His mother’s doing awful. Blood consists of 3 things: white blood cells, red blood cells, and platelets. Well, platelets are what keep you from bleeding to death if you cut yourself and her platelets are virtually non-existent. We don’t know for sure if they can stabilize her condition, or if she’ll deteriorate, but we both feel she’ll live to around the turn of the century. Nonetheless, the next month or so is gonna be busy with her appointments and her moving into Mary’s.

As I told Tom, I think it’ll be better for everyone when mom’s with Mary, but I feel so helpless. I think we all do. This isn’t something that can be fixed. I also told him that if he felt it best to put off the testing till after she’s gone and after we’ve moved, that’s OK, cuz even though I wanted a kid yesterday, I’d still be young enough to have a child, but I still can’t ever “see” us with a child. Not in one year, or 5 years, or 10 years. I may have had very few dreams of this magnitude, but if God’s never let me have other dreams that were of this magnitude in the past, why should he start now? They may be able to answer my question of what’s wrong with me, but what’s really frustrating is that I may never know why. Did God do it punish me? Did he do it to protect me? Was it both? How could God do this to a woman? If God’s as loving as people claim, then is this the devil’s work? Anyway, I think the problem lies within my uterus and it’s cuz of the DES, but maybe we’ll find out it’s cuz of bad eggs, compliments of all the years people doped me up so they could control me into being what they wanted me to be.

I have so many theories and things I wonder, like, is this a test? If so, this is a hell of a test! Could God maybe intend to let us have a child after all, but not without a fight? Could he really want me to work for it and pay for it? His standards for me are higher than most others, after all. I wasn’t kidding when I said that the more normal and common something is, the harder I have to work for it. But love is supposed to be a normal thing and I didn’t have to work for that. I didn’t have to work for or pay to meet Tom. We just met. Although, most people aren’t loved. Not as loved as I am. Despite the things I’ve been suspicious of him for, whether I was right or not, no man’s as good and as loving as he is. I’m very blessed. Tom’s one in a million. So maybe I didn’t have to work or pay for him so much, in a sense, cuz he is so uncommon. I had thanked him for loving me even though I’m an abnormal, different, defective freak, and he said the same thing back, but believe me, he’s not even close. The only things that I’d say were different about him are his infrequent cumming and those screwy sandwiches he used to make with bologna, margarine, peanut butter and jelly.

I’m just so torn between wanting to fight for my dream and knowing I can’t fight God and win. I mean, I never have been able to in the past with something that meant this much to me. I guess it would, however, be best to seek as much closure to this issue as I can, and just let them test us and tell us to our faces just what the scoop is and if it’s hopeless or not, no matter what I think, feel or believe. I just don’t know if we’ll begin the process in a month or so, or in a few years. If it must be a few years, so be it then. I’d rather it not be, but if I’ve gone this long, it won’t kill me to go longer, even if this issue does play on my emotions on and off. I think our love is strong enough to go through with this together. I think we can both talk to these people and tell them the whole scoop, even if it’s something we’d rather not do. We’d rather have the normal sex and make the kid the natural way, but God’s just not gonna budge or make it easy for us if he makes it even possible at all.

At least I’ll always have Tom and will always love him no matter if we see a doctor or not or have a kid or not. It’s not that my life is bad but just incomplete, and it still breaks my heart to see the kids go to so many women who’ll just abort them or beat them to death.

Later...

God, that pest just does not give up!!! Andy said he had a great time with Quinn and now he can move on to the next relationship, he’s so different off drugs, he’ll tell me all about it in person, but by then he’ll have a million other things to tell me. Oh, I’m sure he will. And like this couldn’t wait? Geez! How can he have so much to tell me? All he does is work and gab on phones.

Friday, January 23, 1998

 

Heard a car door at 10:00 last night, but there have been no problems that I know of yet. By this summer, I wouldn’t be surprised if they had another dog.

I knew, upon going into this marriage, that our lives would revolve around his parents until they were both gone. It’ll be a while yet before we can decide what we want to do, if we want to do anything at all, about my little problem here, cuz we have to wait and see what’s gonna be going on with his ma. In the next few weeks, she’ll have a lot of appointments and testing. I don’t know if something wants us to wait till after she’s gone to deal with this, or what. I have mixed emotions about the whole thing. Like I said, I can understand taking care of such a sweet and generous lady (she offered to buy us a new heat/AC unit), but I feel like we’ve never been able to fully live our lives for ourselves and do what we want to do. I suppose I’ll always feel that way, though, no matter what. Nonetheless, she’s only got a few years left, but I’ve got 15-20 reasonable childbearing years left, not that that’s ever to be meant to be, as I said, but do I want to at least get tested? I just don’t know. It’s just so unfair. Haven’t I had enough problems without having to deal with this, too? People aren’t supposed to pay for nature. How can God do that to a woman? He’s made me such a defective, abnormal freak and I’m not gonna give in to any of it. If I let this work me to death, play on my emotions, etc., That’ll be giving him the reaction he wants. People are dead wrong when they say God doesn’t inflict pain. First I was hauled to Boston 100 times to work for a so-called normal ear, and in the midst of all this shit, I had to work for a so-called normal life, then I went through the shit with the asthma, getting the so-called ear canal that God was supposed to have given me for nothing, and now I’m supposed to go work for a normal reproductive system? I don’t know. I’ve had enough medically that I don’t know whether or not to undergo testing, do what Tom thinks is best, or just forget about it. If I begin this process, you’re talking about a 1-2-year ordeal with 20-40 appointments. I just don’t know if I want to put myself through a series of hell again for the 4th time. I consider the first time my trips to Boston, the second the asthma, the third the ear shit here, and it’d be series #4 if I went through fertility testing, etc. No one can make it so that I can have a child. So, knowing that that’s the bottom line, I don’t know if I should even exhaust and humiliate myself for no reason, while God gets a good laugh out of it. And what really happened with the two-week spotting I did in the summer of ‘96? Was that really a miscarriage? Questions and more questions! But never any answers and certainly never any solutions!

I guess God loves some of my mice more than me, cuz at least 5 of them are being allowed to be pregnant. Ziggy’s definitely pregnant and it looks like a few of the babies are, too. Patch, Bandit, and Cocoa look pregnant. I’m psyched to see more litters arrive, but what are we gonna do here? Get the males segregated as soon as they’re born? Or ditch some of the duller-looking ones and keep the population where it’s at? We just don’t know yet. I knew that dumb male that told me mice don’t become sexually active for 6 months had to be full of shit and I should’ve gone by what my gut told me, but it’s a little too late for that. Tom will do some research on AOL since he seems to be better at that than I am, and then we’ll decide. It’s my fault for not trusting my gut instinct and the vibe that said “liar” when the guy tried to BS me with the 6-month thing. Also, I should’ve realized the logical side of that at the time. Of course, pet store people are gonna tell you animals have babies later than they really do. That way they can hope that you’ll bring in the offspring so they can get free animals to sell and profit even more.

Ziggy’s gonna have her babies any time now (I wonder if she’ll have more than two this time?), so I tossed in computer tracking paper strips to use as nesting material. They love this stuff and it’s such a fun toy for them. They not only use it to nestle in, but they chew it and they love to run through and dive into piles of it. It was so cute watching Patch haul some strips up out of the aquarium and into the cage next to that one.

And again my vibes prove to be correct - no losing weight for me for sure, like I had said. It is not meant to be, and something up there really does want me heavy and I will keep gaining. I email Tom every so often for the hell of it and I told him I know he cares how I look (he said only sex is a mental thing for him) and that if he ever decides he doesn’t like how I look, I’ll see what I can do, but there are no guarantees that I could lose weight. That’s something some of us can’t fight/change. Anyway, it’s just a body. I can love him just the same, and I’m sure he will, too.

Saturday, January 24, 1998

 

According to Tom’s research, that guy really was way out of whack when he said mice don’t fuck for 5 months. More like 5 weeks, is the case, and they breed continuously like GPs do. So, every female is pregnant, unless God struck any of these ladies as sterile as he struck me. So I separated the sexes and I’ll have Tom double-check with me and make sure that I didn’t make any gender guessing mistakes. I’ll want to get rid of these males ASAP. Then, as soon as the litters are 2-3 weeks and done nursing and we can tell their sexes well enough, we’ll segregate them and off the males to the pet store when they’re old enough.

The good news is that this is more mice for me, now that I don’t have to worry about having a lot of mice that’ll smell, since the males will be out of the picture. According to what Tom read, only the males stink. This makes sense. Male BO is a hell of a lot more severe than female BO. A female would have to go several days without showering before she’d really stink unless she ran a marathon. A male could shower up, then sit down to read for a few hours, and then be stinking.

Later...

Well, it looks like I’m either gonna have to set Andy straight in a threatening kind of way, or just deal with his constant calls. He didn’t leave a message, but he tried calling twice yesterday and once just now. He said he met Randy who’s gross and he’ll tell me about it in person and he’s sorry he’s calling. Well, if he’s sorry he’s calling, then why’d he call? Why’s he such a selfish, pushy, opposite-doer? Why won’t he just give me a break? He has other friends.

Sunday, January 25, 1998

 

I sure do have a lot of mouse updating to do but let me first get other things out of the way.

Still playing phone tag with Paula, who left a message saying she got my letter and knew we keep missing each other, but to try to get a hold of her. I’ll try in the morning, but if I call and get her on a Sunday, that means the kid’s gonna be there, unless this one’s been taken, too.

Got a letter from Bob, who really likes the different stationery that the new program we got can do. He wants more pictures of Kim and I.

No wonder Tom’s saying we can move in two years. He told me this before too, and it has to do with the fact that in two years is when we think his mother will die. With our share of the money she leaves, I guess we could move, but we’d rather she live. We’d rather she live and be healthy, but as sad as it is, that can never be again.

Tom told me about a wild dream Mary had. In the dream, Ma was told she had 4 months left to live and Mary asked her what she wanted to do with the time that was left. Ma said she wanted to go to Michigan to be with her sister. Then she also said, “Dad said he wants to go too, but I told him he can’t since he’s dead.” And Mary agreed he couldn’t go cuz he was dead. Then Ma said, “But he really wants to go bad. He says he’ll stay on the floor. But I told him no, he can’t, cuz he’s dead.” Then Mary said there were these “dead” mannequins that kept falling down all around her cuz they were trying to dance.

Pretty weird, huh? Tom says not to read anything into it. Oh, I won’t. I still strongly predict she’ll live to be 77.

Now for the mice news. First off, I may have miscounted. There may be 15 mice and not 16, but anyway, after all the calculations I’ve done, we should have about 30 lady mice if things go as we plan them. It’s a good thing we sexed/segregated them yesterday when we did, cuz right after we did, Ziggy and Cocoa had their babies. Between the both of them, there are about a dozen pinkies, as they’re also called, which is very appropriate since they’re just these little pink blobs. Males are also called bucks and females are also called does. So my mom, whose nickname is Doe, is nicknamed after mice. She’d be thrilled to know that. The soft, high-pitched squeaking sounds of the babies are so cute. We learned so much and I’ve really become quite the mouse expert, as well as the GP expert, etc. With what we now know, we can say that the original Gizzy that I trapped was definitely a male by how he acted.

More good news for me, and that’s that Tanner and Patch, my favorites of all the first sets of babies, are both females. Anyway, we’ve got 7 ready to go to Petco tomorrow and 8 ladies all by themselves, who can tend to the babies, and enjoy being free from being jumped all the time. It goes to show just how dishonest this store really is too, when their signs tried to claim they live for 5 years. Mice don’t live longer than GPs. More like 18 months, is the case with mice.

Boy, the guys are really depressed, I guess, what with not being able to screw like hell, cuz all they’ve been doing is sleeping. A part of me feels bad for these guys. They can resume their sex lives at the pet store if there are ladies in stock, but they’re not gonna have all this stuff. They’re not gonna have all these cages and tubes and wheels. Not unless someone like me or Mary gets them that’s really into all that stuff. They’re just gonna be thrown into a plain old little 5-10-gallon tank with nothing but water and food. There’ll be no tubes or wheels, which is unfortunate. They should at least be given a wheel. Then, they’ll have to deal with all the people and all the noise, and who knows if they’ll become snake food? Typically, that’s what they breed those ugly little white mice for, but you never can know what their fate will be. All they’ve known is where they are now, so hopefully they’ll go to someone who’ll love them and give them a good home.

Wow! Almost 24 hours have gone by without a call from Andy.

Monday, January 26, 1998

 

I’m really in a shitty mood right now. It figures, huh? First, something’s going on even more fucked up and abnormal with my plumbing, I want to get the fuck out of this animalistic city, and my husband’s still too busy doing for others first, putting off our lives, and not seemingly interested in me one bit. I may have had an all-time low appetite, but just the thought of knowing that my husband doesn’t seem to want me in bed kind of stings a little.

Since the 21st I had a few measly little spots. Then last evening at 8:00, I had such cramps that I thought I finally had a full flow when all I had were a few good-sized spots (enough to prove my point about being sterile yet again, though). I still haven’t had a full flow, either, but maybe I will by the next time I get up. These are more than just little spots now and are bright red but are mostly stuff I’m wiping off and that’s not big enough in volume to hit my panty-liner.

Anyway, Tom was supposed to bring the males to the pet store and change the big guy’s cage, but what did he get tied up doing instead? Working on Mary’s car again. Can’t she see that he’s got to have a life too, and can’t she take care of her own damn car? Is this gonna be a regular thing here? Is she gonna have him work on her car every few weeks? What’s she gonna do when we move? I’m sure she’ll still call him for help and that’d be worse, cuz then he’d have longer to drive to get there, so that’d be more time doing stuff that we’d lose. If Dave and other family members were as smart as Tom, that’d be different, but instead, they have to come first. First off, I don’t think I’ll ever have the guts to go to a doctor just to be told they can’t help me have a child, but if I wanted to, I know I’m gonna have to wait till after Ma’s gone. It’s like she comes first, then I can maybe get on with my life. And I don’t care if this sounds selfish, cuz I have things I want and need to do, too. I’ve had it with this parent-care trip. In a sense, we had a boy and a girl. First we take care of daddy and now it’s mommy. Like I said, I’m sick of living for his parents and for his sister’s car. I have to put off what matters to me and let them be the #1 priority, like it or not.

I’m gonna go do some picture scanning for Bob. I got 9 of just me and one with Kim and I from when I moved into the Habitat building in S. Deerfield.

Later...

I called Andy and let him know that my schedule won’t be on nights when he comes to get the rent money, so it’s OK for him to go ahead and tell me about the convention/Quinn on the phone, which I’m sure will take 2-3 hours. I’ll just keep my hands tied up and maybe bang away at the computer. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be very happy to leave me 4 messages about it.

I just got slammed and ran up front so I could hear better as to how he left but didn’t see him. So the freeloader either just came out for a slam or he flew out of that driveway.

Speaking of freeloaders, I hear he was a very bad boy yesterday. Well, 3 of his low-life, rude, selfish pals were. Yeah, he and his fellow freeloading buddies are one and the same. I’m sure that if he asked them not to come banging in, they wouldn’t any more than he wouldn’t if he were asked not to. Very fortunately for them, I slept fine, or else we’d have a pack of dead freeloaders here for sure. You start fucking with my sleep, you die. Anyway, I got up at 8:30 for an hour, then went back to sleep till 10:00. Meanwhile, Tom left a message just before 4:00 saying he should’ve known better but it’s Super Bowl Sunday, so there are cars parked in the driveway and hopefully no one will play ball. 3 cars came in next door, all playing music. He said it wasn’t too loud, but annoying enough. Then he left another message at 7:30 before heading out for work, saying the game was over and he expected some shouting. Oh yeah, I’m sure they really carried on like assholes. Not like they would’ve if it was hot out, though. And of course, everyone had to go to the freeloader’s house. The freeloaders couldn’t go to their houses. I can’t believe they don’t do Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve at their house. They do everything else there.

So, I only got up to take an Ibuprofen and listen to his message, but then I went back into bed. However, I was instantly aware of a slight, but sure bass beat, which wouldn’t have woken me up, but that I knew would keep me from going back to sleep. That did it. That’s when I told myself, “Look. You can’t kill the people who made these stereos and that has prevented this from being the otherwise quiet residential neighborhood that it should be, but you can set these freeloaders straight for once and for all and let them know how it’s gonna be from now on. Let them know you will not tolerate being a part of their lives, parties, or music anymore and that they cannot and will not trespass and invade this house with their music. Even if you do have to beat them into submission to get the peace that’s your right, you were here first and if they don’t like it, then they’re just gonna have to leave. Somebody’s gotta teach these freeloaders that you can’t expect to not know someone exists, while they know you do. You just can’t do that.”

So, I get dressed and go out there and all that’s there is one maroon car in the driveway that I’ve seen before, then I see Daddy’s car parked out on the road. It wasn’t even them. It was some asshole visiting the other assholes across the street. So now they’re no longer the respectful people they seemed to have been and now I got two houses full of shit to deal with. And all the while this guy’s sitting in the car with it blaring, Dan, I think his name is, is just standing there with someone else gabbing away. I don’t know how the hell they could carry on a conversation, but nonetheless, I asked them to turn it down and they did, but here’s my question - how often is this boy gonna come around? It’s obvious now that this Dan boy does still live there and I don’t know if he’s a high school or college kid, but am I gonna be back to old times with these assholes again, too? What if they decide to form a band again? They may respect me enough to keep their practice volume down, cuz they’re not 100% rude and selfish like the freeloaders are, but then I’d have to listen to several cars bang in and out once a week or so.

Fuck this shit and this fucking animalistic city! But like Tom said, though, just one or two more Super Bowls and yeah, maybe he’s right about there being just two more years that we have to stay here. I just wish Mom and Mary’s car didn’t have to come first, but they do. And if God really wants us to continue being #2 and to continue having things set us back from getting things done and from living our lives, he will. I have a feeling that we could suddenly be the only two people left in this world, but still, somehow and some way, he’d find shit for Tom to do to take our time away from us so things could keep on being delayed, etc.

So, what’s the bad boy’s punishment gonna be for his bad little visitors letting their arrival be known? Well, since it wasn’t Mr. Fuck himself that banged in (I saw him leave without music yesterday before his boy pals came), I’ll spare them a bottle, but that’s only for now. As soon as he bangs in and I hear it or am told about it, that’s when they’ll get the bottle and so much more. Meanwhile, I went out at about 3:30 AM and banged right back by dropping the steel rod on the concrete patio that was supposed to be for the security door to latch into. I just hope to hell that God let them hear it and that he didn’t interfere, and one of the wonderful things about this is that they’d never in a million years give me the satisfaction of complaining about noise from me and letting me know that I did something that disturbs them. Shooting a dog is one thing, but they’d never call the cops on me for bothering them with noise. Not even if they were sure it was me making noise and that it was in the middle of the night. Someone else could, but I’d just deny knowing anything about it. Like I said, though, hopefully they’ll hear it and put two and two together and realize that music means noise late at night from over here, but I still doubt they heard it. And if they did, they wouldn’t have the mentality to make the connection even if they could physically see me making noise. I’m not worried about my making noise becoming too obvious, but if I throw a bottle, I’ll have to do whatever I can to make it look like some passing bum staggered over there drunk and dropped the bottle, cuz that’s physical evidence and more of a crime than disturbing the peace is.

Later...

Well, my period can’t seem to make up its mind. It seems like it’s struggling with either going into a full flow or stopping. If it stops, then that’d be the strangest period I’ve had in years what with the 3-day spotting trip I went on before it became a cross between heavy spotting and a light period. If I have a flow where I need a few big pads which is usually the case, then that’d make it more normal, except for the 3-day spot deal. Still, it’s enough to prove my point. I am sterile unless pre-cum really does impregnate a woman very rarely. So if a woman’s chances of getting pregnant by pre-cum are lower but still OK enough, then I’m as sterile as a doorknob.

Later...

Apparently, we did a good job of sexing the mice, cuz I haven’t seen any screwing going on. They don’t know it, but the guys will be on their journey to the pet store later today. Again, I wonder what their fate will be. It kind of reminds me of when I was off to Brattleboro, or Valleyhead, or wherever. Will they ever have a wheel again and have all this space? Will they ever climb tubes again? Will they be happy? Or will they wish they could return here? Animals adapt better than humans in cases like this, I’d think, so hopefully they’ll be OK if they stay out of some snake’s gut.

Tom says Mary’s car is all fixed but trust me - she’ll need something done again within a month. And of course, Tom’s gotta be the one to move Mom into Mary’s, while the rest of the family just sits on their asses. See this is one of God’s many ways that makes absolutely no fucking sense to me whatsoever. Why not take Ma, who’s done her time here, who’s lived her destiny and life, has nothing more to offer this world, and reunite her with Dad? As much as we’ll miss her, I’m sure she’d be much happier with dad. Then, as God would know, we’d be in the position to move, and God also knows that we want to move, then why won’t he let us have a kid? Why can’t I live for a child of my own? Why must I always live for someone outside of Tom and I as a couple? We’ve got the wrong life here that’s going. He should take her life and give us a life. That life, being the child that we’ve wanted for so long now. We haven’t lived our lives for us much at all (I hope to hell there’s more to my calling in life than what’s been destined for me so far), but Ma has. Her life is over, so why not let us have lives of our own with our own family? We’re in our 30s and 40s and not 70s. Well, I know I can never have a child, but two years do go by faster when you’re an adult and she’ll be gone and then we’ll move. People will still need Tom, I’ll still be sterile, but we’ll leave this congested city and there’ll be no Mormons or freeloaders a few feet away.

Tuesday, January 27, 1998

 

Ah, so we freeloaders are leaving for work now, instead of 7:00, huh? After they slammed me twice, I ran up front and saw it leave. It still isn’t coming in for lunch these days that I know of, but it just may have some glass to clean up when it comes in at the end of the day. I assume that the house is empty from now till around 4:00, but it’s OK if there’s someone in there. I can still go to the side of the house and hurl a bottle over the block wall and into their carport. So whether or not someone’s there, it’ll look like a drunk and or drunken potential burglar was stalking around. Whereas if something was thrown over in the middle of the night, it’d look more obvious that it’s me behind it and they can suspect me, but I don’t want them to know it’s me till after we’re gone, so they can’t fuck with our house. I don’t stand by all our windows 24/7, so if someone were to approach the house with bad intentions, I wouldn’t necessarily know it in time to stop them. Anyway, I’m not gonna hurl the bottle till around 10:00. No, I haven’t heard his music yet, but I know I will, so I may as well get this over with. I’ve been wanting to start carrying out some of my harassment/terror plans anyway, and I’m just so angry. I hate these motherfuckers, and it’s either this or my beating them up and Tom doesn’t want me to. A part of me is hoping that the bitch comes over to ask if I did it and maybe even threaten me too, so I can beat her ass and his too. Meaning that maybe they’ll give me a reason, and someone screaming in my face at my door seems reason enough. But this bottle and other things are well overdue. These people have thumbed their noses at me long enough. I mean, who the fuck do they think they are to come into this neighborhood like they own it and to harass me with their noise like they have? His music’s gonna come back and so is a dog. It may not be the same dog, but they’ll get one. Trust me.

I am absolutely blown away by the fact that Andy hasn’t called since I left him that message yesterday. This has to mean that something’s going on, but I’m sure he’ll call today. If he doesn’t, then something’s really wrong over there.

Tom brought the guys to the store yesterday and they lucked out. The store had no room for them cuz someone had just brought in tons of mice, but this employee who’s a mouse breeder took them. She says she’ll take them at any age. She breeds and trades mice with other breeders. It’s nice to know my mice will go with this woman to her home, rather than to wonder what became of them. In a few weeks, we’ll bring in the babies. She’s using my cage to transport the mice home, which she says we can pick up on Friday. I guess that’s when she’ll be working again, but I hope she doesn’t intend to keep the cage. You know me - can’t trust anyone. Tom says he doubts she’d want to get fired over a $12 cage. People are weird. You never know.

I changed the mice’s cages earlier since cedar is supposed to be bad for them. There are 16 babies currently.

A few days ago I had asked Tom if he’d want to do a simple arrangement to me singing a few songs, so I could maybe send tapes (if I wasn’t that disgusted with what I heard) to my folks, Tammy and Larry. He said he’d love to and was really gung-ho about it and to please pick out sheet music for a couple of songs (he reads better than I do and I play better by ear). I had forgotten all about it for a few days, but he reminded me in the message he left me before work, to pick out some songs for him to work on so we could do some stuff this weekend. He said he’s anxious about it and boy does he sound it! He’s way more anxious about that than the idea of seeing if a doctor could fix me. I mean, he could never be as anxious about the idea of us being able to have a child, as he could be about anything, meanwhile, he continues to put off, make excuses, and swear he does want a child, he isn’t afraid to go to a doctor, etc. He said the same old shit about getting a physical soon and hoping I will, too. I think that if he does get a physical, it’ll only be to encourage me to get one too, since it’s been a while for me. He says it’s best that we deal with my situation, though, cuz if we don’t, it’ll follow us wherever we go. True, but still, his actions and words don’t match, and we’ve got a double whammy on us here. We both have a problem. I’m sterile, and he won’t cum but once every 2-4 months. The first thing they’re gonna do is try to find out why he won’t cum much and get him to cum more. Then, I’ll have to go through all the shit of what’s wrong with me and what can/can’t be done, etc., and it’s a no-win situation here for sure. Nothing anyone can do can fix things so I can have a child. God’s just blocked every single avenue on me and has made it thoroughly impossible. I’d have a better chance at becoming president or an Olympic gymnast than I’d have of ever getting pregnant. God must really hate me and think I’m a hell of a wimp who can’t handle shit.

Later...

I threw the bottle at about 9:30 and my assumption was correct - there’s no one home, cuz I didn’t hear anyone come out to check around and there was no cruiser called over there. If he doesn’t come in for lunch, my guess is that it’ll be the bitch to discover the broken glass first (in the middle of the carport). I heard voices out back a little while ago, but that could’ve come from two yards down where they do daycare where the guard dogs are. Now all I have to do is hope that this doesn’t scare them into getting a dog, but like I said, they’ll get another one sooner or later. I also have to hope that they don’t automatically assume it’s me and fuck with this house or “have me served” as the bitch said she’d do if I shot her dog. I think it’s much more likely that she’ll come over here asking questions about it, but I won’t answer the door, so please God, don’t have Tom be awake if and when she comes to the door. Just like with the letter, I’d rather he not know about this now, cuz you know how paranoid he is and how anti-trouble he is. I also hope they weren’t on the brink of a breakup cuz this could end up keeping them together for a while longer, although they’ve been together an unusually long time, so they may not break up for 10 years.

Later...

Now this is a beautiful day we’re having. Larry and Tammy would be jealous for sure. It’s to be in the mid-70s today. In general, though, this is the coldest winter I’ve been here for. Even Tom agrees that it’s been a very cold winter. So, so far, that makes the winter of ‘97-‘98 the coldest for me and the summer of ‘92 the hottest.

We planted 6 cactuses that Ma gave us. Tom put chicken wire around them to keep Bunny from destroying them. I just don’t know how the hell that rabbit can chew up cactuses without the needles stabbing the hell out of him. I never would’ve dreamed that this rabbit could chew up cactuses.

I still haven’t heard from Andy! I can’t believe it. This is just totally amazing. If I don’t hear from him by tomorrow afternoon, I just may start to worry.

OK, gonna sign off for now and hopefully there’ll be no knocks at the door within the next few hours. They asked for trouble from me a long time ago. They got it now, though they should’ve had it much sooner than this.

Wednesday, January 28, 1998

 

It seems I can’t get caught up with the writing these days! Anyway, I’m making spag, but I thought I’d update while it was cooking and while I had a plateful.

They haven’t come to the door as of yet about the bottle, but God’s begun his payback for me. I actually woke up at 11:30 last night wheezing. No, it wasn’t anything like old times and how I’d wheeze when I smoked, and one shot cleared it instantly, then I went back to bed.

Tom says it was cuz the weather’s been warmer and that traps in the pollution and that’s another reason we have to move. Speaking of that, he says things are looking even better for that, although it won’t be this year, cuz interest rates have dropped even lower.

Then two hours after falling back asleep, I awoke with those oh-so-familiar hunger pains, so I got up, grabbed a piece of bread and a few swallows of water, then crashed till I got up at 5:30. I got up and was so hungry that I had a small TV dinner right away. I never used to do that. For as far as I can remember, I didn’t eat the first few hours I’d be up. Now I wake up so hungry that I’ve got to have something. And even then, I may still be hungry. But like I said, I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that there’s nothing I can do about it. My weight’s gonna keep climbing a few pounds a week till it decides to stop, and God only knows when it’ll decide that. I may have gotten my way as far as being able to not pick up a cigarette, light it, and smoke it, but God owns my body for the most part. Always has, always will, so it’s his to do as he sees fit.

Andy finally called and asked to come over this Saturday to take a half-hour out to tell me what’s been going on with him. I told him that’d be OK, but is he gonna pester me in person now that he can’t get me by phone as much? A part of it is Laura. He wouldn’t be coming over in the first place if it wasn’t to get her money, but can’t he ever associate with someone he can trust? Even he says he has to “hide” things from her. How can he live like that? If I felt I had to hide my stuff from whoever I was living with, I’d have a real problem. And he’s talking about lowering himself to going out with Quinn again, too. He also says God’s answered all his prayers for this year so far. Well, I’m glad God answers all of some people’s prayers.

Later...

I can’t believe that Patch still hasn’t had her babies yet. Patch and Spot may be the only two left with babies, then we’ll have to segregate in a few weeks. I find it really unfair, though, that while we’ve been trying unsuccessfully for years to have a child of our own, these mice are having babies left and right. I sit here and just dream of a child and meanwhile, we’ve got to scurry like hell to keep more and more litters from coming. God, that’s insulting! That is just so incredibly insulting to know that God can find mice more deserving and more capable of having kids than I am.

Thursday, January 29, 1998

 

Got up at 7:30, fed the animals, had my coffee, took my shower, had my daily sneezing fit, tied my hair in a knot at the nape of my neck (a knot on top of my head’s too heavy when it’s wet), and now I’m ready to update.

This is going to come as a sudden shock, but Spunky’s dead. I’ve never seen anything like it. He just practically up and died. I don’t know if God’s compensating me by taking his life so soon cuz of how long Piggy lived, or what, but we think he may have had a tumor. It could’ve burst and poisoned him, and one side of his tummy seemed pretty distended, but we just don’t know for sure. His duties never looked right and he did get awfully big real fast, so given this, and the way he was so unusually timid and starving when we got him, tells us that maybe something was wrong with him from the get-go. Tom buried him out back.

In other animal news, Patch had her babies, but it’s hard to tell how many with 3-4 litters all piled together. The oldest are just starting to sprout their fur and are becoming more mobile. A couple of Patch’s babies were stillborn and she was bleeding from her crotch. I had been worried about her, but she’s fine and much smaller now. She had been fat! Spot’s next to deliver and now it looks like Bandit may have kids, too. The only one that may not be pregnant, for reasons I just don’t know, is Tanner. It’s too bad that if one escaped pregnancy it was Tanner, cuz she’s the only tan-colored one. If she had had a litter, there may have been a wider variety of colors.

And now I’m 127. I knew I’d gain weight when I quit smoking but does this no longer have anything to do with that? How is it that I’m gaining 2 pounds a week now? What’s going on? Well, all I can do is wonder, but I have to just accept it. There’s nothing I can do about it. Even the bra my ma brought out that was slightly big on me fits perfectly now. Where are these tits coming from? It’s like they’re not even mine.

Tom brought some really neat hand cleaner back from Ma’s yesterday. Bobby had brought it over from the mall. He’s the one who works at a bookstore and brings Mom boxes of books that don’t sell. This gel kills germs in 30 seconds without water and smells really nice.

Tom said the only thing that really bugs him about Ma staying at Mary’s is cuz they’re slobs. Filthy slobs, not just cluttered, unorganized slobs. Their bathrooms and kitchen are caked with dirt.

Today I go get my teeth cleaned at 1 PM

Later...

Tom just got in from work and we were checking out the babies. There must be 20 of them! He’s got a point when he says that it may be a good thing Tanner isn’t having babies, or else I could end up with those ugly white mice. As each litter gets old enough to be separated from its mom, we’ll take the males out and put them in their own cage till the youngest males are old enough to go, too, then we’ll take them to the pet store.

Tom says he didn’t hear anything, but I could’ve sworn I heard freeloader music at around 1 PM, then we both thought we heard car doors a couple of hours earlier, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he were coming in for lunch again, but I don’t know. This was yesterday that I thought that it was a freeloader I heard, but today I won’t be here at lunchtime to know if he acts up.

Tom said that the reason he was gung-ho about doing some songs with me, is cuz this is something that’s fun and that we can control. We can’t just go to the doctor for a magic pregnancy pill, though, that’ll give us an instant child.

I went off on Tom a few days ago and I feel bad about it. He says he understands, but whether or not I’ve had him figured all wrong, I’m sorry for yelling at him and calling him names.

I was utterly shocked at his suggestion, too. He thinks we should see a doctor within the next 6 months and get the ball rolling. That way we can figure it into our moving plans.

OK, what’s new in Freeloader Land… I was sitting in the living room reading, so I heard them come in at 4:45 (no music). I heard several car doors over a period of an hour. Maybe a little more. I also heard voices. The voices I mainly heard were those of kids and of the boy who lives there. At least I think that’s who it was. These things not only look the same. They sound the same. All I know is that the voice sounded black, close, and not under 15 years old. I didn’t hear the bitch yelling like I thought I would. There were people out talking from the time they came in; till the time I went to bed at 6:00. I didn’t hear how long they stayed out gabbing, naturally, cuz of the fan/noise machine. I don’t know if they called the cops, but I sure did hear something weird and that was this strange ticking sound. It sounded like a car motor as well and if it was, it wasn’t their car. Their car doesn’t tick. I also wondered if it was the cops with something to see if they could test for evidence, but wouldn’t they take the glass, bag it up, and then bring it to a lab? Besides, what with the way cops tend to brush things off, I wouldn’t think they’d bother over a smashed bottle. They’ve got too many murders to solve and killers to catch.

So, so far, it doesn’t look like anything will come out of this, but I’m going to definitely lay off as far as the vandalism goes. If there’s anything I and these bent fucks have in common, it’s that stubbornness and that resistance to intimidation. We don’t run away from trouble. We face it. So, this is gonna piss these people off and maybe they’ll wonder about it and have to live with being paranoid when they’re away from the house, but this would never be enough to drive them out of there. Also, these people are very sick individuals and they could do something to this house on just pure speculation that I had anything to do with it. It would take violence or some ongoing thing, like me depriving them of their sleep, to drive them out of here. The sleep thing’s debatable, though. If they were that stubborn, they may try to legally do something about it if that place is worth their staying in to them.

So that should sum it up. No more vandalism, although I may be very noisy at night, depending on what they do. This could cause them to act up to see if it’s me. Meaning if they have the brains to realize that the last two outbursts of theirs brought mail and bottles, they may want to try to bait me. They may also have a camcorder trained on the side/front of their house right now.

Friday, January 30, 1998

 

Yuck, the weekend’s almost here. I haven’t heard any dog or music yet. My guess is that the dog won’t come till around the same time the last dog did. Probably between May and July, they’ll get a dog. I thought about it and realized that the reason they may not want to get a dog now, is cuz that’d show they were afraid of their tormentor, and they wouldn’t want that! My guess is that there’s a 50/50 chance they’ll act up this weekend. If they suspect me, they might, cuz they’d want to see if yet a third outburst from them brought another letter/bottle a few days afterward. If they don’t suspect me, they may be quiet, seeing that they just had a get-together.

I wasn’t here yesterday at lunchtime to know if he was a problem coming and going. All I’ve heard so far are car doors. The day they pulled in and up to the bottle, from what I saw, it was his car, so I think that he, she, the little one, and the teenage boy found the bottle together. Yesterday, though, I think she came in by some ride, like usual, then he came in later.

Later...

Today was like old times singing, in a way. I was congested and had to clear my throat a lot. God and his fucking compensations, boy I’ll tell you! Isn’t the fact that my nose is no better enough? Or the fact that I’m sterile? Or fat? Speaking of that, I haven’t been as hungry the last couple of days, and could that, and the fact that I’ve lost a few pounds, and have a slight good feeling about it, mean I’m gonna lose weight? Probably not. At least, it’s something I couldn’t believe unless I did lose weight.

In case I forgot to say - Tom says we don’t have to put off moving till after his mother dies. We can get to a place suitable for us that’d only take 15-25 minutes to drive into the city.

Tom was telling me he had a death dream where we were discussing dying, and what we’d do during our time left. He also said I was a rhinoceros through all of it. Yeah, I’m sure that dream was triggered by the loss of Spunky. I had some strange dreams, too, where Ma bought the Harley Hotel I worked at the Enfield, Connecticut/Longmeadow, Mass. line. She had it moved out here too (his ma). His father was in the dream, too, playing the harmonica on a screen in a theater that was apparently added on, then he jumped out in person to say hello to Tom and I. There were other bits and pieces of dreams I remember too, and in one of them, I saw Spunky and an all-black GP.

Tammy called just to say hi. Just to say hi. I couldn’t believe it. She usually never would call unless something was wrong or if she needed something. She says all’s going great. I’m so happy for her. She deserves to be happy for once.

Haven’t heard from my folks yet on AOL, but I’m sure I will soon enough.

We may not do any recording till Monday, which I’d prefer. This would suit his schedule better and I’d be less stressed out and worried that the freeloader may bang in. So, all that could really be noisy then would be dogs and car doors.

I took Tweety outside (in his cage, of course) and put him on the patio for some fresh polluted air (all those snowbirds are here). He didn’t really like this arrangement, though, cuz he was cornered on all 4 corners and very nervous. He had me in front of him, a cat to his left, a pigeon behind him, and a rabbit to his right. Tweety’s still very shy. Even my pigeons, especially Measles, are braver and less afraid of me.

The teeth cleaning went swiftly enough, and she said my teeth were less stained. I have another cavity that has to be filled in two weeks. Meanwhile, they’re gonna take care of this nuisance of an impaction, too. They’re gonna pull the baby tooth, but how they’ll walk the adult tooth up front, we’re not sure yet. We have two choices. We can get this retainer type thing for about $800 or go with braces and that’d be just over a G. Our insurance, of course, we’ll pay at least half of it. Tom’s gonna look at the price charts, but I was thinking I’d probably go with the retainer. As he says, if it costs $400 it’s still worth it cuz it’ll be a one-time deal and then I’d never have to worry about this shit again. I can go days without it irritating me, but then it gets irritated and bugs the hell out of me. It’s hard to clean in between it, too, and it’s coming down more. So, if I did nothing, the baby tooth would more than likely get pushed out and then the teeth that’d be next to the gap it left, would shift and want to fill in that gap.

Saturday, January 31, 1998

 

Well, no wonder they’ve been behaving next door with the exception of a little music on occasion. They were hoping to go to court with me and yes, they do suspect I threw the bottle, cuz they are trying to “have me served.” The first thing that went through my mind was that someone had to have seen me (but God only knows how), or that they were just so desperate to pin it on me anyway. Tom says you can tell in which direction a bottle was thrown by the way it scatters. Yeah, I thought about that, but I didn’t think the sick fucks would have brains enough to figure that one out. I think it was the cops who did, in which case I should’ve known better and shouldn’t have thrown the bottle. And of course, God just won’t let me get away with shit. I have no pity, guilt, remorse, or feelings of concern for these sick fucks whatsoever, but I am ashamed of myself for letting my husband down. This is one hell of a husband I’ve got who still loves me, and who says we’ll deal with whatever happens together when he could’ve turned his back on me. It is for him that I feel the shame, the guilt, and the remorse. As for the freeloaders, they fucked with me. I fucked back. Tom says “getting even” should mean that we do our best to better our lives, etc. Well, that goes without saying, but I meant it when I said that I give what I get. Tom says I just have to accept the fact that the world isn’t fair and that some people are gonna get away with things while others can’t. We agreed not to open the door to anyone, but we’re not gonna change our lives by hiding or making up stories. Like he said, if we get served, we get served. If we must go to court, we will. Meanwhile, we agreed I’d deny knowing a thing about it, but again, no stories. If they ask if there have been any problems with these people, I’ll tell them about the music. As Tom pointed out, due to the fact that I’m not alone with nothing, I couldn’t get a free lawyer, but if it came to court, I’m not gonna pay a lawyer to defend me over a thrown bottle. I’d just represent myself if it came to court.

I don’t know if they know yet that I haven’t been served, but there’s been a lot of door-slamming. Again, I don’t care if these people dropped dead and they can be happy, sad, rich or poor, but I guess I realized too late that the bottle was a bad idea. There were other things I could’ve done. Now I have to worry all the more, especially if I dodge court, that there’ll be more music problems and that they may even fuck with this house. Tom says that we’ll just have to live with whatever they do, but no way. I may have to pay for every little thing I do, but that doesn’t mean that they’re gonna get away with fucking with me. They can’t prove I threw that bottle. All they can do is suspect, but I disagree about us not being able to do anything if the letter we sent has a part in the music toning down. Even if it doesn’t, they still live in a house owned by the city and that’s a great advantage to us. Tom says maybe it’ll blow over, but that seems to be one stubborn bitch over there, so we’ll see. I asked God to please take it out on me. Meaning that Tom’s the one who works and whose name the house is in, so he could be the one to have to pay for this. In my little chat with God last night, I told him that if I must pay for what I’ve done, OK, but please let it be me to pay for it. I was the one who threw the bottle. Not Tom. I told him I didn’t want to go to court and have to have Tom pay for my actions, so please punish me. You know, 20 more pounds, continuing sterility, etc. Andy never had to go to court about the calls he made a few years ago to this customer and a detective said he’d have to, but he’s Andy. And God does favor Andy a bit more over me, even if there are others he loves even more than Andy. I’ve seen Andy get away with things I could only dream of getting away with. Scott never had to pay for his stealing his VCRs and I’d think that theft would be more serious than vandalism. Scott knew Andy was gonna have him served, so he didn’t answer his door, and they never went to court and Andy never saw his VCRs again. Again, though, that’s Scott and Andy. Not me. God’s standards for me are different.

Anyway, the court server left a card that said, “Jody, give me a call.”

Couldn’t even spell my name right. This card was face down on the ground, too, not taped to the door or in the mailbox slot. He came knocking again yesterday too, so who knows how many times he’ll keep trying?