#just gonna drag my ass back there tomorrow and not do half of the things i SHOULD be doing cause i gotta cover for someone or

[ilkkawhat]

me and my fucked up relationship with work, feeling guilty that things are going to shit while i'm not there and feeling anxious that i'm gonna get some sort of blame for it in the morning

[a66-1]

starving.

Simon x Fem!Insecure!Reader.

Part 1 | ???

TW: Talk of ed's, negative self talk, low self esteem, bad mouthing (from reader to herself, comes with the territory) cursing, self harm. i tried not to be too descriptive with the reader, so EVERY insecure girlie who reads this feels seen. (these tw are for the whole thing, im pretty sure this is gonna be a series)

a/n: hey. if you need help, dm me. ill talk to you if you need it :). (also i made my banners. if you want one dm me! i make them for free, just with credit :)) NOT PROOF READ

i hope your doing okay honey.

Stepping out of the shower, the towel around you just big enough to touch ends is slipped around yourself. Showering is getting harder. You can barely stand glancing at the mirror now.

You dry yourself off, and hand the towel back up. You can do it, just walk past the mirror to grab your clothes.

You take the steps past the mirror, and turn your back to the mirror to change. Slipping your bra on, and it squishes the skin on your back and you grimace.

Once your dressed, you turn back around. The nagging voices are just waiting to pounce. I mean, what? You used to be so skinny.

You used to be pretty.

You decided to let your hair air dry, and you walk into your bedroom. You had work today, but you really wish you didn't. It was a bad week, you'd skipped 3 meals in the last few days and you know what your therapist would say.

'The progress you've made, hun. You can't go back now.'

The bad days are getting too close to each other now. You used to have at least a week between them, but now it's barely 48 hours. Maybe being off medicine isn't working good anymore.

Maybe you're no good.

You throw in a big hoodie, one that covers you, and some sweat pants, glancing at the big mirror in your room.

You can't stop analyzing yourself.

There's not one good thing on you is it?

Fuck.

The rest of the day was spent at your stupid 9-5, with your stupid boss, in your stupid, lonely life. Christ, being off anti-depressants is really hitting you hard. Everyone at your job is stupid and today every customer who wants to blow you ear off about how you kids these days, by the end of the day, your so tense that your shoulders are aching.

You got about 30 minutes left at this off-brand kroger store, when a big, big ass man walks in, shoving a mask with a skull print on it on. You curse to yourself, you really don't want to have to call the police for a robbery, you just want to go home.

To be honest, if he had a gun, you'd be half tempted to let him shoot you-

"Ma'am?" A heavy British accent came from your right. You turn your head, and scan his few items. You don't bother with the how are you's and you sigh.

"It'll be 16.84." You drag your eyes to his, and he reaches to his pocket, pulling out..

A wallet. What else were you thinking?

He hands you a twenty, and you hand him his respective change. He bags his own items, because honestly, you seem like the only worker in the store. Your face is written with exhaustion, whether it be from this job or something else, and the guy notices.

"Have uh... A good day." He nods to you, and walks off.

You purse your lips, and sigh, closing your cashier, because fuck finishing today. You're too close to a breakdown, and you're not trying to let anyone see.

You drive home, your hands tight around the wheel. You know it's a bad idea to be driving this emotional, to the point you wonder what would happen if you swerve your car into a tree.

You won't do it though.

You need to get back out there. It's why you stopped taking your meds.

You promise yourself that tomorrow you'll go out, and at least get a one night stand, you want need, anything.

Once home and in bed, you scroll and scroll and scroll. Doom scrolling is too common on these longer nights. You have a pillow tucked into your arm, and your hand squeezes it every time that pang in your lower chest rings out. Loneliness, you think.

You always scroll through your old friends instagrams or snapchats, seeing their nice bodies and nice boyfriends. You've been so nice and kind and karma should be on your side, but it always failed.

Especially after your last boyfriend.

Your friends say to wait.

To wait.

To wait.

But waiting is getting harder. Days are getting longer, and your head seems to spin more when left to its own devices. Why do you have to wait?

Your looks.

Your personality.

Who'd wanna be seen with you?

You flip your phone over, and shove your face in the pillow, your breathing staggered.

You fell asleep late, that night. The tears brought you to exhaustion.

woah why did this take 2 tries to write.

be waiting for pt.2

TRUST FINALS ARE SOOM COMING TO AN END and summer i will be STEWING TRUST!!!

Taglist!

@i-am-hungry-24-7

thank you for all the support. drunk simon blew up and im crying bc i came back after a 2 year hiatus and i wasn't getting the same feedback as usual so to finally seeing people enjoy my work again makes me feel great. <3

sorry simon wasn't in this part much. you gotta know the reader first tho, right?

bye babes..

-a661

[xoxochb]

Forbidden love trope with Jason grace plss

⋆·˚ ༘ * this love is difficult, but it’s real

warnings: renaissance era, I changed a bunch of things from the play because shakespeare was on something, one sexual insinuation, tons of dialogue, this honestly isn’t my best work

pairing: romeo coded! jason grace x juliet coded! reader (daughter of ares and aphrodite)

a/n: forbidden love trope? you know my literature loving ass is gonna do something romeo and juliet inspired

two households, both alike in dignity- just kidding that’s not where this is going

a crowded room, the sound of people talking around you. a banquet set up by your parents- unexpected but it’s typical for them, you assume they’re trying to set you up with another boy when they drag you to meet another prince- percy jackson wishes to take your hand in marriage and your parents agree with it. you don’t even know the man! small talk doesn’t get you places and that seems to be the only thing this boy knows

“lovely weather today” he says

you lean your head against a pillar “I suppose”

“what do you enjoy in your free time?”

“many things”

“such as…?”

he won’t give up will he?

“reading, painting, not very much”

he nods his head “I adore sword fighting, but often swimming when I’m not”

your eyes scan around the room as he continues on about his many hobbies, nothing you care about, although when you think about it you don’t care about percy himself. boys, boys, boys! all mean at this absurd party, why can’t you chose a husband on your own? your eyes stop when they meet electric blue ones, yet covered by a mask, who is this strange boy? you must get to know him!

“percy?”

“yes?”

“could I be excused for a moment? I have to use the restroom”

“yes that’s quite fine, when you get back I’ll tell you about my great adventure over mountaintops”

you give him a half-smile before rushing off. would a mysterious look be okay? or should you approach the boy immediately? yes! let him approach you first

you take a drink from a waiter and lean your back against the nearest pillar. a mysterious look will do you good in this situation

waiting, waiting… will the boy ever talk to you?

“quite a boring banquet don’t you think?”

you turn around, the blue-eyed boy stands behind the pillar, you move to the opposite side with him

“my parents want me married off to that boy” you point to percy across the room who seemingly found another woman to torture with dreadful stories

“do you want to?”

“want to what?”

“marry him?”

you shake your head “who are you?”

he hesitates “why don’t we ditch?”

“I can’t do that”

“why not?”

“my parents will be furious”

“so what? they’re busy anyways”

you sigh “only for a little while”

he takes your hand in his and you allow him to drag you outside the palace to the garden, flower filled courtesy of demeter

“what is your name?” you ask

“If I tell you will you kick me out?”

“why would I do that?”

“you’ll realize”

“so what is it?”

he removes his mask “jason grace”

oh…

“oh my gods, son of zeus! I should have known. what are you doing here? our fathers will kill us!”

“I had to see you” he takes both of your hands in his yet again

“why? what is so important that you had to risk your life?”

“I’m in love with you” he puts your hands over his heart, you feel his rapid heartbeat

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been pining over you for so long, I came here to ask for your hand in marriage”

“oh my gods oh my gods, we can’t marry and you know that!”

“please. In secret even would be fine”

“how the hell do you want me to secretly marry you?”

“I have a friend who will be willing to do it”

“don’t you think this is sudden?”

“would you rather marry that other boy?”

“I suppose not…”

“then will I see you tomorrow morning?”

marry the son of poseidon who shows interest in every woman, not loyal, and talks a lot, or the son of zeus who has supposedly been in love with you for years and risked his life to see you?

“meet me at my bedrooms balcony, seven sharp” you point to your balcony

“I won’t be late” he gives you a heart-stopping smile

before he runs off he places a kiss on your lips, quick but lovely. you await his next arrival

⚔️

you hate waking early in the morning. you were the one who arranged the time though and in a half an hour you would be getting married to a boy you barely knew, a handsome one though you wouldn’t complain

you followed your morning routine like usual, careful to stay silent as you assume most of your family will be asleep after the long party the previous night

should you dress fancy since it’s a wedding or casual because it’s secret? makeup or natural look? too many decisions to make! you put on a simple pink dress, nothing too much but still good enough for a wedding. a few touch ups with makeup and check the time on your wall clock 6:58 it reads. he would be here any moment. you rush to your balcony and catch sigh of the blond boy walking up to your castle

you manage to climb over the railing to grab hold of the vines to climb down, nearly impossible to do with your dress on. when you (finally) make it to the bottom you hold up your dress and run to the boy

out of breath you put your hands on your knees but not before holding up a singular finger to indicate you needed a minute

“do you run much?” asks jason

“not at all”

you go back to regular posture as your breathing slows back down “let’s get married now, shall we?”

“we shall”

you loop arms and go on your way to- wait… you don’t even know where you’re going. hope it’s not dangerous

when you arrive you see a worn down house, belonging to who? you don’t know

“the person that’s going to marry us lives in there? Is he certified?” you inquire

“I don’t think so. he’s cool though”

when you walk in the house your greeted by a hyperactive boy, assumed to be around your age

“I’ve been waiting, what took so long?” the boy says

“long walk” jason shrugs “anyways- y/n this is leo, and you already know her so…”

leo beams “great! let’s get this ceremony started!”

not much of a set up, not much of a big ceremony. It was a simple ‘say your vows then kiss let’s get this over with’ for reason one because leo was not legally certified to do this and two because you knew zeus had many eyes and took forms of exotic animals (he could be anywhere- this horrifies you)

not only was leo not certified, he additionally didn’t know how to officiate a wedding. a bunch of nonsense about love spilled from his mouth and you couldn’t find it in you to care anymore

“you may now kiss the bride! but not in front of me, please don’t do that in front of me”

you give him a concerned look. and mouth and mutter an ‘okay’ with a slow nod of your head. he was weird wasn’t he?

once you exited the house you got your chance for a kiss- to cement your marriage. however jason has other ideas

“why don’t we go to your palace to consummate our marriage?”

[lightandheatao3]

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 4: The Question

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Chapter Summary: Tensions rise as time in the bunker drags on.

Read chapter 4 on AO3 or under the cut. All comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

“Come on man, get up.”

“What’s the point?” whined Spencer.

“The point is that muscles start to atrophy after 3 days of inactivity, and you have been holed up on that disgusting mattress for… what… like a week and half now? Longer than you should’ve been,” said Derek.

Spencer groaned. “I’ve been a bit sick, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Which is why we’ve left you alone, but you’re so goddamn shaky and thin you’re starting to resemble a chihuahua. You need to keep active, or you will just get sicker. That’s true for all of us,” he insisted.

“Come on, it’s simple calisthenics. No worse than you had to do at the academy,” said Emily, entirely too chipper.

“I hated doing it back then, too,” he said. “I would really rather never move again, thanks.”

“Of course you want to sleep all day,” said Derek. “It’s called clinical depression, Reid. It’s what happens when you replace your brain’s ability to self-regulate pleasure with heroin. You’re gonna be all fucked up for a while, but you’ll level out eventually. And you know what’s proven to be one of the most effective treatments for depression? Exercise! So get your ass up,” he ordered, nudging the mattress with his foot.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Just don’t complain when I pass out after 5 minutes,” he said, dragging himself up.

The last thing he wanted was to be roped into an extended conversation about the questionable state of his mental health.

“I’ll consider it 5 minutes well spent,” Derek said, reaching a hand down to help him to his feet.

Emily corralled them all into two lines while JJ placed herself at the front of the room, ready to lead the workout.

“Frankly, I’m with you, kid,” Rossi whispered, looking pointedly unhappy about the whole situation.

“Shut it,” said Emily.

Hotch smirked. “Pick your battles, boys.”

“Just you wait until it’s my turn to run the class tomorrow,” said Derek, positioned feet shoulder width apart and ready to go in the front line with Emily. “You’ll be begging to go back to this moment”

Rossi and Spencer both whinged, but they shaped up and did their best to mirror JJ’s movements when she called them to attention.

Spencer did not pass out, but he did make it almost precisely 5 minutes before having to very rapidly excuse himself to go throw up. After a few retches, he collapsed back onto the floor of the tiny en-suit, half curled around the toilet.

Rossi ducked his head in. “You doing alight? Need some help?”

“Just… just let me lie here for a minute.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay with you?” he persisted.

“Get back in here, Rossi!” ordered Emily.

With a swear that was barely concealed under his breath, he left Spencer to languish on the floor.

A few minutes later he hauled himself out and retook his place in the group. Nobody said anything, but Derek had an annoyingly self satisfied smile. He only made it through another few exercises before he had to stop in earnest, but, as loathed as he was to admit it, he felt a tiny bit better. Emotionally, if not physically.

Emily, JJ and Derek all sat by him. Rossi had first dibs on the bathroom to wash his clothes and Hotch… well, he was sitting cross legged on the far side of the room meditating.

Spencer didn’t know if he was actually meditating, or if he just wanted to be left alone.

He’d warmed up to them all since they had been in the bunker. In fact he was almost warmer and friendlier than he had been when they were all still close. Or, maybe not friendlier, but gentle somehow, in a way Spencer had never seen him be with anyone but Jack and Beth before.

Still, he kept a distance from them. Even when they were talking, he could feel the invisible wall.

Not that Spencer was judging. He had plenty of his own walls.

“I know you feel like garbage, Spence, but you’re doing a lot better,” said JJ, looking pleased.

“Better than what?” he scoffed.

“Better than when you were pumping your veins full of dope every day,” suggested Derek, lying on the floor in front of where Spencer and the girls were siting, clasping his hands behind his head casually and putting his feet up against the wall.

Spencer narrowed his eyes, a flash of irritation at the lackadaisical attitude. “That’s an interesting philosophical debate. Do you really think I’d be worse off high in my apartment than soberly held captive by an Unsub?”

Derek tapped his foot thoughtfully. “I think, and correct me if I’m wrong here boy genius, those are not the only two options in the world.”

“Please, Morgan, if we make it out of here alive will you teach me how to be as virtuous as you?” he said sarcastically.

“Enough, both of you,” said Emily when Derek leaned his head up to argue back. “Spencer, stop scratching, you’re going to get an infection.”

He looked at her quizzically for a split second before realizing what she meant. He had been scratching at his arms without even noticing. He stopped, slinging them both over his knees instead.

The most recent track marks were scabbed over and the extra sensory sensitivity after withdrawal was making them itch like crazy.

It’s funny how quickly he’d gotten used to them seeing him like this. He was still in his singlet and pajama pants most of the time, the long sleeve shirt functioning more as a pillow than an item of clothing these days.

The others were the same, with everyone comfortably sitting around in their underwear when waiting for their clothes to dry. They’d all spent enough time in hotel rooms together over the years not to be precious about that sort of thing.

None of them even balked at the track marks anymore. They’d gotten used to them. He didn’t know how he felt about that.

He’d always hated having to hide and having them be so delicate about the subject of his addiction, but now they were infuriatingly direct. Far from walking on eggshells, they were stomping as brashly as they pleased. Especially Derek.

It was really starting to piss him off.

That might have been because literally everything was pissing him off since detoxing.

He tried not to feel too bad about it. He wasn’t the only one who’d been a bit snippy. The complete absence of privacy and personal space wasn’t doing any of them any favors.

“Can I ask you something?” asked JJ, catching his eye.

He sighed. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Probably not,” she admitted.

A beat. “You can ask.”

She looked him up and down. Emily was glancing between them, and Derek had cracked an eye open.

“What happened two years ago?” she asked gently. “Why did you start using again?”

He was surprised it took them this long. He’d been waiting for them to interrogate him on the subject since the second that goddamn note was read out.

This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. It wasn’t one he knew how to have.

“Nothing happened,” he said softly.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Addicts relapse, JJ. An estimated 88% of all heroin addicts relapse within 1 to 3 years of quitting. I know you all think I’m different somehow, like I’m supposed to be smarter than that. That’s not how it works.”

He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but even he could hear the bite in his voice by the end. There was a little part of him that resented them for even being surprised at his relapse, as if there was something about him that precluded him from that kind of indignity. It was misdirected and he knew it.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” said JJ defensively. “If you don’t want to talk about it just say so.”

Before he could apologize to her, Derek chimed in with, “It’s what I’m saying.” He sat up. “You’re right, Reid, you are supposed to be smarter than this.”

“Thanks, Morgan. Invite me to the ceremony when they give you a Nobel prize for fixing the opioid epidemic.”

Derek folded his arms and continued as if Spencer hadn’t said anything. “You didn’t choose to be an addict, but you did choose to do it alone. If you hadn’t cut yourself off from all of us when you relapsed, we would have helped you. You chose to keep pretending everything was fine while it spiraled out of control. Every time we talked, every time you visited, I asked you what was happening in your life, and you chose to lie. For someone so goddamn smart, you've been making a lot of incredibly stupid choices.”

Hotch had opened his eyes and Rossi had re-emerged from the bathroom still holding a soapy, wet shirt in his hands.

Spencer and Derek had both stood up and Spencer wasn’t even sure when they’d done it.

Emily didn’t intervene this time. Apparently, they were doing this.

“You’re right, I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t want it now!” He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Through gritted teeth he said, “I am grateful to you all for getting me through withdrawal and I am sorry I put you through that. Can’t that be enough for now? We clearly have bigger problems than this.”

“No.”

“No?” he said indignantly.

“No. Why won't you talk about this? What could you possibly have to say that’s worse than what we already know?” Derek demanded, volume rising with every word.

“I don't want to talk about it because I know what you want me to say! You want me to tell you that if we get out of here I’m going to get treatment and go to meetings and pinkie promise I’ll never use narcotics again,” Spencer said, matching his volume and emphasizing the words with a wave of his hand.

“The only thing I want is for you to tell me the fucking truth!”

“No, you don’t!”

“Yes, I do! I don’t care how bleak it is, just for one fucking second be honest about what you want!”

“The truth is I don’t want to do this!” shouted Spencer. “If I had heroin, I would shoot up right now, right here in this fucking room while you watched. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear? I don’t want to be fixed!”

“Why not?” yelled Derek.

They stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Spencer had been staring directly into his eyes for far longer than he would normally be able, fueled by adrenaline.

He caught glimpse of something behind the anger that in another circumstance he might have missed.

Helplessness.

Oh.

Derek wasn’t mad.

He was terrified.

The realization hit him like a physical blow.

Spencer stared at him, opening his mouth but not finding any words.

“Why don’t you want us to help? Why don’t you want to be fixed? What the hell happened to you?” pleaded the closest thing he’d ever had to a brother. “What’s your plan when we get out of here? You wanna go be a junkie, dead in a year? You had 15 years clean, man. Why are you doing this?”

His eyes burned, moisture pooling in the corners. Why? Why was he doing this?

What answer could ever satisfy them?

The air between them filled with poisonous silence.

Out of the silence came a voice, too small for him to make out the words. Derek held his gaze, fighting tears of his own, but asked to someone to the side, “What did you say?”

“It wasn’t 15 years,” said JJ, louder this time.

Another shiver of panic worked its way down Spencer’s spine.

“What are you talking about?” demanded Derek.

“He said ‘times.’ When we first got the note. He said we weren’t there the other times he went through withdrawal. Plural.”

Fuck. Why could he never just say the right thing?

Derek squared off, lifting a hand to wipe under his eyes. “JJ’s right, isn’t she.” He wasn’t shouting anymore. When Spencer didn't answer, he took it as all the confirmation he needed. “Was it after prison?”

He shot a brief look off at the others, silently urging them to step in and save him.

JJ wouldn’t look at him. She looked small. He never wanted to do this to her.

Hotch was eyeing him like he was trying to solve the puzzle of what bits of Spencer Reid had been irreparably broken in his absence. Prison had certainly done some damage that couldn’t be undone.

He looked back at Derek. “No. That was… It was hard, but no.”

“So, when?” he asked, cocking his head, waiting for Spencer to give him something concrete to fight about.

He looked back at JJ, who still wouldn’t meet his eye.

She already knew.

“Oh no,” said Emily softly, putting it together. “It was after I faked my death to hide from Doyle.”

He was torn between Derek and JJ, and all the other people in this room who his deficiencies kept hurting.

Their fight after it was revealed that JJ knew Emily was alive had almost destroyed their friendship. In retrospect, he understood she was doing the best she could with horrible circumstances, trying to protect Emily.

He also knew, equally certain, that he would have told her. If the situations were reversed and she came to his door, crying, grieving, on the verge of a breakdown, he would have told her.

She knew it, too.

He was aware that she still held tightly onto that guilt. He regretted so badly the way he’d treated her when he first found out. He never wanted to tell her this. Never.

He turned away from Derek, who was still staring at him like he’d ripped his heart out of his chest.

“JJ, please talk to me.”

He stepped forward, putting his hands on her arms. She looked up at him, red eyed and exhausted.

“You told me you didn’t use. You only thought about it,” she said, sounding numb. “I believed you. Except… I think I just wanted to believe you.”

“I’m sorry.” He pulled her into a hug. She held onto him tightly. “You did the right thing back then. My actions weren’t your fault.”

The moment was over as quickly and horribly as it began when the chamber on the door banged.

Of course this interruption couldn't have come minutes earlier when he desperately needed it.

A gloved hand reached in to deposit a brown paper bag.

Derek was slow to react, not running to the door in his usual effort to ingratiate himself to their captor through one sided conversation.

When nobody moved, the interrupted outbreak of truth and consequences weighing them down too heavily, Hotch stepped towards the door.

He moved slowly, deliberately, as if one muscle twitching out of place would set off a bomb. Spencer wasn’t sure where he thought the explosion might be coming from.

When Hotch opened the chamber and extracted the brown paper bag, he stared at it. Not moving, just staring down at the thing he was holding, presumably filled with more fruit. Nobody else moved. Nobody spoke.

In one swift and vicious action, Hotch flung the bag across the room!

Fruit scattered over the concrete in a colorful arc. An overripe peach splattered on the far wall.

They all flinched at the sudden act, but before anyone could talk, Hotch had rounded on the camera in the roof with its infuriating, endlessly blinking red light.

He spoke low, dangerous. “When we get out of here, and we will, I’m going to kill you myself. Forget life in prison, I will put you down like a fucking dog.”

Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, not realizing he’d been holding it. JJ was gripping his arm tight enough to cut off circulation. He let her. The room was cavernous, quiet, oppressive.

Hotch clenched and unclenched his fists. Emily stepped forward, mouth open, a hand outstretched towards his shoulder but not bold enough to actually touch him, yet he pulled away from her as if she had.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. He took in a ragged breath, scrubbing his hands over his face, then lowered them. This time, calmer: “I’m fine.”

He looked around the room at the scattered fruit. With another deep breath, he bent down and started gathering it up. Emily stepped forward to help him.

Spencer, JJ, and Derek exchanged looks. Spencer knew they would not be dropping the subject forever, but for now they settled on an agitated, embarrassed truce. Well, Spencer was embarrassed. Derek might just have been agitated.

Had he really said, out loud, that he would shoot up in front of them if he had to? He was almost certain he would actually follow through with that given the choice. There's almost nothing he wouldn't do to get high at this point. Withdrawal and being stuck in the bunker had only made his cravings stronger.

He had certainly not intended to tell them that, though.

The three of them broke away, moving to help Hotch and Emily. JJ grabbed the paper bag for them to consolidate the food, while Derek moved to clean the peach that was dripping down the wall.

As Hotch dropped his handful of citrus and apples into the bag JJ was holding, he paused. The rest of the room paused too, waiting to see what he would do.

“It was my call to keep everyone in the dark about Prentiss. It was cruel to put that on you.” He looked around at the rest of them. “It was cruel to all of you.”

“You did what you thought was right,” said Spencer. He locked eyes with JJ. “Both of you did.”

Hotch eyed him off, picking him apart in a way that made Spencer want to bury his face in his hands like a little kid, desperate not to be seen. He resisted the urge.

“You still don’t believe it was the right call,” said Hotch eventually, a statement not a question.

Spencer frowned. “No,” he said honestly. “But I know you believed it. That’s enough for me.”

Hotch shook his head. Clearly, it wasn’t enough for him.

Emily looked between all of them, grey hair falling oddly prettily over her shoulders as she swiveled her head. “I mean, if we want to play the blame game, it’s really my fault for keeping you all in the dark about Doyle,” she pointed out. “Or Doyle’s fault for creating the whole mess. We can go even deeper. In a round about way, it’s really my mother’s fault I got into intelligence in the first place. We can all blame my mother! Trust me, it’s one of my favorite pastimes. It’s cathartic. Go ahead,” she encouraged.

Derek laughed. Even JJ cracked a smile.

“I really dislike your mother, so this is compelling,” deadpanned Hotch.

Emily chuckled. “Yeah, she hates you too buddy.” To the room at large she said, “I know we’re all going a bit crazy in here, but everything we’re feeling has to be secondary to the ultimate goal of getting out. I’ve been thinking about that, and-”

“Emily,” said Rossi, wet, half-washed shirt sitting discarded on the floor, forming a puddle.

Spencer hadn't even registered that he hadn't spoken or helped with the cleanup, caught up in the interpersonal drama as he was.

Emily looked at Rossi quizzically.

Spencer’s blood ran cold. It was crumpled from having been tossed across the room with the rest of the bag’s contents.

Rossi held a folded piece of paper in his hand. With it, a photograph, the edge of which was just sticking out between the folds. He offered it to Emily. “Sorry,” he said sympathetically. “Looks like you’re up.”

[hauntedwizardmoment]

Before the beginning for the ask game!! Any story you like in particular!!

yayyyy just gonna make this an excuse to write a quick thing about jace in college. i got kinda carried away fkklsdgdjf

There are so many reasons why Jace shouldn’t be here. 

He has to be up at 8am for Grimoire Development tomorrow. He hates going to Titania’s, it’s the worst bar on the strip of bars that opposes the Arcane Arts Institute’s campus, but it’s the only one that doesn’t have a cover charge. That must be why they’re still in business, because it’s definitely not the atmosphere. 

The live band sucks, the lead singer can’t hold a note, warbling through a cover of some atrocious alt-rock song. He takes a swig from the amber-colored bottle in his hand absentmindedly and chokes on the bitterness. Gods, it’s gross. Not just the beer; the floor is littered with dented plastic cups, his nice new boots sticking to the linoleum with every step. Everyone around him is sweaty and covered in a thin film of grime, the air smells like cigarettes. 

He glances around, finding that his stupid soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend ditched him, like an asshole, even though he’s the one that dragged Jace out here. And now he’s stuck wearing his stupid leather jacket over his stupid band t-shirt alone in a crowd full of people he doesn’t care about impressing. He looks ridiculous, he feels ridiculous, and he wants to leave. 

A Misty Step, and he’s outside, in the alley behind the bar. It’s freezing; he can feel the cold air through the rips in his tight black jeans. He checks the time on his crystal: 1:24 AM. The exhaustion hits him like a ton of bricks, what a waste of a night. 

He’s about to Teleport back to his apartment when the back doors swing open and a tall goliath stumbles outside, falling flat on his ass against the brick wall. 

“Hey, you okay?” Jace asks, offering a hand. 

“‘M good,” the guy slurs, trying to get up and failing. “Swear.” 

He needs to sleep if he wants any chance of being able to make it through his classes tomorrow. He has no idea who this guy is, or if he’s a serial killer, or… 

The goliath heaves, vomiting onto the pavement, head lolling miserably. He’s been there.

“I can Teleport. Where do you live?” 

Large, beautiful brown eyes brimming with tears look up at him. There’s a pause, before the guy says “my keys,” and hands him his keyring, a metal tag on it reading If lost, mail to Dagbert Machtiger, 1290 South Cinderroot Lane, Apartment 306

Jace takes it, grateful to have an associated object as he Teleports them to an apartment that’s moderately less shitty than his own, with a plastic-looking couch and small coffee table in the middle of a tiny living room. The goliath sinks into it, slurring out a “thanks, man,” before he passes out. 

He leaves the keys on the coffee table and lets himself out, checking his crystal. He’s not too far from his place, about a half mile. If he’s quick, and he doesn’t stay up the rest of the night, he can be in bed by 2, then be mostly ready for class tomorrow. 

His crystal rings as he’s taking the stairs down to ground level, and he answers it without thinking. “Hello?”

“Jacey, did you leave already?” His definitely-getting-dumped-tomorrow-boyfriend asks. “You wanna head back to mine? You can stay the night.” 

He knows what that means. He’ll be staying up for another hour, at least, and it won’t even be that good. Ugh, he shouldn’t be fucking around like this.

“You know it,” he says. “Meet you there.” 

He shuts his crystal with a clat and sighs. Tomorrow. He’ll grow a spine and start saying no to these things tomorrow. He swears. 

[pubbybutch]

May I request Vex, Pike, and Keyleth with a GN S/O who is kind of an idiot? Like they're stupid strong but if something complex is being discussed you can just see the thousand yard stare and the stupid grin as they imagine themselves doing literally anything else? And, being more brawn than brains, they have to bail them out of their bad plans. Who wants to fist fight a dragon? I DO!

VOX MACHINA X Dumbass (affectionate) Reader Head Canons

Thank you very much anon for your ask, I’m sorry this took forever! 💚💚💚

Vex 

Vex always knew that the lights were not all on upstairs, and she knew it would bite the entirety of Vox Machina in the ass. 

The first night she really realised how extreme your lack of common sense is, has you pitted against two half-orcs with some ties to some big thing in Wildemount (you didn’t quite catch whatever it was they said), two against one and with both your opponents skilled and highly trained fighters the outcome was plainly inevitable.

 So now here you sit, slumped over a chair, Vex rubbing your back soothingly her deft hands easing your breathing as you recover from being winded, a fierce punch to your stomach having completely squished the air from your lungs and was that pain in your side a broken rib? 

That's the first time Vex really notices. But now she knows how your mind works or perhaps doesn't work, she just sits and waits for you to fuck up enough to call to her for help or to fall onto the stool next to hers.

After ANOTHER repeat of your shenanigans, she ends up recruiting Vax to aid her in carrying your exhausted and very passed out body up the stairs of the parties tavern of choice and getting you situated on a bed.

Vex opts for the windowsill. She always does when this happens. Letting you take the bed to hopefully help in the recovery process and lessen the effects of tomorrow’s guaranteed hangover. 

Sleep doesn't come easy as Vex jolts up at every unconscious groan that escapes your lips as you turn in your sleep and pain popping up due to the movement. You dumbass, of course you wouldn’t win. Complete dim-wit, her dim-wit.

Keyleth

Looking on at the mess that you had managed to create in the kitchen of Greyskull Keep was exactly when her suspicions were confirmed. Suspicions may not be the right way to describe it, despite how much has flown over her head in the past Keyleth was nearly certain that you were as reckless as… well something that was big and reckless and maybe just a little bit idiotic. 

And the penny finally dropped in her mind.

She has often tried and failed to hold you back from a fight after someone (usually some pretentious elven dickbag) bad-mouths her in the street, resulting in a fight that can only be described as completely avoidable.

Keyleth supports as much of your weight as she can when you get knocked out, attempting to get you out of the fray as quickly as possible, but she can barely drag the two of you behind a crate in a side alley.

You can almost always count on coming back to consciousness while Keyleth is doing her best to stop the swelling on your eye and trying to make sure your not bleeding internally.

She is so goddamn concerned for you, please stop scaring her like this.

Pike

At this point Pike accepts that anytime you head out for a day of merrymaking (aka getting fucking black-out drunk in a tavern or two) she’s gonna be exhausted and have no spells left before you even get to sundown.

When you go unconscious, which is only inevitable, Pike always beelines towards you regardless of what is going on around her. Ignoring or brushing off any hits she may get in the process, she tanks through to get to you as quickly as she possibly can.

Even if she gets down to her last little cure wounds you can be guaranteed that she’ll save those spells for you if she can (much to the dismay of one Scanlan Shorthalt, his grumbles and annoyed mutters of ‘those should be my spells…’

As soon as you’re stabilised and safe-ish, you’re slung over her shoulder and Pike clangs her way through the destruction and chaos of the street-turned battlefield outside the pub, pushing past and far enough away so that you’re safe. Ignoring the shouts of Percy's pained yelps as his pepperbox explodes in his goddamn hands and Minxie doing her best to swipe a giant paw across someone’s torso, Pike always tries to get you outta there if she can.

Avoiding resurrections is of utmost importance when it comes to her sweetheart.

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

The new kid is red-faced and wheezing by the time they make it up the hill. It ain’t even half as big as the one over by Chuck’s place, but by the way Teddy is huffing and puffing, you’d think he’d’ve run up and down it a dozen times.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He ain’t fat, not even close. He probably ain’t a smoker neither, considering most six-year-olds aren’t, but he’s sure breathin’ like one. Maybe this is why Ms. Rainer was fixed on him seeing Teddy home from the bus stop. Somehow she knew, just by looking, that there’s somethin’ off with this one.

As Teddy heaves for air, his backpack slips free from one shoulder, but he shrugs it back on and keeps dragging his feet through the gravel. His house is visible now, set too close to the road so it’s a muted dusty gray under all the gravel dust. The dust swirls in the wind like a toddler playing at being a ballerina after too much sugar, making the leaves dance along to the rasp of the corn stalks shifting and swaying in time.

Nash hesitates on the porch as Teddy throws open the storm door and pushes into the house without a backward glance. When he doesn’t close the door behind him, Nash follows.

Inside, Teddy’s ragged breaths are louder, helped along to Nash’s ears by the uncovered wood floor. He follows into the kitchen where the yellowy linoleum pops and crackles underfoot in the places where it’s bubbled up.

The drawer beside the sink opens with a screech of wood as Teddy pulls out an inhaler, puts it between his lips, and sucks in a long, deep breath. With his eyes closed and his face screwed up, he lowers the inhaler and holds his breath for a long, long time. Then he exhales, wipes his nose with the back of his hand, tosses the inhaler back in the drawer, and rams it shut before turning to face Nash with his chin tipped up proudly.

“All the things.”

“Huh?”

“You asked what’s wrong with me,” Teddy says in a reedy voice. He pauses to breathe. “There’s a lot wrong with me.”

“Oh. Are you… sick?”

Dying is what he wants to ask, but he’s been whacked in the back of the head enough to know better.

Teddy shrugs. “Not right now, but maybe tomorrow. Wanna play Pokémon?” He flips the lid off of a sagging women’s shoe box on the table and reveals a treasure trove of Pokémon cards.

“Woah, those are all yours?”

He pulls cards out by the handful. “Yeah, my mom and dad used to buy me a pack every time they had to travel.”

Nash stares, mesmerized, as Teddy rifles through the cards like he knows what he’s looking at—all the colors and creatures and elements—it’s overwhelming.

“They must travel a lot.” He can’t imagine what that’s like. The farthest he’s ever been from Deliverance is the Walmart in Buford Hills, the next town over.

“Used to. They’re dead now, so…” He keeps messing with the cards. Like it’s nothing to him. Like he doesn’t care. Like his face isn’t scrunched and his shoulders aren’t boxed around his ears.

If he wasn’t so visibly uncomfortable, Nash would think he was trying to make a joke. He doesn’t know what to say, so, out of pity, he puts his backside on the line and asks, “How do we play?”

He’s gonna get an ass whoopin’ for being home late, but it’s almost worth it for the relieved smile that overtakes Teddy’s discomfort as he babbles about types and strengths and weaknesses.

Nash settles himself opposite him at the table and silently bemoans his inability to ignore the kicked puppy types.

Red, like my bleeding heart in your hand - Sign up for my newsletter to get publishing updates!

[fruitcoops]

Spark

On the eighth day of Nutmas, fruitcoops gave to you: smut from the firefighter AU!

TW smut (duh)

Name your time.

Tonight?

You better not be on-call tomorrow morning, ‘cause you’re making me breakfast.

Deal.

Remus fisted his hands tighter in Sirius’ jacket, an involuntary moan slipping out when the hand tucked neatly in his back pocket flattened him along Sirius’ front. The apartment did smell a little like smoke—Sirius had sheepishly warned him of that in the car—but it was gentler than the acrid thing he had worried about. More like a candle, warm and inviting. It was the same invitation as Sirius’ soft mouth on his own and the rough palm cradling his face, big enough that Sirius could stroke gently over Remus’ temple and make his knees wobble.

“Bedroom?” Sirius murmured into his mouth.

Remus bit at his lower lip. “Actually, I could go for a glass of water.”

Heavy silence fell between them. “Oh,” Sirius finally said with audible surprise. “Okay, uh, yeah, let me turn the light on—”

“I’m kidding,” Remus interrupted with a light laugh, pulling him back in by the neckline of his shirt. Sirius ducked into the kiss as if on instinct; the thought made him smile as he nudged their noses together. “Lead the way.”

But Sirius didn’t let him go right away, keeping them up against the wall like there was nothing he’d rather be doing. They had hardly made it into the apartment, still frazzled from the charged 20-minute drive followed by a hurried clash of lips in the elevator. Remus could feel the hot, hard line of him on his thigh, just as he had imagined on a few of his lonelier nights.

Sirius was less suave than his daydream-self, not that Remus was complaining—for the shelter dogs, he had stammered out when a large box shifted in the back seat, pink-cheeked and endearing. I bring them toys. Balls ‘n shit. It had taken every bit of Remus’ self-control not to lean across the console and kiss him stupid right there.

Sirius’ hands wandered down to his waist and he began walking Remus backwards through the apartment in long strides. “Ignore the mess,” he said into the underside of Remus’ jaw, sounding just as sweetly embarrassed as before. “My little brother stayed here for a bit.”

“We’re not—ah—kicking him out, right?” Remus bit the inside of his lip as Sirius’ teeth grazed his pulse point.

“No,” Sirius laughed. “He’s with a friend. Nobody but us.”

“Good answer.” Remus tangled his fingers in the back of Sirius’ hair and pulled just enough to make him moan like he had in the car, when they had lunged for each other the moment the ignition died. It had hardly taken any effort to get Sirius to melt under him, then. His mouth watered at the thought of getting to do it again.

“C’mere,” Sirius said around a smile. The hands on Remus’ hips moved down to grab his thighs and hoist him up; he locked his legs around Sirius’ waist instinctively as heat flashed through him.

“Worst way to carry someone out of a burning building,” he managed breathlessly.

“Best way to carry someone to bed,” Sirius countered with a not-so-subtle squeeze of his ass.

Remus arched a brow. “Thought hooking up with a fireman got me the full experience.”

“If you want me to get all sweaty, you’re gonna have to try a little harder.”

“Oh, I will.”

Sirius’ eyes darkened. “Promise?”

Fucking hell. Remus squeezed his thighs tighter and felt Sirius’ groan buzz against his mouth; his lips were getting chapped already when Remus sucked at the lower one. The back of his shoulder collided with the wall and his noise of surprise was muffled by Sirius’ kiss, though a mumbled oh, fuck, sorry and the ghost of a gentle hand over the bump made his stomach tumble.

Sirius took him by the thighs again and Remus let himself be tossed on the bed, only to hook his heels behind Sirius’ knees and drag him down to be kissed some more. He slotted a leg against the half-hard bulge in Sirius’ jeans and savored the noise that spilled from kiss-swollen lips. “You want it like that?” he purred, rocking lightly. Sirius made a choked sort of sound. “Use your words.”

He grinned at the withering look Sirius shot him and laughed as he was wrestled further into the sheets, making sure to buck up whenever possible. Couldn’t make it too easy for him—they hadn’t even gotten to the fun part yet. Remus reached back to yank his shirt over his head and basked in Sirius’ helpless oh, followed by warm hands mapping his torso. Pleasure made his blood sing and he stretched with a low hum, gripping the pillow under him as Sirius rubbed at the dips of Remus’ hips.

“You’re…where has this been?” Sirius managed, sounding baffled beyond belief.

Remus chucked his shirt into the darkness and guided Sirius into a slow, filthy kiss that made his cock throb in his jeans. “Just admit you weren’t looking,” he whispered into the corner of Sirius’ mouth. He felt his knees spread further on the mattress and pleasant heat curled in his belly.

“I was looking,” Sirius answered hoarsely. A shaky breath escaped him when he moved his hand to lay flat over Remus’ stomach. “Not hard enough, apparently.”

“Were you?” Remus asked, delighted. He gave one inky curl a playful tug and Sirius blushed. “Cutie.”

“I am not a cutie.”

“Cutie pie,” he cooed, running his thumb over Sirius’ lips. They parted almost instantly. Thought so. He let Sirius have a taste before sliding it out again and coaxing him down to kiss his neck. He was awfully good at it, after all. “Want me to blow you, or skip straight to the main event?”

“Anything that will get your pants off,” Sirius said, words muffled in Remus’ collarbone.

“That’s where you’ve been looking, huh?”

“Your ass in those cargo pants,” Sirius groaned. His hands slid under Remus and lifted him an inch; the firm grasp on each cheek made him squirm. “Perfect handful. You kill me every time.”

“Someone likes a man in uniform,” he teased.

“Look who’s talking.”

Remus hooked his index finger in Sirius’ belt and pulled. “Off.”

“You know, I usually give the orders,” Sirius said even as he sat up and began unbuckling.

“Sure you do.”

“I do. This is—I’m the captain of my squad. I don’t like listening to people.”

Remus nodded agreeably. “Definitely. Shirt next.”

“This is an exception,” Sirius informed him through the fabric of his shirt, abs shivering as Remus walked his fingers up to his sternum. His cheeks were pink when he finally managed to free himself. He took a breath, then a second, and pointed at Remus. “That’s the last order you’re giving me tonight.”

“Take your pants off, captain.”

Sirius’ hands were already at his zipper when he paused and leveled an unamused look on Remus. “Dirty trick.”

“All I did was ask.” He slipped his fingers into Sirius’ belt loops and yanked him down until they were chest-to-chest again, nudging his crooked nose. He prayed Sirius couldn’t feel his pounding heart. “You seem awfully happy to listen to me. You follow instructions that well for all the boys?”

It took a moment, but Sirius slowly shook his head.

“No?”

“No.” It was hardly more than a whisper.

Remus leaned in to ghost his mouth over Sirius’ stubbled cheek. “Just me, then. Pants off.”

Sirius rummaged between them for a moment before had was able to kick his well-worn jeans away, pressing close enough to Remus’ hips that he could feel the dampness gathering at the tip of his cock through his boxers. “Want me to—”

“Shh.” Remus cupped the side of his face in one hand and watched Sirius’ lashes flutter, nearly brushing his cheekbones. He was so pretty it hurt to look at him, sometimes; between the delicate angles of his face and the absolute tank of his shoulders and thighs, Remus didn’t even know what to do with himself.

But this…this was an interesting development. He had based all his daydreams on what he knew of Sirius: bold, biting, a bonfire ready to smolder on to whoever got close enough. Remus knew he could be vulnerable—had held his hands through more than one bad call—but somehow he just hadn’t expected that to be Sirius in bed.

He found that he liked him even more this way.

He bent and kissed the top of Sirius’ head, just next to his hairline, and felt him shift. “You want to get off on my thigh?” he asked, only half-joking. Sirius made a noise of protest. “Then take my pants off.”

It was like he had told Sirius to unwrap his favorite candy on Christmas. He was up in a heartbeat, clever hands divesting Remus of his jeans faster than he could bark a laugh. “Fucking finally,” Sirius grumbled as he smoothed his hands up Remus’ flanks in a hard push. “Took you long enough to ask.”

Remus didn’t have time to quip back before there was a mouth on the outline of his cock, sucking lightly at the root of him while the breath punched from his lungs. Sirius stroked over his inner thighs for a moment before pressing them apart, giving himself more space to work as he laved his tongue over the slit of Remus’ underwear until the fabric was drenched. Only then did Sirius look back up with mischief in his eyes, teeth teasing at the elastic waistband. “You do want my mouth, don’t you?”

Fuck you, Black, you know I can never back down from a challenge. “You think you’re that good?”

“Oh, Moonpie,” he said, almost sympathetic if it weren’t for the gleam of a grin. “I know I am.”

Remus thudded his head back into the pillows as Sirius licked a broad stripe from his balls to his tip before pulling his briefs away and taking the first three inches of him like it was nothing at all. A throaty moan ripped from somewhere beyond Remus’ consciousness at the sudden, slick warmth—he twisted his hands in the pillowcase and tried not to thrust into Sirius’ mouth. Not yet. Best to let him get adjusted.

Sirius showed no sign of needing adjustment, though, sucking him down with an enthusiasm Remus usually reserved for a popsicle in the dead of summer. He hummed when Remus planted his feet flat on the bed for leverage and lifted him up with the hands on his ass again; the new angle let him go deeper and his mouth fell open when he felt Sirius’ throat against his tip. “Oh my god—”

Sirius dragged him up again when Remus tried to back away, breathing hard through his nose. His pupils were dilated, eyes flashing. It was too much to handle with the riot of sensation vibrating up his legs, so he tilted his head back again and let Sirius take what he wanted.

He was sloppy and yet incredibly precise, a combination that should not have worked and somehow did anyway. His tongue moved with no discernible pattern, but by god did it move. Pretty lights popped behind Remus’ eyes when Sirius’ tongue found the underside of his cock and his hand flew out to wind in his hair again. “Yes,” he begged. “Yes, fuck, Sirius, keep going.”

Sirius made a pleased noise and doubled down. The sound of his mouth sliding up and down Remus’ shaft was unholy and obscene and entirely too perfect. The pressure and suction were just how he liked it—Sirius’ tongue was a menace like this just like when they traded quips—he’d be there if Sirius would just—

Remus sucked in a gasp when Sirius pulled off to suckle at the tip, and on the first press of his tongue to Remus’ slit, he was done for. He spilled into Sirius’ mouth with a bitten-back shout, thighs trembling on either side of his shoulders. “ ‘S good,” he panted when his jaw finally unclenched. “ ‘S really good, Sirius—fuck.”

The fuzziness of his vision crept in around the edges as Sirius kept working him with a softer mouth and a loose hand around his base, as if he was trying to get every last drop out of him. The thought made Remus squeeze his eyes shut. Getting hard again this soon was bound to hurt.

Sirius licked his lips when he pulled away. “Nice boys let a guy know when they’re about to come.”

“…sorry.”

“You’re a paramedic, aren’t you supposed to be worried about my breathing?”

“Off the clock.” Out of my mind.

“Are you just going to lay there all night and make me do all the work?”

“Fuck you,” Remus groaned, batting at the nearest bit of him.

“Other way around.”

“Hmm. No.”

“No?” Sirius laughed. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

Remus wound his leg around the back of Sirius’ thigh and flipped them before Sirius could finish his yelp; the bed creaked in protest, headboard shuddering at the sudden weight change. He sat back in Sirius’ lap and looked down at him with an indulgent smile. “Don’t pretend, Sirius. You’re smarter than that.”

Sirius opened and closed his mouth twice before his brows furrowed in indignation. “I’m not pretending,” he blustered, though Remus could feel him starting to squirm. “I told you, I don’t like it when people tell me what to do.”

“You like it when I tell you what to do.” He rocked backwards until Sirius’ cock settled nicely against his crease and watched his throat bob. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said shakily.

Remus nuzzled into his cheek. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you? You want to be good.”

A whine broke halfway out and Sirius’ neck turned blotchy with embarrassment. “Maybe.”

“Yes or no. No ‘maybe’s in a house fire, captain.”

“Yes, please.”

Remus had to close his eyes at the rush of blood southward. He usually didn’t care about positions one way or another, but the plea in Sirius’ deep voice made something in the back of his mind froth at the mouth. He left an openmouthed kiss where he had worked a hickey into Sirius’ neck earlier and tucked his overgrown hair behind his ears. “Give me the lube.”

It was in his hand in half a second.

“Condom?”

“I’m clean, tested last month, a lot of shifts since,” Sirius said in a rush of words.

“Me, too.” They didn’t have to say it—they had spent far too many nights over the past three weeks sharing microwave meals and prime nap spots during the grueling 24-hour calls, past the point of giving a fuck when Leo or James would raise a suggestive brow in their direction. In that way, Remus supposed this had been a long time coming.

Or perhaps a short time coming, he thought as he swiped his fingers over Sirius’ tip, where he had soaked through his boxers.

“Is that for me?”

“Remus, I swear to god,” Sirius said rather desperately.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, scattering a few kisses over Sirius’ face before tugging his boxers away. And, Christ, yeah, he was exactly as delicious as Remus had imagined. Remus had a game plan for tonight already, but he would not protest getting fucked six ways to Sunday with that sometime soon. He wanted Sirius all over him.

He got to have it, too—Sirius remained pliant under his hands as he opened him up carefully, cataloguing every noise that slipped from Sirius’ mouth and every twist of the wrist that would make his thighs tremble. Remus covered him in kisses like he had wanted to do for months, now. By the time he sat up and slicked himself, Sirius inner thighs were thoroughly painted with lilac and plum.

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius panted when he began to press in, handsome face scrunching up at the initial pressure before relaxing into bliss. His knees pressed inward to Remus’ hips, silently urging him on. “Yeah, Re, a little harder—oh.”

Remus buried his moan in the crook of Sirius’ neck as the last few inches of his cock were encased in a vice grip. He ground forward without pulling out and Sirius keened, fingers digging in just below his shoulder blades; he felt the scratch when he repeated the motion and prayed there would be marks to admire.

“Shoulders,” Sirius said, delirious even to Remus’ pleasure-dulled hearing. He made a broken noise when Sirius bit at the crest of one. “Your fucking shoulders. You can lift me.”

“Mhmm.”

“You could—you can lift Kuny?”

“Sure.”

“You could—you—” He whimpered as Remus started up a steady rhythm. “This is so much better than what I pictured.”

Oh, thank god, I’m not the only one. “Tell me,” he requested, though it came out as more of a demand. Sirius didn’t seem to mind as he writhed and bucked into every thrust.

“This,” Sirius said, tossing his head with a gasp when Remus angled upward. Remus bit his lip and aimed for that spot every time, unable to tear his gaze from the smile gracing Sirius’ lips or the flush of his neck. His voice was rough and low, buzzing deep in his chest. “Wanted this so bad. Knew you could do it. Couldn’t ask. Wanted to get my mouth on you forever, wanted you to fuck me until I couldn’t think, wanted you to push me, you always push me, oh shit keep doing that!”

He was burning now, and rapidly building up a sweat while Sirius scrabbled for a hold on his back and smokey moans fell from his mouth with every snap of Remus’ hips. He draped one of Sirius’ thighs over his arm and felt himself pulse at the strangled shout that rewarded him—Sirius was thrashing now, chest heaving, his free leg shaking uncontrollably where it tangled with Remus’ own.

“Sweetheart.” It was out before Remus could think twice. Sirius’ mouth fell open and precome smeared over his lower belly. He cursed under his breath and pushed Sirius’ leg closer to his chest, deepening every thrust until the smack of skin on skin drowned out everything else. “You’re such a sweetheart, I can’t fucking handle it,” he breathed. “All you want is to be good for me, right? That’s what you want?”

Sirius nodded frantically, reaching back to grip the headboard. Outside, the red-and-blue lights of a passing police car flashed over his face in a pattern they both knew too well.

Remus pressed deep and held there, pulling another cry from Sirius as he sucked a mark into the dip of his pec. So many nights spent running from their days at the firehouse, sharing silent understanding under loud laughter and teasing jabs. Sirius got it. Sirius understood. Paramedics had a stereotype as the bicycles of the EMS world—everyone gets a ride—and Remus had never tried to fight that, but he knew this was different than giving the bangin’ firefighter from Station 8 a night to remember. This was Sirius. His friend. His confidant.

“Need it,” Sirius said, voice thick around each syllable. His back arched when Remus thrust forward again, cock twitching where it laid neglected on his stomach. “Need it, Re, need you, please!”

Remus had been wanted so many times that he forgot how good it felt to be needed. The difference was more than he expected. He let out a harsh breath in Sirius’ collarbone and guided his face over for a bruising kiss, tasting his moan. “I’m here,” he said as he nibbled at Sirius’ lower lip and felt him cry out. “I’ve got you, c’mon, come for me. Do it for me, Sirius, you’re my sweetheart—”

The next shout edged on a sob as Sirius jerked in his arms and went boneless, shuddering through his orgasm before Remus could get a hand around him. He seized again when Remus gave him a firm stroke to wring the last of it out, coating his knuckles in white. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he ordered when Remus started to pull out. “Keep going, need it inside.”

The words echoed in Remus’ head as he thrust in a half dozen times and spilled into Sirius with a shattered sound, and then his thoughts went entirely blank.

Sirius was petting his hair when he blinked his eyes open again. He stared at the familiar slopes of a bicep before peeling his cheek off Sirius’ chest; his face heated at the dryness of his lips and the damp patch left behind. Sirius sated expression told him he didn’t mind one bit.

“We’re doing that more,” Sirius informed him with all the confidence Remus had come to expect from him, rolling them onto their sides with a happy hum.

“Oh, are we?” Remus laughed.

“Frequently, in fact.”

“What happened to Mr. ‘I Only Top So Don’t Even Think About It’?”

Sirius stretched like a cat in the sun, looking just as content. “On vacation with the rest of my brain. Remind me why we haven’t been doing that since forever?”

“Coworkers.”

“Different departments.”

“Same calls.”

“Don’t you dare try to talk me out of this.” Sirius gathered him up to his chest with a playful growl. “You’re not going to give me an orgasm like that and then expect me not to keep you.”

Remus froze halfway through biting his collarbone in retaliation. “Keep me?”

There wasn’t a trace of anxiety, or shyness, or any of the endearing awkwardness he had come to adore on Sirius’ face. “Was thinking about it,” he said with a cheeky shrug, running his thumb down the bridge of Remus’ nose. “You’re awfully cute.”

Remus’ heart hammered in his chest. The hope in his gut warmed, oxygen on dormant embers. “Keep me?”

Sirius hesitated, and there was the crease of worry. “If you don’t want—”

“Keep me.” It wasn’t a question anymore. Remus took a shaky breath and laced their fingers together on the mattress between them. “Keep me.”

Sirius’ next kiss was gentle and sugar-sweet. “I can do that.”

[broken-clover]

SolAxl sick fic I need it

Certainly! Love these idiots. Using the fire magic again because I'm sorry I just like using it for cute things. I'm put at a bit of a loss for scenarios like this because I don't think Sol can get sick unless I dig really deep for something but I will not resist the chance to knock Axl around a little bit. I promise I still love him, I just like putting him in Situations

Putting it under the cut + content warning for vomiting

-

Sol waited for the sound of lurching to stop before he knocked on the door. “You still alive?”

“‘Preciate the sympathy, chief. Feelin’ real touched, here.” A groan seeped through the slit at the bottom.

He resisted an irritated groan of his own. “Gonna puke on me if I come in?”

“I mean, I got half a mind to-” The groaning turned into a tired sigh. “Nah, ‘m all done, pretty sure. Don’t suppose you’ve got a napkin or somethin’?”

“There’s no paper towels in there?” Sol crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

After a moment, he could make out the sound of shuffling. “Shit. Yeah, you’re right, it does. Been stuck with my head halfway down a toilet for twenty minutes, ain’t exactly been looking anywhere else.”

“Dunno why you’re trying to justify it to me, I don’t really ca-”

It should not have been a surprise, but as soon as he opened the door, Sol was hit with an awful, rancid smell. Goddamn Gear senses, only time he ever seemed to notice them these days was when it was a pain in his ass. Axl’s pitiful expression only slightly dampened the scowl on his face. 

“Evenin’, chief.” He greeted him with a sarcastic two-finger salute. “What brings ya out here on a night like this?”

“Funny you should ask. Was just supposed to have a night of drinks, then some dumbass started throwing up on everything.”

“Way to kick a bloke when he’s down.” Axl shook his head. He took a stack of paper towels as they were handed to him and started mopping at his face. “Got most of it toilet, tried m’ best.”

“Don’t tell that t’ me, tell it to the sods that’ve gotta mop this place.”

His companion merely groaned again, wrapping a free hand around his ribs. “Dunno what the hell got me, ain’t had anything this bad in ages.”

“Knowing you, it’s probably just a hangover.” Sol said.

Axl gave him a halfhearted scowl. “Oi, oi, I’ve had enough hangovers ta’ know what a hangover feels like. This ain’t it. Somethin’ going round? Hell, maybe the fish from yesterday, knew it tasted too chewy…”

The man’s hands shook as he tried to clean. Reluctantly, Sol grabbed his own stack of towels and knelt down to assist. “Reeks enough, either way.”

“Yeah, sorry, mate. Not exactly my idea of fun either.” Both men continued to clean. As he attempted to turn and wipe a spot on the wall, Axl suddenly jerked back and whimpered, cradling his ribs. “Ugh, fuck. Worst part ain’t even the puking, it’s the damn soreness. Can get the taste outta my mouth, but just my luck this is gonna hurt ‘til tomorrow.”

Sol stopped. He threw the paper into the trash can. “Screw it, they can clean the rest of this shit up, they actually get paid.”

He dragged Axl to his feet before he could argue, only offering the slightest restraint to avoid fucking up the man’s insides any more than they already were. 

“Chief-”

“If y’ throw up on me after all, I’m gonna leave you here.”

Despite his gruffness, they made it back to their room without much fuss. Axl shed his stained shirt and only remembered to kick off his shoes at the last moment before flopping into bed. Sol toed them out of the way and perched on the bedside. “Move.”

“Eh?” Axl glanced over his shoulder, one arm still wrapped around himself. “Figured you were gonna head back down for a couple more rounds, I was just gonna try ‘n sleep this off.”

“I know you’re gonna bitch about it all night unless I do something about it. Scoot your ass over.”

Confused, but obliging, the man squirmed until he was closer to the other side of the bed, leaving enough space for another person to slip in. That didn’t mean it was the most loose fit either, though. As soon as Sol made his way into bed with him, they were forced chest-to-back against each other with only a couple of inches in spare space. Sol was not a particularly small man, nor was he one to try and downplay that fact. 

Axl could feel the heat radiating through cloth. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but something about it right then felt far more compromising than it usually did. It was hard to think of a better position, given how things were. Would trying to roll over be more or less awkward? Hell, could he even get that far without elbowing his bedmate in the face or making himself throw up again?

A hand draped around his waist. That wasn’t as familiar. Sol didn’t give him enough time to be confused by it, though, as he dragged his fingers upward. He traced lazy circles into the man’s belly and up his ribcage, summoning just the smallest hint of fire magic to make it feel like a heat pack against his skin. The motion had pulled the two of them even closer than they already had been, with Sol curving along with the slope of his spine and radiating even more heat against his back.

“You ain’t worried about getting this, too?”

“Gear-powered immune system. It’ll just bounce right off.”

“Ain’t you a lucky sonuva- mhhhh…” Axl suddenly sighed, placing one hand atop Sol’s. “Right there, riiight there. That’s the spot.”

[boyakishantriage]

Based off this.

@artale07

Start of my new writing chapter. Sneak peak of the future bit.

She lit her cigar. Laughing at the childish young man.

"It ain't gonna be easy little man. You really love her?"

Leaning against her chair, the man's hands wringing as he gave his response.

She leaned even further back. Dropping her feet on the table as she sighed.

"It's been five years. Assuming she even holds the same. Heh, sure. Vacay permitted."

"... that's it?"

"uh, uh uh. Before you go propose to your girlfriend. Sorry. Best friend you've kissed and admited feelings to repeatedly before running to work with me."

She laughed, throwing the knife into the dartboard beside her. Sliding his badge over to him.

"wear that wherever possible. You're one of us. Or at least a friend."

Twirling her cigarette. She laughed into the winds.

"Next. Ever seen the little mermaid?"

"..."

"Course you did, part of your endurance training. Simple enough. Break her heart, break his bones."

Sliding a contract over to him, the words blurred minus the contract statement. A formalized statement stating such. Looking to the second lieutenant, to be corporal, she glanced out the window.

"Fish Sticks will arrive tomorrow. 0400, leaving by 0700. That's your ticket out, unless you wanna waste half on transporting you slim ass to Oregon from what's functionally the middle of Arizona."

Sliding the dismissal notice to him, permitting his discharge from active service as a reserve force.

"Shit goes down. You drag your ass here."

He nods, taking the slip and badge as she calls out.

"oh and one more thing."

"yes ma'am?"

"make it three."

"..."

"Anything... happens to the girl that's not hurting her, but she will if sacrifices aren't made. Well, you're a smart boy. Second, clean yourself up. Relax . You're heading home."

Tossing a bag of sweets at the man, she winks at the man.

"oh. And, here's your wallet. Phone. Pant button, zipper, belt. And diary."

Sliding the items across the table, his pants dropping to the floor as each item struck against his bony legs. And his di-

"OW."

"Pay attention second private. Don't wanna lose your dick before you do it down. Now OUT."

"... Excuse me ma'am?"

"I said, get out my office."

*... Did you just suggest I'm going-

Firing her revolver above his cranium, now aimed at his dick she barked out the order.

"OUT. LET ME READ MY PORN IN PEACE."

The door slammed behind him. That was... normal??

[jodilin65]

MONDAY, AUGUST 31, 1998 Oh, what an allergy attack! I just spent the last two hours cleaning all the animal’s cages, tubes, wheels, dishes, etc. I was sneezing so bad that I finally put my nose clips on. I hate it when I have an allergy attack so bad that a Benadryl would probably stop, but that would knock me out when I have something to do. If I took Benadryl, it’d stop my allergies, but it’d fuck up my schedule for tomorrow’s appointment with Melanie.

For the first time since meeting Melanie, I am not looking forward to seeing her. Not with how painful this ordeal has become now that there’s enough tooth for her to pull on. Does having braces for the usual reason hurt this much? Well, I’m not gonna bother finding out by having my bottom teeth done.

I hope that black lady isn’t in the room too, tomorrow. I mean, she’s nice and all that, but if I’m gonna have to suffer so bad, I should at least be able to have Melanie all to myself. Even so, I’m at the point right now where if I knew I could never see Melanie again - fine.

One of the bags of old sawdust ripped along its side, so I had to take it directly out to the dumpster, and as Tom had said before, our dumpster was gone. So I walked it just past the old man’s house across the street. There were two dumpsters there. There are also two just past where the guard dogs are. Maybe someone will drag one of them back where ours usually is if the city doesn’t. Or maybe we’ll call the city and see about getting one back there. There were a few bags of garbage on the ground where the dumpster usually is. Some lazy ass that probably lives next door threw it there.

I awoke at 115 pounds, and luckily, this is the second day in a row I shit. But can I do that again tomorrow for the third day in a row? Well, there’s this bean soup that Tom says bothers his stomach if he has a whole can, so we split a can every other day now, because he says it helps with duties.

I had Tom take my measurements because it’s been a while. Sure enough, and as I figured, I’m pretty much the same as I was a few months ago. My waist may have come in a little, though, and ma noticed I lost weight. I’m glad it turned out that I was right when I said I had vibes about leaving the 120s indefinitely. I still don’t see myself in the 120s, and I even vibe 117 pounds becoming a thing of the past. Yeah, I surprisingly am picking up vibes of dropping just under 115, but we’ll see. I haven’t really done it yet. If I do, I guess I’ll stay there for about 3 months before and if I drop some more. That seems to be the way it works for me these days. I spent a few months at around 124 pounds, then around 118 pounds.

Maybe this new diet plan can and will pay off. That is, as long as I shit fairly regularly. However, if I’m gonna be stuck every other day for the most part, or regularly go two days in a row without shitting, then forget it. Well, it’s up to God. I always did say that he controls our bodies for the most part. At least I can rock/sing conformably.

I just took a Benadryl and broke it in half and took a half. That way I’ll get drowsy, but it won’t knock me on my ass.

Tomorrow’s the big test. We took the frame off the bed to see if it’d make it more stable. I think it does. I can feel a little movement when he moves, but maybe, just maybe, I can be somewhat normal and sleep with my husband at least part-time. I figured that since big changes often need to be made in little steps, like with the Nicorette program, then maybe we could sleep together when it’s not important that I be on a certain schedule. This won’t fix his snoring, but we’ll see how it goes.

Later…

It’s nearly 10:30 now, which means that my allergy attack’s been going on for nearly 3 hours. So, I’ve put the nose clips back on and will just keep them on till I go to bed in about 8 hours.

I just called Lisa, since it’s been a while. She was happy to hear from me and sounded perky. I spoke to all the girls, and they’re not too thrilled about returning to school tomorrow. I told her to tell Tammy I called.

She asked me a few questions about Tammy. How long did she live in Texas? How long was she married to Dick the pilot, and with her father Joe? When did she leave Texas? What was her father’s last name? I think she left for Texas when I was 11 and returned when I was 18, but I don’t know exactly how long she was with Dick B or Joe D. I asked her why she didn’t ask Tammy about this. She said she didn’t have the guts. That’s strange. I thought she and Tammy had discussed this already.

Keeping the nose clips on is easier said than done. They get pretty uncomfortable.

Tom’s still the same old sexually. I got horny yesterday but couldn’t get him in the mood. Not even to go down on me. I knew that a part of it was how he loves to put me on hold as far as sex goes. What a bizarre form of teasing, huh? I didn’t say anything, though, because I knew he’d get off on my bitching about it just as much as he gets off on making me wait for sex when I ask for it or when we agree to it. He wouldn’t have touched me today if it weren’t Monday since he’s just hardly ever horny. He said he wanted to digest his food so that he’d have a choice on whether or not we screwed or he went down on me. I knew he’d opt to go down on me. Especially since he knew I was hornier than I had been in a while at one of our times to get together. So, he did go down on me and I got off. I didn’t get off too easily, but I did.

I’ve been making little comments lately, just to see if he’d go along with them as I suspected he would, like, “You get off most of the time,” and sure enough, he doesn’t say a word to deny it. He’ll always go along with this because it’s what he wants me to believe. He doesn’t want to have to deal with what may happen if he knew I knew the truth. Nothing would happen, but it just goes to prove that he would lie when it comes to sex or a kid and that it’d do me no good to get tested, because he’ll either keep totally quiet about his not cumming, or he’ll deny it, and I couldn’t get tested without his full, honest cooperation. I’m sure the testing is something that I’ll never do, though, any more than I’ll ever do the straightening of the bottom teeth. I probably could never get sure results without his cumming, although, since the sterility problem lies with me, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they could find out what was wrong with me either way because if something’s wrong with me that they can find, they’re gonna find it whether or not he cums. It’s just that I don’t know if I really want to go through the hassle just for some info. Hell, I don’t know if I’d want to go through all this even if I still wanted a kid since it’s still not in my destiny to have a kid. Probably not even if I could handle it. For now, I’ll just keep my doors open and not say that I will or I won’t get tested.

It helps to have the walker by the computer. I was easily able to do my 30 minutes today and yesterday. It wasn’t too easy playing my tiles game, but it sure was great having Mary read me some files off the web.

One of the things I read up on (I saw on TV) was the case of these 17, 18, and 19-year-old boys who were charged with sexually mutilating and killing three 8-year-old boys in Arkansas. I was surprised to see how many people said they felt the boys were innocent of these killings, that there wasn’t enough evidence, and that the police were corrupt. Yeah, I know that pigs are sometimes desperate to pin a crime on anyone, but I think there was enough evidence and that the boys did it.

Speaking of pigs, the one across the street is moving. What new noise source will I have to deal with now? Hopefully none, with it being across the street. As long as I don’t get another bass-banging freeloader over there who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but itself.

I hope to hell that that freeloader next door stays right where it’s at till we move because my vibe about moving in June is weakening. Now I’m feeling it’ll be August when we move. Not only do I have to fear it doing something to the house if it splits first, but then it won’t be so easy to deliver my little journal excerpts. Also, if the next people owned the house, what am I gonna do when they start in with their noise? A good 90% of the population is not like the Mormons were, therefore, if I ask them to shut up, however kindly, they’ll just get pissed off and will either make just as much noise or more noise. Then only my fists will work because complaining to the city will do no good when they know they don’t have to fear/risk eviction.

Until Labor Day, all is still quiet around here. Someone picked up the bitch on Sunday, and Tom thinks she goes to church. How can someone like that go to church? Don’t they teach churchgoers to honor and respect their neighbors? To get along with them and not make trouble? Sounds like the church isn’t doing this little bitch any good.

I saw that the bitch’s dad was here at 6:30 this morning. Then I saw the bitch halfway down the driveway, looking impatiently down the street. God, do I want that bitch’s figure! At one point, she bent over for something on the driveway, exposing her ass (she had on a short dress). Anyway, a blue car that I think I’ve seen before pulled up. I don’t know who drives the thing, but the bitch didn’t give her kid to this car. The bitch herself, carrying a shirt on a hanger or something, got in the car and took off. Daddy was still there, and I figured he’d stay here and watch the kid all day while its daddy was in jail, or wherever, but daddy was gone when I did a 9:00 check. At 11:00, Daddy returned. I saw him in the carport, and it looked like it was bringing in some groceries.

What is it with this bitch? She’s got someone to drive her to work. Someone to watch her mistake. And now she’s getting her shopping done for her, too? Who died and made her the queen to be waited on and carted around like that?

Later…

Daddy’s still next door. I’ll do an hourly check, but I’ll bet you anything that at 4:00 or 5:00, the blue car will drop off the bitch, then bye, bye Daddy.

Boy, has this telemarketing company gotten pushy since I blocked one of their numbers. Your classic opposite-doers. Just like I knew asking Andy to come over sober would make him get more stoned, blocking out one number has gotten them to be all the more determined to call here on other numbers. They’re trying all the harder on other lines. Every now and then a sales call comes up with a number. I’ll just keep blocking each of their numbers till they run out of numbers to try to call from.

Later…

Fuck! I am so fucking pissed! I just can’t stop sneezing. Every time I chance removing these uncomfortable nose clips, I start sneezing again. Is there ever any end to this shit? My allergies have been really bad since quitting smoking, and again, I’m glad I’ll never be 100 pounds again. Not with the price I’d have to pay for it.

I cannot believe that I didn’t mention that Tweety did die after all. He died on the 24th, the day Tom went to Vegas. I put him in a small plastic bag that Dureen and Art gave me when they were here that was from the little clothing store they had had on Nettle’s Island. Yeah, I’m sure they’d appreciate knowing that I used their bag to put a dead bird in. Anyway, I stuck him in that and put him in the dumpster. Then I cleaned his cage and put it in the storage room out back. Now we have two birdcages, a wire cage, and a hoop stand. The cages will just sit in storage for now, but I’m sure I can use the hoop stand. Maybe I can get a fake plant to hang in it.

Later…

I absolutely don’t fucking believe it. Unfuckingbelievable! I’m up to 119 pounds now. How do you gain 4 pounds in one day? Especially when you’re not constipated, you’ve exercised, and you’ve been eating under 1000 calories a day? Eating 1000 calories a day is supposed to cause weight loss. I had hoped it’d keep me stable, but you mean to tell me I’m gonna gain from it? Shit, I could gain weight by not eating anything at all! What the fuck’s going on here?

Oh, just accept it and live with it, girl. You can’t do shit about it, anyway.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 30, 1998 So far, the weekend’s been the opposite of how next weekend will be. That means that this weekend has been peaceful so far.

Let’s see - still doing the sex twice a week. He’s getting in there, but still, neither of us cum. I cum just fine with the vibrator, but not with him lately. I’m not so sure as to why, but I have a few ideas. I’ll get into it later, though. It’s not his fault, I’ll say now. Yes, the lust flame has died out with time as it usually does, but there’s still plenty of love there, and I don’t see how he’s to blame for this at all.

I buffed my nails, and Tom’s, too. This is a technique I learned at Mansfield Beauty School. You file the surface of the nail, then put a drop of oil on the nail, then buff them. It makes them feel smooth and look shiny like you might have clear polish on them.

I moved the treadmill out of the music room and put it by my computer. That way, I can do even more than just read or listen to music when I walk. I can use Mary, the talker who’s been doing my proofreading for me, to read me files on the web, or whatever. I can also reach the mouse so I can play games, too.

Speaking of mice, Tom and I went to Best Buy on Friday and we picked up two different mice. One’s got a touchpad in it, and the other is like his new one. It’s got a wheel on it for scrolling, and a button I can program to hit once when I want to double-click. It can be used as a shortcut for hitting the enter key, plus lots of other things. Depends on what you use most, I guess. I’m using the one with the scroll wheel right now, as something’s wrong with the other one. It causes the computer to crash for some reason.

We also got a miniature golf game CD. It’s cool, although you’d think there’d be more courses for $30. It’s also very male-like. I can tell that by the theme and colors. We need more women doing graphics because unless they’re butchy, I’d think they’d do them up prettier.

Got Gloria’s new CD, and boy is it bad. There’s only one song on it I like.

We finally got Ratsy a new home, hoping it’d perk him up if he had a little more space, but most importantly, room for a bigger wheel. He was too big for the wheel he’d been using. So, Tom got him a 20-gallon aquarium like one of the ones the mice use. He also got him a wooden burrow that’s big enough for a GP. This aquarium, though, comes with a lid, of course.

Something up there is really, really determined to see that I don’t go under 115 pounds. I’m dead serious about this! I had really started to lose. Faster and more so than in quite a while, then I got stuck for two days. This really set me back, although I’m still down a pound or so. If I’m gonna keep on being stuck so often, then no diet, no matter how good it is, is gonna allow me to lose weight. You have to at least shit regularly if you’re gonna lose weight. Well, thank God not getting below 115 pounds isn’t the end of the world for me, because it’s definitely not where I’m going. As long as I stay under 120 pounds. That’s what’s important.

Friday, before going to Best Buy, we stopped at Ma’s house. When I say Ma’s house, I really mean Mary’s. She sure lost a lot of weight, and she sure is shaky. She has a very hard time standing, talking, and hearing. Her birthday was yesterday. She turned 75.

As a bonus, Evie and the kids were there when we went to see Ma. So I guess I don’t have to worry about getting together after all! We gave each other a big hug, then I finally got to meet my nephew Parker. His hair’s turning brown and he’s looking more like David. Seeing Nickolena was like seeing a whole new child. God has she grown! She’s just over half my height. She’s talking now too, and still has her ma’s red hair.

When I got back home and went to tell Evie how glad I was that I finally got to see them all on AOL, there was the sweetest message from her waiting for me.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 28, 1998 If I stood on the scale a certain way, I could get it to read 114½ pounds, but technically, I woke up at 115 pounds. Today’s a no-shit day, so I should be around 117 by bedtime. Maybe 118. Going from two TV dinners a day, mixed with graham crackers and popcorn, to one TV dinner a day, mixed with salad and popcorn, seems helpful so far in staying away from the 120s range.

Something’s not quite right with Ratsy. It’s not that I think he’s dying, it’s how he’s acting. It’s like he’s really bummed or something. He doesn’t stand up and beg for food constantly like he used to. I put lettuce in his cage for the first time today and he didn’t even touch it.

I don’t know what to do about Evie. All I know is that I’m sorry I started getting buddy-buddy with her online. She seems to have this fascination with me that I just don’t get. She really wants to get together with me. I’m afraid that if I do let her come over, she’s gonna push to do it again, and again, and again.

Tom said they’re notoriously late, and that the kids are totally wild. Yeah, even though Evie may be one of the very few good moms left in this world, discipline still went out seemingly in the 80s. I can see her being too lenient. That’s better than being the domineering bitch my mother was, but still. Even if I were to put all breakable stuff in a safe place, what’s to say they still won’t trash stuff that I can’t easily move out of the way, and topple over garbage and stuff like that? I realized that this wouldn’t be such a fun visit.

Later…

I left Evie a message and briefly explained that I’m a bit paranoid about home company but to please not take it personally. I told her I’ve always had a problem interacting with people, even if they’re people I love and trust, but that I still love her and her family and would like to continue keeping in touch online. I told her I’d keep my doors open in the future, and hopefully she’ll understand. Although I hope I don’t hurt her feelings, I didn’t want to keep stringing her along, but she’s gonna take the news however she’s gonna take it.

I spoke to Andy, who hates his job. He admits that it’s one thing to say he’s gonna keep his mouth shut and mind his own business, but another thing to do it. So, he said, if he gets fired from this job, it’s probably due to something he said. He says he’s thinking more and more about looking for a different line of work, maybe in the daytime, with wages he can depend on rather than tips, where there are fewer people to interact with, and with benefits. I hope he finds something he likes, whatever it is.

Andy waited on a guy that lives next door to Stevie.

Later…

I know why that bitch leaves an hour earlier nowadays. It’s because freeloader daddy isn’t coming to pick up God’s mistake, so she needs that extra time to cart the kid off to daycare herself. The question, though, is why isn’t he coming to get his mistake? Is it because he’s bailing out of his fatherly duties as most of them do, or is he in jail? Is he in detox or some kind of drug rehab? Did someone kill him?

THURSDAY, AUGUST 27, 1998 I took a dump today, so tomorrow I’ll be stuck.

Vegas is gonna put 6-8 pounds on me, but I’ve decided that that’s OK because there’s no way I’m gonna go there and be hungry all the time. I’ll probably come back at 124 pounds, so I’ll salad and walk my way back down to 118 pounds. At least I know I can do that much.

I had a bad allergy attack yesterday morning at around 5:00 and was forced to take a Benadryl and crash earlier than I’d have liked. Looks like today’s allergy attack is just revving up. Well, I’m gonna slap on the nose-pinchers that I use for swimming because I’ll be damned if I’m interrupted every 10 minutes with sneezing fits for hours. I ain’t taken a Benadryl to knock me on my ass. I need to push my schedule a little further around so I can be up for Friday morning.

Friday morning we’re gonna go see Ma. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. Then, we’re gonna go do a little shopping. Go to the bookstore, and maybe see about a new mouse for me. One you use for the computer, I mean. I want a mouse like Tom’s. His has a wheel along the side for scrolling up and down scroll bars. It’s much more convenient. Also, there’s a button on the side that you just click once for icons, instead of double-clicking. Tom says it’s so much better.

Got a little booklet from Mom of sketches of children done by some artist who has a museum in Tucson. The sketches are boring. Even sloppy looking. But on the opposite page of each sketch, is a blank page. Well, instead of taking Journal 77 to Vegas, perhaps I’ll take this. It’s got 15 pages which oughta be enough.

Later…

Our lovely bitch next door and her daddy are here waiting on the baby daddy to come by so they can all go away for the day. Let’s see… I’m up to two door slams so far. So, one or two more is what I’m in for. Yesterday morning at this time, it threw something in its recycle bin that’s up against our house and not theirs and slammed the lid shut. In fact, come to think of it, I never heard anything fall into the bin or footsteps approach it. It’s as if it came out just to slam the lid right outside our bedroom windows. At first I thought it was a car door, it was so loud, obvious, and deliberate.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 26, 1998 I believe my life will be a whole lot easier if I just cut out food altogether. I’ll eat every now and then, I’ll eat on vacations, I’ll still walk a half-hour a day, but I can’t live my life watching every fucking bite I’ve taken. First of all, the regimen I’ve been on should have caused me to lose weight and I should’ve been back to around 100 pounds a while ago. However, I accepted the fact that for whatever reason, wacky thyroid or not, I couldn’t get below 115. Maybe that’s just how I am now. Just like one can’t help their height, there are some people, both fat and thin, that can’t help their weight. I’ll be damned, though, if I’m gonna live with a new long-term problem, though. For 18 years I fought with the cigarettes and their effects on me physically and on my emotions. Well, I’ll be damned if I’ll swap in one problem for a new one and let the food/weight bring me down for years, too, as it has been for months now. I don’t want to set myself free from watching what I eat by going back to eating whatever I want to and not worrying about it, because those days can never be again. I will gain a ton of weight if I do that. However, as we know, there are some things that change and that are inevitable and that are out of our control. There’s no easy way to keep my weight where it is, and I sure as hell couldn’t lose weight, but I can turn the other cheek on some things that have plagued me and been a problem. I was taught that if you have something that’s a problem - dump it if you can. Omit it from your life (like a woman would dump a problem male and like I dumped abusive family members). So that’s why I feel it’d be better if I just didn’t eat, rather than worry about what I ate and deal with the hunger and counting the hours till I could eat again. I can’t deal with that kind of slavery either. I’ll walk, I’ll drink, but I just can’t eat anymore. Food just totally brings me down.

From the looks of the Caller ID box, Lisa tried to reach me yesterday. I hope she’s OK and that she gets her weight down because I know how much she wants to. I worry about her weight and Bill, though. If Bill got on her ass about weighing 130 pounds, then he’s surely gonna be cutting her down like hell about being 150 pounds.

I sent Tammy a letter, and as her sister, I felt it best to warn her of what I vibe, fear, feel, or whatever you want to call it. I told her I’d never try to persuade or suggest she like or dislike someone, but that whether or not she’s on good terms with the folks when they die - please don’t go to their funerals. I really see great potential for either extreme violence or even murder, should she, Larry, and Ronnie ever be in the same room together.

Ratsy seemed really depressed earlier. Even Tom noticed it. I switched water bottles since he seems to prefer roller balls to levers, so we’ll see if this perks him up. Maybe he was just kind of dehydrated.

I awoke at 117 pounds today, and since I shit yesterday, of course I’m stuck today. It’s no wonder I could never lose any weight. You can’t lose weight if you’re backed up in shit every other day.

Got some personalized stationery from the HS. They sent 5 sheets of stationery with little pictures of cats and dogs and with my name/address. And envelopes, too. I wrote/sent 2 sheets to Paula and 3 to Bob.

Bob must really be losing his mind. I had been sending Bob a few postcards Dureen and Art had sent, and according to Kim in her email to me, Bob thought they were from her. How fucking stupid can he be?! Didn’t he recognize my handwriting or see the Phoenix postmark?

I decided it was time again to play detective and browse the web to see what I could find on Gloria. It’s fun because one never knows what they’ll find. I found a few goodies - a few pictures and a boring screensaver, but I have it anyway. I found another picture that was in the bunch that Dureen stole. It’s nice to have these pictures back and I like them so much better on the computer, rather than the walls. They’re safe from tears on the computer, although I do have a few on the walls. The cool thing about it is that if a picture does tear, I can just reprint a new copy!

I saw a fascinating documentary on the Titanic. The big luxury cruise liner that went down in 1912. It hit an iceberg and is still 2½ miles underwater.

Tom didn’t have much more to say in regard to his class in Vegas. Just that it was mainly about changes in life and how to accept/handle them.

Later…

Guess we’ll be hearing from the bitch if she leaves at the same time she did yesterday morning. Yesterday morning, at 6:15, the freeloader bitch gave me 3 loud, hard, deliberate, obvious slams on its way out.

I have mixed feelings about going anywhere for Labor Day. At first I felt she wouldn’t party without him in the picture, but yes she will. The bitch still has her sick little gal pals and all their 10,000 kids. Everybody has to come to the bitch’s place for parties, so why not? And as an added bonus, they can all badger me. I’m curious to stick around to see if my strong party vibe rings true, but at the same time, I kind of want to get out of here because I don’t want to be invited to her fucking party. The last thing I want to do is sit around and listen to that bitch and her crony’s party. If they’re that fucked up that they feel they have to make a scene and get attention, that’s their problem. In the long run, though, I think that’s when my schedule will be on nights and I very well could be asleep throughout the late afternoon and early evening hours. But the question is - will these sick fucks let me sleep? Because if they don’t, I swear that bitch and her associates are out of here! Truthfully, though, I don’t see why I couldn’t sleep as long as I had the fan and music, of course, to blend in with their ball games and music, but things are different now than they were last Labor Day. They didn’t have two city letters complaining about them back then, so maybe, if they still feel such a need to be heard and noticed by me, their noise source will be mainly vocal.

Later…

I’m a pound heavier than I was when I got up. See, something’s gotta be going on, because although I did eat a little bit today, I didn’t even eat 1000 calories, and if you have 1000 calories or less, you’re supposed to lose weight. I shouldn’t be maintaining or gaining, but I am, so it must be for a reason and really meant to be. Maybe it’s just fluid that I accumulated since I got up, but all I know is that I never used to have this problem. I could gorge all day and be the same, or even less than when I woke up, so I’d still say that something’s gotta be going on that’s got to do with my metabolism or thyroid. Maybe, after I continue to eat so few calories and walk, I should go back to the doctor to find out why I can’t lose weight. Like I said, if I can’t lose weight, then I can’t lose weight and so be it, but couldn’t this end up being worse than just hanging at this plateau I can’t go beyond? This could be a sign of other problems to come, so we’ll see. Still, I know I should’ve lost more weight by now. No one should hold the same weight doing the walking that I’ve been doing, and by following the diet plan I’ve been following.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 25, 1998 Well, I'm already back to 118 pounds just a few hours since I last wrote. I walk a half-hour a day and eat sensibly, but my weight still stays at the same old heavy weight. Funny, huh? Doing all this to maintain the same weight, rather than to lose. Normally, this regimen I'm on should cause weight loss, but instead I'm just barely being able to maintain my weight by it, but wacky thyroid or not, I accept the fact that I can't get below 115 pounds. It's just such a constant, everyday struggle to keep it from going into the 120s! Is my whole life gonna be about this? Makes me want to just say fuck it, and go back to eating what I want and not worrying about it, but I can't do that anymore and hold the same weight. I'll gain a ton of weight if I do, but we'll see.

MONDAY, AUGUST 24, 1998 Tom should be home in about an hour. Mary brought him to the airport, and she’ll be bringing him back, too. That’s nice of her to do this since I can’t. He was gonna drive himself originally, but it would’ve cost a bit to leave it parked at the airport all day.

I can’t wait to hear all about his trip, and I hope and pray that he makes it back OK. I don’t have a bad vibe, but you know that these are the things that make me worry. I know traveling by plane is much safer than vehicle travel, but what with God and his ways, and with what happened to little Larry, and just the ways of life in general, I worry. A sudden tragedy can happen to anyone, anywhere. It’s just that unfortunately, most tragedies are inflicted upon the better people of this world.

Speaking of flying to Vegas, well, when we go, I’m gonna use journal 77 to write in during the trip (if I write at all). Since I began doing my journals on the computer only, I never finished the journal chart that I had left off with in that book, so there are several blank pages left over.

Later…

Tom is home now and is eating. After he eats, he’ll give me a detailed account of his trip. He said it was a stupid class, the cab cost a fortune, and that they cut the class early and he had to wait 4 hours at the airport. Well, they’ll reimburse him for the outrageous cab fare. The bank paid his airfare, of course.

I woke up at 117 pounds and knew I’d better get shitting today, or else I’d wake up at 118 tomorrow, which would still be within my weight range. Well, I did end up shitting off a pound, so I should be waking up at 115-116 pounds till I get stuck again. Then I’ll wake up at 117-118, and back and forth and back and forth.

Tom brought home a couple of little bags of peanuts from Southwest Airlines. And from the class - a little bean-bag dinosaur, a key chain, a little wooden box with Chinese writing, and a book he’s got to read before he can teach, I guess.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 23, 1998 Not a peep out of the bitch today, so the weekend was peaceful.

Tomorrow morning, Tom will be leaving for Vegas. Mary’s gonna pick him up and bring him to the airport at 7:15 AM. Then she’ll pick him up and bring him home at 10:30 PM. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to go in to work till 12:30 AM on Wednesday.

So, they’re basically gonna be teaching him to be a teacher where he works. Neither of us knows much about it, though, till the merger goes through and all that.

Woke up at 116 pounds and am hungry all the time. I have to wait a few more hours for my second and last meal of the day, so I munch on my mixed salad in between. It’s good right out of the bag. I even like it better without dressing. This is the second day in a row that I’ve been 115-116, so naturally, I’m stuck today. Guess my body’s just doing whatever it has to do to keep its weight at what it feels is ideal for it in this day and age. Anyway, this being stuck should reset me to 117-118, and if I can stick to this new diet plan, I should spend a lot of time being hungry, but I should never leave the range of 115-118 pounds.

Gotta do some dishes and do some more walking. I just wish the fucking belt wouldn’t lock up on me. Sometimes it gets sluggish like someone was putting a bit of pressure on it. I spray it with silicone spray, but it doesn’t always help. I want to feel like I’m walking. Not like I’m climbing an incredibly steep hill.

I’ll tell you one thing for sure, though, and that’s that when we do go to Vegas, I’m eating whatever I want. I’ll be damned if I’ll put up with being hungry all the while I’m gambling or doing whatever. I know I’ll have to start all over again when I get back because a day or two of eating whatever I want will throw me back up to at least 124 pounds, but it’ll be well worth it. When I get home, I can work my way back down to the 115-118 pounds I usually am these days. Even with the walking, God do I have a slow metabolism! I woke up at 116 pounds. Right now I’m 117½ and what did I eat today so far? Nothing but salad and one measly little TV dinner with a small portion of chicken lasagna. Oh, and two graham crackers, too. But that’s it. That’s all I had. It’s the shit. Yesterday’s food wasn’t shit off. It’s still with me. So, in a sense, I may as well say that today I’ve eaten 3 TV dinners, 6 graham crackers, lots more salad, and popcorn. By the end of today, I should weigh 118-119 and wake up tomorrow at 117. Well, maybe I’ll shit twice tomorrow. It sometimes works out that way where we make up for lost time here. Then I can get rid of yesterday’s and today’s food, get back to 115 pounds, then start all over again. I’ll be regular for a handful of days, then as my weight lowers, I’ll get stuck, gain a few pounds back, then shit and lose it again. That’s what I’ve been doing for close to two months now.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 22, 1998 No out-of-towners this weekend, but I guess little miss bitch had company while I slept. Tom said there were no music or ball games, though. A white car came and parked just inside the carport and then he said he heard a bunch of little kids, and that’s all he heard. Right now there are no lights on over there, and it’s early on a Saturday night, so that means that the subhuman black piece of shit meat is out somewhere. Unless she has to get up early, which I highly doubt. So, I’m sure I’ll hear her come door-slamming in any time now.

Can this bitch ever take one weekend off? Just one weekend? I mean, I can’t imagine not wanting a weekend to myself periodically with no visitors and no one picking me up. Guess she’s a clingy desperado who always needs to be around people (sort of like Evie). What is Evie’s fascination with me anyway? Why does she always want to do something with me or come and get me, etc.? I know she doesn’t feel sorry for me and my sterility like I originally thought, because she knows I don’t want kids, and from what she tells me, I think she envies me and my sterility.

Later…

Went for another dusk swim and it was blessedly peaceful.

Did some laundry earlier and soon I’ll tackle the dishes. Can’t wait till we have a dishwasher when we move, too.

Tom worked on the car, as usual, and there’ll be many more days of that to come, as is destined for the next handful of years or so.

I don’t know if Tweety’s dying or what, but he didn’t look too good, so I brought him inside. He seems weak and he’s sitting on the floor of his cage. Something he just doesn’t ordinarily do. Well, I can’t say it’d be any big loss to me if he did die. It’d just be one less mouth to have to feed and water since I’m not really a fan of birds. Neither is Tom. We both favor Measles over Tweety and if I could take Measles with us when we move, I would.

I was surprised to wake up at 115 pounds. Last night I had a 114-pound vibe, which is rather odd. We’ll see what happens, but as long as I don’t go back into the 120s again. One little change in my diet can cause me to swing out to 121 pounds like I just did the other day. I have a neat new diet plan that I think will be healthy for me and that’ll make sure I never go back into the 120s, as long as I stick to it.

Later…

The bitch just came in. I only heard one door slam. Couldn’t make out the car, though.

Anyway, I originally wanted to do the Slim-Fast diet plan and have a shake for breakfast and lunch, then a regular dinner, but no, God had to bless me with a bum stomach. I say that sarcastically, of course. So, instead of two TV dinners a day with graham crackers and popcorn mixed in, I’m gonna keep the two TV dinners a day but replace the crackers and popcorn with salad. Of course, I’ll do my walking, too. I’ll have a bowl of popcorn once a week. I’m not gonna deprive myself forever. It’s just that I can’t make any major changes/additions without it costing me a trip to the 120s. Hell, if I just kept on eating as I always have for years since quitting smoking, I’d be pushing 200 pounds by now!

As far as toning - I don’t know. Most of those target exercises never did me any good, and as Tom said, it takes a long time to see a significant difference. He said it may take me 9 months to a year and him about 3 years. He also pointed out how some people exercise for 5-10 years before they feel they’re where they want to be and at their peak fitness. It really is slavery. If it were something that could be accomplished in a month, no one would look like I do, or worse. Except for maybe most guys. Because most of them don’t care how they look, what they weigh, or how fit they are. Some women don’t, either, but it’s mostly guys who are less into their health/appearance. As for the craters, oh my God, I now have them from head to toe! That’s mainly an age thing. I can lessen them, but I’ll never get rid of them. I wonder about these hips, though. Never have I had hips like this before. I always had such narrow hips, but not now. Fortunately, though, the hip exercises were the most effective, so maybe I’ll do those more often.

Later…

Damn, this bitch crashes early. There are no lights on in the kitchen or living room, so unless the bitch is curled up in bed with her hand between her legs, sloshing around in the tub with a rubber ducky, it ain’t awake.

It’s in my nature to be a philosopher, as you know, and to analyze, guess, and wonder about all kinds of things - so - what would my life be like now if I were still back east? What a really fucking scary and depressing thought!!! If they had cut me off from SS and SSI without my having someone like Tom in my life, I’d have died for sure. I’d never have made it. Even if I could keep a schedule and dance till I got too old to dance, what would I have done afterward?

Tom is definitely my biggest blessing. Regardless of how many things he’s said and done that I disapprove of, I sure feel I have more security with him than I did with SS and SSI checks and my parents’ help.

If there is any subject that Tom’s words have never matched his actions (for more than the most part), it’s sex. No, this isn’t a complaint nowadays. Just observations. As I’ve said, we have sex Fridays and Mondays. Last night I got into bed to screw, when he said, “Let me use the bathroom for a minute first.” I’m thinking, oh boy. He’s gonna beat it off in the bathroom. I’d bet these journals on the fact that he did, too. After that minute, which was really 15-20 minutes, he came out, got into bed, and I said something like, “Gee! I was beginning to think some young, skinny chic popped into the bathroom and that you got it on with her.” Then he said I was impatient, he was reading a magazine, then he had to brush his teeth. I can see brushing his teeth, but he went and read a magazine while he knew his wife was waiting for him in bed? How romantic. Yeah, he really desires me. So much so that although it was the beginning of his day, he slept a long time, he had plenty of time to digest, the place was cool, he really squirt like hell! Yeah, right. Well, he’s not the only one. I tried using the vibrator, but I couldn’t get off. I told him I had a “missed” orgasm, where you have a very light orgasm, but it was close enough in a way. I did get more aroused than I have in quite a while.

Thank God, I mean thank fucking God, that he’s not your typical male. What with the way I’ve become so non-horny, I’d be driven crazy if he were all over me all the time, and if he were wetting the bed constantly. Speaking of that - he knows I’m dead serious about not wanting a kid anymore. At least I think he knows. Therefore, he’ll probably go back to not cumming at all.

Still have mixed emotions about going to get tested. Since I’ve stopped wanting a kid, it sort of put a damper on my curiosity about why I’m sterile. I mean, is it really necessary that I see if I can find out why? Who cares if it’s the eggs, or the uterus, or something else when I not only don’t want a child, but I know why God sterilized me? It’s simple - he sterilized me because he knew I couldn’t handle a child. So, is knowing all this really worth putting myself through the hassle?

Tweety’s still hunkered on the floor of his cage, but he did get up to take a drink. My guess is that he’s dying, but we’ll see.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 21, 1998 What? No weekend company, Joely? At least not so far, huh?

Anyway, both Tom and I have been very productive. This weekend, he’ll be doing the usual - car work, taking care of his ma’s house, yard work.

Tom says his Ma’s house won’t be a lot of work since it’s selling as a fixer-upper, but I still think it’ll be enough work till it sells at the beginning of next year, which is when I feel it’ll sell at this point. Well, like I told him, he can take all the time he needs to deal with his family’s affairs. I’ll support him 100%. Remember, it’s not like we’re newlyweds who have to be all over each other constantly. Due to my enormous love for him, he can have all the time and support he needs.

Yesterday, I went on a 3-hour cleaning spree and I scrubbed this fucking old, filthy, ugly kitchen like crazy. The sink is white porcelain like the tub is, so I had to bleach the shit out of that. God, I can’t wait till we have a stainless-steel sink again! The counter, which is so old and made of the same kind of tiles you have in bathrooms, had to be scrubbed too, and it sure as hell was hard to get in between the cracks. I scrubbed the microwave and the stove, too, washed the tablecloth today, and will do the regular laundry and sheets tomorrow. I still have to do other things, too, like cleaning the bathroom, among other odds and ends around here that need cleaning. Due to my not liking this house, I’ve been neglecting the cleaning. Gotta dust and vacuum, too.

I got the animals’ cages cleaned today, and later, I’ll work on the TV trays Tom brought over from Mom’s. There are 4 wooden trays on a wooden rack that need cleaning. It’s filthy with dirt and dust, but dirt, dust, crumbs, clutter, disorganization, and all that, runs in his family.

I checked the guide on the TV screen for the first time in a while and holy shit! There’s actually a new movie out that’s just my kind of movie - a scorned teenage girl seeks revenge on those who burned her.

Yesterday I was up to 121 pounds. I was so fucking watery that I took a water pill. Aren’t periods supposed to drain water? Well, this period ended up being rather wimpy, like I said. I needed ibuprofen, but no big pads. Just liners. So when I woke up, I was 116 pounds, but it fucking figures. All this extra weight gain over adding a lousy little bit of chicken to my diet. And apples and salad. I really should just stick to my two TV dinners a day and some salad, although when I tried this new menu for variety, I did cut out one of those TV dinners. I just can’t afford to take even one extra bite. My metabolism is just too slow for that and I’m just not no young thing anymore. If I were smart, I’d cut out food altogether and just live on liquids and vitamins, and just eat every now and then. That way, if I cut out food altogether, I wouldn’t have to worry if I went over an extra bite or two, etc.

Lisa called me again today (I’m beginning to wonder if now she’s gonna call me every day!) And she sounds great.

I awoke from a dream that wasn’t so great that involved Tom. For some bizarre reason that may have had to do with money, we had to live in separate apartments for 4-5 years in Springfield. Oh, how depressing! I’d rather wake up from a nightmare where someone’s trying to shoot me than all sad like that.

Tom got me some goodies for my hair. Some hot oil treatments and some split-end mending stuff. It’s stuff I’ve used before, but it’s been a while. It helps a little, but nothing will ever salvage this dry, frizzy, dead, damaged, uneven, straw-like hair like a good haircut would. It’s not gonna happen just yet, though.

Oh, I take that back about the dogs being quiet after dark. Last night, just after 9:00, they went on a little fit, so I used the wireless headphones (this was right as I was beginning to clean). Come to think of it, this has happened before, but things could be worse as far as dogs go.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 20, 1998 Another message from Jackie. She just doesn’t get it, I guess, that her uncle doesn’t want anything to do with her or her sister Pam. I mean, he and I will be polite when we see them in person, but Pam and Jackie are both users. They only call when they want something. This time around Jackie wants to know what the story is with Ma’s house. She and her husband Jim want it. They’re under the false idea that they can rent the house out and make extra money without having to work. Well, who would they expect to do the maintenance? Tom? Probably so. They’re not getting it, anyway.

Later…

I’m gonna try again in about an hour to see if I can get a peaceful enough swim. As I may have said before, in the last year the dogs have been better than ever. Instead of barking at night and every 5 minutes in the daytime, we’re down to no night barking and barking every 10-30 minutes in the daytime. Still, these little shits could go off at any moment for fucking ever! It’s hit or miss. Maybe I’ll be lucky this evening.

I ended up bringing on a flow by force. I made myself get off 3 times last night. Although this period is still rather light, it’s enough of one at this point. Again, though, I had more cramps for the period.

As my body was obsessed with weighing 124 pounds for the longest time, my body is now obsessed with weighing 118 pounds a lot. I’m surprised I am 118 and not 120. I’m so bloated. I think some of that bloat is starting to deflate a little bit now, however, as the water drains from me for a while. I may not be able to get any lower than 115 pounds, but at least I’m staying under the 120s.

Later…

Got lucky and got a good, peaceful, relaxing, yet invigorating swim for 40 minutes. Most of the time I just floated around, rather than swam, but that was the first orgasm I ever had in the pool. I suddenly felt horny, but of course, Tom’s asleep, so I took care of myself. I didn’t think I would be able to cum, as there are some distractions, like helicopters, but I did.

Tom and I had a pleasant chat before he crashed, about the possibility of us flying to Vegas in a few weeks. Great! I do like Laughlin better, but flying there costs more. They use smaller planes and they charge around $130 per ticket, but if we shop around enough, we can get a $70 ticket on a bigger plane to Vegas. So, I guess I’m not gonna miss out on flying after all, which would’ve been the highlight of the trip for me, had we gone to Florida. I love flying and gambling, but if I never really travel further than the surrounding states, that’s OK because I don’t like traveling in general. A cruise around Hawaii might be nice, though. And if I could be in England at the snap of my fingers just to be around the nice accents for a day, and maybe see Norah in a theater, then be back home at the snap of my fingers, I guess I’d do that, too.

Lisa called today, and finally, there was some wonderful news from her. At least, I hope it’s the start of a happier life for Lisa. For the first time in ages, she sounded really confident, happy, and hopeful. She said she tried to kill herself a couple of days ago, then got a new therapist that she loves. We didn’t get into what she did to try to kill herself, but I’m glad she got this new therapist she loves so much and that she feels is so helpful. Sometimes you do have to shop around for a good therapist. I’ve had therapists that were both not helpful and that were helpful.

She said that this one got her to see things differently and get to the root of the problem, as she put it. She thought she’d be better when Bill was gone so she wouldn’t have to put up with his emotional and physical abuse, but she didn’t get better. She just turned on herself. She now realizes that the reason why she turned on herself and picked up from where he left off, is because thanks to that bastard who oughta be tortured and killed, that’s all she knows. All she knows is self-harm. Yeah, I fully understand. She didn’t say Bill oughta be tortured and killed, though. Those are my words that I just wrote but I’m sure she feels the same. I try not to do what other family members have done and pit her against others. I just try to tell her my honest opinion and what I feel could happen in dealing with certain people, and that’s it. From there, she has to be the one to decide what to do.

Unfortunately, she’s still smoking, but hopefully she’ll stop before she’s 31.

I moved Tweety today for variety and something new. He was hanging off the edge of the patio. Right in between where the concrete and grass meet. Now, he’s just outside the back room window, so I can see him when I’m working on the computer when it’s light out. I can also see him from the kitchen.

I love Tom’s idea for a doggie door for Blackie for when we move. Instead of having the door lead to the whole house, we were thinking it’d be cool for it to enter into a small hallway where his food and water would be. That way, if we didn’t want him in the house, he could still get inside and to his food and water at all times.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 18, 1998 After Tom did some car work, then took a shower, we screwed. As usual, I just could not get into it. All was fine till he went to get up top. I didn’t see where I was when he got up there and apparently, my head was right at the wall, so he had no room since he’s taller than me. Instead of telling me to scoot down, though, he gave up so easily. Now any normal, red-blooded man who’s attracted to the woman he’s with and who’s normal sexually and not an old prude, would never have given up that easily. And it didn’t seem to bother him at all. He was perfectly content to just end it right there. It was as if it was the perfect excuse to escape it altogether, but I shouldn’t talk. I kind of have no desire myself. If what they say about a woman being most horny in her 30s is true, then all the more I’m just an abnormal fluke of nature myself.

Still, the out-of-bed Tom is worth the fluky in-bed Tom. Any abnormalities or lack of desire are all well worth the man that he is out of bed.

Later…

My period never ceases to do something new. I had a spot a couple of days ago, yesterday it looked like a light flow was beginning and I usually get a full flow after that, but today, nothing. My tits are a bit sore now, too. I’ve never not had a full flow that I can remember. Excluding when I was in my teens and the Navane was fucking things up. I still say it’s inevitable that I get a full flow, but now I know that anything’s possible when it comes to my periods. Sometimes I wonder if they’ll stop altogether. As long as I don’t have any problems or weight gain, my periods can do what they want. At least I can’t be pregnant.

I woke up at 117 pounds. I’m typically between 117-119 pounds these days, which is definitely as low as it’ll go because I’ve been weighing between that for just over a month now. Usually, if I weigh the same for that long, I’m gonna be staying there for quite a while, but great! That’s certainly better than 124 or higher.

Andy’s really gotten to be such a sad case. Well, he’s been a sad case now for a while, I guess you could say, even if he’s making good money now (till he flirts and gets fired). He’s such a pothead in the way that he’s such a forgetful little flake. He talks in slow motion, pausing 3 seconds in between words, and can’t remember shit. Yesterday he left a message about coming over today. I replied telling him I’d let him know tomorrow (today) when was a good time. So I called a couple of hours ago and told him he could come over between now and 9:00 and he said he forgot about it. Then he asked me if we agreed on a time and I’m like, “Andy. Don’t you remember? I said I’d call today and let you know.” Then he asked if I was sure 7:00 and 9:00 were the only times he could come over tonight. Then I had to repeat myself and remind him I said between now and 9:00. Not between 7:00 and 9:00. It’s a wonder he can even drive in the condition he’s in.

I gotta figure out how I’m gonna hide all this food Tom got today. I’m trying to switch to snacking on things like chicken, salad, and fruits, instead of graham crackers and popcorn. I hid the stuff I don’t want Andy to have, but he can have some graham crackers or toast if he wants if he comes over.

Later…

The Claritin’s not doing shit for me. I’m not surprised, either. As usual, it was something that seemed to be helping at first, but it’s just a joke. I knew it sounded too good to be true. Why has God always insisted I deal with something being wrong or different? Enough is enough already. Can’t he just leave me alone?!

Andy will be here between 7:00 and 8:00, so he says, and of course, that was the second time just now that we had to play phone about it.

Later…

Andy left a little while ago. He came over on time, smelling like a cigarette. He surfed the web, then we played 5 games of cards. All of which he won.

He didn’t have much to tell me this time around. Just that Michelle’s now really hired, instead of a temp, at the job she’s been at. So, now as long as Helen’s there, she’ll be there.

We were also talking about the president. God, he’s such a slut! This isn’t the first affair he’s had that he’s just publicly admitted to. The only thing about it that pisses me the fuck off is that millions of the taxpayer’s money went into investigating the affair. Oh, come on! His job is to be the president. Not be faithful. If he wants to whore around, that’s his business. What do we need to investigate it for or pay for it or know about it for? One has nothing to do with the other. As long as he can do what he’s got to do as president, then fuck his whoring around because 95% of the population’s whoring around. Anyway, I guess Hillary’s standing by him. What I think is that she doesn’t want to give up her position as the first lady, but will she still be with Bill after he’s no longer president? I swear anything named Bill thinks only from the waist down.

Oh, also, Andy came over somewhat baked. I knew he would sooner or later since he’s obsessed with doing the opposite of what one asks of him. At least he didn’t ask to eat the house down, just for gum.

Later…

Oh, I’m so fucking furious! I go out to have a peaceful swim, and I can’t even have that. Bark, bark, bark, bark! Does anyone ever tend to these fucking dogs? How the fuck can they stand it? Do most people really like noise that much? Do people really enjoy knowing that others can hear them or their dogs?

Then every fucking time I go out to do something, Blackie’s gotta be right at the door meowing her ass off. I swear, if I go in and out every hour, he has to go in and out every hour. If I go in and out every 5 minutes, he has to go in and out every 5 minutes. Thank fucking God I don’t have a kid. I could never handle it. I can’t wait till we move and get a doggie door so this cat can come and go on his own and leave me the fuck alone! Except for when I’m sleeping. When I’m sleeping, or if we’re not gonna be around to watch him and make sure he doesn’t bother the other animals or our stuff, we’ll lock the doggie door. He’s pretty good, so far, with not getting into stuff, though.

I have the air cleaner on when it’s light out. Sometimes I have it on when it’s dark, but as long as my animals are fairly quiet, I like to turn it off when it’s dark because that’s the only time there’s no barking around here.

Tom was just on his way to bed when I got up this afternoon. I told him I had a light flow again. He seemed so happy to hear that. He was even calling me beautiful. Well, if I’m so beautiful, why doesn’t he want me in bed more often? I shouldn’t talk, though, because if you asked me the same thing, my answer would be the same as his (although he wouldn’t admit this to my face) and that’s that it’s old news. There’s just no longer any excitement in it. It’s not new and exciting and so the lust flame has burned out. Thank God the love flame is still as bright as the sun. I’m sure it always will be, too.

Anyway, I still haven’t needed ibuprofen or a big pad. The light flow turned out to be more like heavy spotting and once again, it’s dying off. Will I ever get a real period? Well, logically speaking, I should and I will, but I just don’t know anymore. As long as I’m healthy and as long as my weight stays the 117-119 pounds it has been, then I won’t worry. Just wonder. I’m still on a good, healthy, low-fat, low-calorie diet, but I’m not walking as much. I just don’t care about getting down to 100 pounds anymore, which would take an unbelievable amount of work to do and it’s just no longer worth the slavery to me. If I didn’t starve altogether, I’d still have to eat even less than I have been, and I’d have to do a lot more walking which is boring as all hell. Even with a book, it’s just no fun, and not worth it to me. My life is still the same as it was when I was thin. Only difference is that I can’t fit into the same clothes. Big deal. There are new clothes to buy in the future.

When I got up, there was a message from Lisa saying that DYS was there at the house, and she asked me to call. When I did call, though, Tammy was there and she and the girls were cleaning. I quickly spoke to her, Becky, and Sarah, then Lisa. I asked Lisa if everything was OK since she couldn’t really get into it at that time. She said yes. I told her to leave me a more detailed message tomorrow if she calls and can’t get me. At least everything’s OK, though. She sounded chipper enough.

MONDAY, AUGUST 17, 1998 I cannot believe how long I slept! Again, thank God for no kid!

It’s a good thing that I don’t really care so much anymore about losing more weight because it seems something’s determined to keep me right where I am. It seems that every time I hit down at 116-117 pounds, it has me stuck the next day, so I get set back to 118-120.

I awoke with a light flow that seems to have dried up. When I need a big pad and ibuprofen, that’s when my full flow has arrived.

The white car didn’t spend the night next door last night and I’m sure it’s gone. Her usual ride dropped her off at 4 PM. When will her next out-of-towner visit?

Later…

Tom’s up now and he told me that the bitch got picked up at 5:45 this morning. That explains why the lights were off so early.

Got an email from Kim with some jokes she enclosed.

Tom was asking me how I felt period-wise and all that because he had to work on the car. He has trouble mixing work with sex and typically prefers to screw when he’s had no other projects to do. I let him know it’s OK if he can’t make the time tonight, and could sense he wasn’t anymore in the mood than I was. He’s always gonna have car work to do, so he’s gonna have to get used to putting that ahead of other things. He needs the car to work well enough to get to work and that’s more important than sex. I suggested that if he felt he could do both, as he mentioned possibly doing, then maybe he might want to screw first before he went and tired himself out with car work. Remember, he has to work too. As is his nature, he went the other way. He said he’d work on the car, then if there was enough time left over, we’d get together. Fine with me.

Andy beat me to the punch line and called today. I usually call him on Mondays. He’s finally making good money at work. He mentioned coming over and I told him that tomorrow night, which is his night off, would be fine.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 16, 1998 The reason I didn’t have a bad vibe was that there was nothing to worry about after all. The white car with the heavy black trim stayed till 11:00 or so but left quietly. Another car come to see the visitor, I guess, but then why was the van hauling shit out of it all night Friday night as if it were someone moving in? Anyway, the white car that’s been visiting, or whatever, leaves early in the morning and comes back around sundown. We’ll see if it’s gone by Monday as Tom thinks it’ll be.

Fortunately for both of us, though, I have no bad vibes and the stress has let up.

Later…

My very horny husband really wants a lot of sex. Really wants it full-time. That’s why he made time this weekend for at least a quickie. Ha, ha! Is this a complaint? No. Merely an observation. I’m not only used to his low drive, but now I’m used to mine, too. And no, I didn’t bring it up to him. There’d be no point. He’d only make excuses.

I finally began spotting today, so hopefully my full flow won’t be too far ahead, so I can lose some more water. I’m still holding between 117-119 pounds, thank God. Those water pills really are worthless, though. I’ll only use them if my tits get sore from here on out.

Tom and I had a good, productive weekend. He expanded Ratsy’s cage. His wire cage is square-shaped. We snipped a small piece of the top off. Just enough of a hole for him to fit through. Now he has two stories and high wire walls to climb. He loves climbing. So now his cage has gone from about one foot high to three feet high. Ratsy was in playing with Velvet while Tom worked. He worked while I babysat.

The only annoyance I had today was a 10-15-minute run-through of someone’s bass pounding far off in the distance. This time, even I, who’s bad with sounds/directions, could tell it was a very loud stereo far away. Not a soft one close by. I can’t wait till we get out of this city, but even so - if someone’s stereo can be heard loud and clear from the one to two miles that that stereo had to be at, what am I going to be able to hear from twenty miles away in another ten years?

I’ll be glad when we move and only have one cat and not two. I get tired of getting startled by the cats suddenly screaming when they fuck, fight, or do whatever it is they do.

Certain sounds I have become more tolerable of, though. Like I said, after something as obnoxious as the ungodly sound of a bass that sounds like hundreds of hammers beating all your walls and ceilings in unison, hearing screaming kids go by doesn’t irk me as much anymore. I can see if it were every day for hours, though, just like the Mormon kids used to give me. That’d get on my nerves, just like the ball games do. So far there haven’t been any ball games, but as soon as it cools down there will be, or in the early evenings anytime now.

So far, it appears that our main theory as far as that bitch goes was correct. Tom told me that as he pulled in from the hardware store, he saw the black bitch walking from the car that was in the carport with keys in her hand. I spied out the music room window shortly after and saw what looked like a basket of clothes sitting on the car. Her washing machine/dryer is outside in a separate little room. After I checked again not too much later, the car was gone and it’s still not there, so it does look like yes, it was a visitor, and the van and white car came to see the visitor. What I can’t believe, though, is that there weren’t tons more door-slamming.

Tom had another theory that sort of made me laugh. He suggested that maybe that was her car she just got, and maybe she was on a get-off-welfare program, has been working for a while, bought the car, and is therefore going to be moving soon. Very, very, very unlikely. I know I’d foresee this. I’d totally sense it. I still say she’s ours till we move. She ain’t going nowhere till after we do. Maybe not too much longer after we do, but as long as she behaves, and as long as I don’t have to be forced into having her evicted, she’s here till we leave at least.

I asked him where he thought she’d be moving to if that were the case. Why move? Why not buy the house she’s in? Because she wouldn’t have the money, he pointed out. Very true. She’d be moving into an apartment. Wouldn’t that be moving backward, I asked? He said, if she were getting off of welfare, that’d be moving ahead. True, if you think about it, but it’s still screwy. You get a house when you’re poor and an apartment when you can make it on your own?

Well, I still highly believe she’ll be a welfare mom till the kid’s at least 18, but of course, by then she’ll have more animals. And besides, if she knew she was moving soon, what the fuck would she care anymore about obeying the city’s orders to shut up? There’d be music galore coming from over there. Well, she’s lucky that that 2-3-minute concert was all I heard, because if I hear anything more than an occasional outburst, I’ll have her evicted, and if she’s planning to move anyway, that’ll be worse for her because then I’d wish I could kill her.

Although I’ve been in similar shoes she’s walking in and have been low-income and know it’s not always a person’s fault that they’re struggling, I have no sympathy for her. She’s just another welfare mom. She’s not disabled in the ways that I am. She can keep schedules and be consistent.

The Haunting was great. Yes, I finished it. It starts in 1910. A devil-worshiping great aunt takes in a mute 16-year-old boy whom everybody considers dumb. Especially back then. They were treated as outcasts. The aunt, who’s a widow, has a 44-room mansion. In a little shed with a dirt floor on the property, lives a couple with two sons and one daughter. The parents do laundry and yard work for the aunt, but mostly in town, for rent. The boys help them. The little 5-year-old girl stays on the property. The aunt ends up killing the little girl, the boy, and the boy’s girlfriend.

Nearly a century later, the reincarnated little girl, who’s currently age 25, comes back to the house, unravels the past tragedies, and then lets the aunt’s ghost kill her to sacrifice the lives of her sister, niece, and nephew, and to destroy the aunt’s spirit.

Evie’s getting to be a pest again with the daily messages. I feel bad for her, though, because like most moms, she’s feeling trapped and she said she told David she needs more time without the kids. She said David said we’ll see. God, I don’t envy her! That poor thing. I can’t imagine having to give up my life, my hobbies, my sleep, my Tom, my animals, my everything for that. Thank you, God, for sterilizing me.

Gee, we go to bed early next door, don’t we? It’s 8:30 now, and when I made a car check just now, I saw that all the lights were off.

Figured out how I’m gonna group my journaling on the computer. I’m gonna have 4 files a year. Say I started at the beginning of the year, for example. I’d have 98winter, 98spring, 98summer, and 98fall. I’m gonna consider January - March winter, April - June spring, July - September summer, and October - December fall. Since I began in June, rather than have June be a file all in itself, I threw that in with July, August, and September and it’s the 98summer file.

Later…

I had to break for something to eat. Yes, it was my third meal of the day. I’m just so fucking sick of being hungry all the time! Tom says that I’ll get used to it in a few months, but I don’t think so, and I just don’t give a shit about getting thin again. First, this new diet plan was fulfilling, but now I’m hungry so much of the time, and I wonder - is rocking really worth it? Sometimes I still feel it’d be best to just let myself go. I know my weight could really climb. Like into the 150s or higher, but it’s just so hard trying to keep my weight right in the 116-119-pound range. I’m back to 120, though, but that’s just life.

Speaking of weight, Lisa’s really upset over her weight. She says she’s up to 149 pounds now and thinks it’s because of her meds. I told her to ask her doctor about her meds. Becky’s a couple of inches taller than her, she says, at 5’ 5”. She also weighs 160. Wow! This is so hard to picture.

Anyway, Lisa called me last night and tonight. Last night, she was on the verge of cutting herself, but fortunately, she reached out to me and got me by phone, and we got her calmed down and laughing, too. I let her know just how proud of her I was that she didn’t cut herself. I told that her each bad time she pulls through without cutting herself, she’ll be stronger and will be proud of herself.

The poor girl has got a lot of problems that are gonna take time to deal with. And so many questions and concerns too, but all of which are normal for a girl her age. She’s got a full plate - her being suicidal, her weight, her smoking, her home life, her meds, her feeling abnormal, her emotions, Bill and other family members, etc.

I believe deep down, though, that she’ll pull through this. She’ll be OK and have a successful enough life. Not without problems. Some of her life will suck and she’ll have long-term problems too, but she’ll survive. I just know it. I doubt she always believes this and feels this way, too, but I know Lisa will make it.

I see what Tom means when he says a kid like her would still be worth it. It’s easy to say I’d never want to deal with a suicidal kid around but look at what a wonderful person she is. I couldn’t imagine my life without Lisa. The thought of being told she died brings tears to my eyes and totally depresses me. I never would’ve thought a kid and I would be this close. That one would tell me things that they don’t even tell their own parents. Still, Lisa is Lisa, and I still have no desire for our own kid whether it was like Lisa or not.

She told me she had problems using tampons and wondered about how she’d be able to have sex when she’s married. She asked about GYNs, and what I thought about sex before marriage. I told her not to worry about the sex when and if she’s married because that’ll work itself out. I told her I understood her concerns, though, and had them myself. I suggested she try KY jelly for the tampons and just try to relax at the GYN. I let her know it’d be uncomfortable, but not painful. As far as sex before marriage - I told her that age, maturity, and being with the right person were more important when it comes to sex than just marriage alone, but that was just my opinion.

When she asked me if I was embarrassed to see a GYN, I told her no and that’s the GYN’s job after all. They see lots of people. This led to me telling her something she didn’t know that I didn’t think she knew, but that I knew she’d be OK with. I told her she should keep it between us, not that I’m embarrassed by it, but that that was all I’d tell her about me for now, since she’s still a kid. I told her I danced topless. She kind of thought it was cool and feels the same way about prostitutes as I do. That’s kind of low, compared to what I did. Then she said it’d be cool to be on the Jerry Springer talk show about this. Yeah, I’m sure she’d find it a riot sitting on national television telling people that she thought it was so cool that her aunt once danced topless.

I called to wish Tammy a happy birthday, who was all giggles. It’s great to hear her sound so happy. I never knew her to be this happy. Ditching Bill was the best thing for her, although I’m sure she’s still a moody, bitchy, negative, shitty mom at times. She told Lisa she’d kick her out if she caught her cutting herself. How sensitive.

She said Mark spoiled her and that last night she didn’t get in till 6:30 in the morning. She got my confetti card and says that most of it is still all over her living room floor.

According to Lisa, who called a few hours ago, her day ended on a sour note. Lisa said they fought about all kinds of things. She said they did make up, but she almost ran away. I asked her where she would’ve run to. She said she didn’t know. I told her again to just tough it out till she graduates. Then she can be on her own and do what she wants.

She said she was upset about Tammy’s coming in at 6:30 in the morning. I asked her if she told her mother that and she said no. So, I told her that she’s got to speak up. Her mom may not know how she feels otherwise. I advised her to tell her mom that she’s happy for her and Mark, but that her coming in at that hour is a bit unnerving for her.

We hit upon the subject of Larry and the parents again. I asked her if she’d had any contact with Larry since I warned her of the shit she could very well face with him in the future, and unfortunately, she admitted to one call. I asked her if he mentioned what was going on with us and she said no. Well, there is nothing going on with us, so to speak, but I wondered if he’d bitch to her about my dumping him. He surprisingly didn’t, but I doubt he’d tell anyone I dumped him. I’m sure he and his parents tell people that they did the dumping, but anyhow, I warned her again of what she could have to go through with Larry. I told her that maybe it was wrong of me, but that I highly recommended she had nothing to do with my folks or Larry. She doesn’t need to associate with people who don’t believe her (my parents didn’t believe Lisa when she tried to tell them that Bill hits her, and Larry thinks he’s Mr. Wonderful, too), that hurt her, and that doesn’t fully accept her as she is. They want her to be, act, and do on their terms only. You know how controlling these people are.

I can understand that at her age, not as used to all this shit, she’s hurting over it. She loves my parents, but as I reminded her, it’s OK to have fond memories and to love them and miss them, but they’re not worth the BS she’ll mostly have to deal with from them. She’s gonna meet enough losers and abusers in her lifetime. She doesn’t need their shit, too.

She was hurt that my folks now have a block on their line rejecting collect calls when they know Lisa calls collect. Boy, they really despise anyone who speaks out against their precious Bill, don’t they? They only love him because he’s Jewish, he has a good job, and he got Tammy out of the house and out of their hair. They loved Tom for similar reasons. They never loved Tom for Tom. They love Tom for taking care of me so they didn’t have to.

Anyway, as I told Lisa, sometimes you have to give up a little bit of goodness in order to give up a lot of badness, that’s just detrimental to us. Here’s an example, in which I told her: Jen and Sandy never did me wrong in any way shape or form. I love them, they have nothing to do with my shit with Larry, but in order to get this asshole out of my life, I had to let them go too. It’s unfortunate that it works out that way at times, but that’s life. We all gotta do what we gotta do, and I’m sure that with time and age, she’ll learn to like herself more and to respect herself. Self-respect is a very important thing to have. Without it, one can really make a lot of mistakes and allow people with negative influences to be a part of their lives.

In a way, thinking of my folks and Larry makes me laugh. They’re so immature. I never really saw and realized just how spiteful, but mostly immature, my folks are till recently. And Larry too, of course, but oh my God! It totally reminds me of high school. You know where you have little cliques. Dureen, as I’d prefer to refer to her from now on, would be the leader of the “popular” group. She’d be the boss, and no one would dare stand up to her. Art would be her little ass kisser with no backbone of his own. Larry would be Dureen’s pal and then they’d do what children do best - pit people against others, bad mouth others, gossip, spread personal shit around, and discuss shit with the wrong people.

Oh, how I wish I’d dumped them years ago!!! What took me so long, huh? What took me so fucking long to thoroughly see these immature, spiteful people for who they really are??? It kind of embarrasses me that I let their shit go on as long as I did and I’m really, really fucking embarrassed, and even pissed at myself, that I let Larry back into my life to fight with me all over again and to cause such mixed emotions a whole decade and 3000 miles later.

I swear, the only “fond” memory I have of Dureen and Art is their sending me out here. If there’s one thing and one thing only that they did good for me, it was that. For a while, I felt like I owed them for that, but no, they owed me that.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 15, 1998 Just thought I’d write while I wait for “Jessica’s” clothes to dry. That’s the porcelain doll I stole (I’m washing her clothes) while I was at the Vista. Andy was calling her Stevie because of her long blond hair. I really would’ve preferred that Rapunzel doll. It was so cool looking.

These particular horoscopes that I’ve been checking out on AOL, are basically geared towards work. I’ll still copy them out in 159, though, even if I don’t have a regular job. Guess it’s a male doing it since it revolves around work/money. I’d think that if it were a female, they’d revolve around romance/family.

According to Evie, she began at 115 pounds, then after the kids, she weighed 180. Damn! That’s so typical as sad as it is, though. If I had had a kid at 100 pounds, I’m sure it would’ve left me in the 140s and if I had one now, yeah, I’d probably be left at 180 myself. Or 160 if it were just one kid.

Evie offered for me to use her rowing machine (we were talking about weight/exercise stuff), but I told her no thanks since it didn’t sound like anything that’d fit in a car too easily. I’ll stick to the treadmill.

I don’t want to go back to this daily email thing with her, she says she wants to come and get me or do something with me, I don’t care to get together with her, but I feel obligated to. It’s not that I have a damn thing against her, of course, I’m just not one that likes to be around people like she is. Anyway, Tom and I will probably invite her and the kids over in a couple of weeks on the weekend. It’ll probably be fun, and I haven’t met my nephew yet who’s over a year now.

Tom slaved over the car again today and true to my vibe, the wallpaper/screensaver changer won’t be done today. It works, but not perfect yet.

Tom still thinks that someday, somehow, we’ll have a kid. He thinks it’ll be from my body, but get this, he says we’re too old to adopt an American baby and we’d be given a foreign baby. Not that I’d ever want to adopt, but this makes no sense. If you’re too old for an American baby, you’re too old for any baby.

I asked Tom if I should put off and wait another 6-12 months to settle my natural curiosity (if I can) and go get tested then, or what? He said it’s up to me to do what I want, but he suggested mid-October because then it’ll be cooling down. Yeah, going out to appointments in 105º and up sure is a bitch. Well, I hope mid-October, which sounds good to me, will be it. I hope neither of us makes any excuses to keep putting it off because I know that if I go, I won’t wonder anymore what they would’ve done and what they could’ve told me, and I’ll feel a whole lot better about myself.

Ratsy bit Tom again when he stuck his fingers in the cage. Guess he just doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t feed him.

I can’t tell you how pissed I am to hear that Becky sent me a letter that I never got. I doubt she addressed it wrong, too, and I’m sure that was just one of the many pieces of mail that our illiterate fuck of a mailman misdelivered. Of all the pieces of mail, it had to be that one! Yeah, I’m sure that’s my punishment for delving into the bitch’s mail.

Speaking of the bitch - naughty, naughty! Only for 2-3 minutes, but I don’t know yet how tonight’s gonna be or what I’ll be in store for in the near enough future. Well, once again, her fate depends on her. If she stays or goes, is her call, but like I said, I really would rather not have to have her evicted. I don’t want her to go first and do something to the house, but if she did, Tom says I couldn’t just go to the PO to get her new address. We could get her address, but it’d take a little time. He says it’s now against the law for the PO to give out such info. That should’ve always been against the law, anyway, because people have a right to have their privacy.

I’m sure though, as sure as I am that the sun will set, that we’ll go first. Ever since she came and childishly went off on me, I had a strong premonition that she was it. She and her cronies were our final neighbors.

That pearl van came back again at about 8:30. I heard a lot of voices and door slamming. A little later, I noticed a car in the carport, but couldn’t make out the color. At that time I assumed it was the cock’s and that the time had come that they’d kissed and made up. But why get a U-Haul if you’re gonna be gone just two months, I thought? Well, maybe he didn’t know he’d be gone just two months.

Then, in the midst of hearing stuff being moved out of the van all night (I thought the van had stuff of the cock’s that they were moving in) they gave me a 2-3-minute concert. The second I heard the music, my blood began to boil, and boy did I have to restrain myself to stay in this house! It wasn’t as loud as Caddy Kid’s, but let’s just say that they made their point. They wanted to be heard, and they were heard. It was such an obvious test too, as if to say, hear me, Jodi? Don’t forget we exist Jodi. Acknowledge and notice us, Jodi. You gonna write the city again Jodi?

I knew there’d be occasional attention-getting shit pulled. They’re gonna do stuff periodically to remind me that they’re there, but does this bitch really want to hang onto that house like I was beginning to think? I knew I’d be compensated for all this quiet time I’ve been soaking up, but we’ll see. We’ll see what happens, but like I said, I hope that sick bitch wants to stay there. It’s up to her.

At 10:30 the van left. That was the only concert so far. The car in the carport turned out to be a white car that Tom never saw before. He was out test-driving the car when he saw it, but he didn’t think to look at the plate. He said he heard them packing stuff or doing something in the carport at 6 AM. At first I reminded Tom that the cock’s a car dealer, so it could’ve changed cars for the thousandth time, but as Tom pointed out, he’s never gone bopping around the carport that early. And there’s the van to think of too, then a picture formed with Tom’s help. This white car was visiting from out of state. The van people not only know this bitch, but they know her company, too, so that’s why they were hanging about.

That’s the problem with this bitch - she knows too many people. But it makes sense, though, because the more of an asshole you are, the more people you know, because most people are assholes. How much out-of-state company is this freeloader gonna have? And how long are these people gonna be here? What kind of noise am I in for? No car has been there since I got up at 7:30, but what shit am I in for tonight? Well, I’ll surely let you know. I don’t have a bad vibe right now, but shouldn’t I? Well, I just hope it is a very occasional outburst and nothing more. It could’ve been that she had nothing to do with the little concert and that her friends did it to piss me off. See, she obviously told her pals to be quiet once the city complained, but these van people could’ve been drunk, or just in the mood to fuck with me for a good laugh. It’s not them who’d be risking eviction, and her friends would be sick enough to do that. Her friends have no respect for her. They’re not true friends. They could care less about her, and the same goes for how she feels about her friends. If she were asked by one of her “friends” to turn the music down, think she would? Hell no! She’d pitch a fit, act as if she were asked to hang her kid, then she’d probably dump them. The same goes for if she asked something like that of her friends. Obviously, she has, but if you think she didn’t get hell for it, in a sense, think again. They reacted as if she asked them to kill their loved ones, trust me. If she asked them to keep the music down due to the city complaints, they’d be just as quick as she and her wonderful guy were to ignore her and do what they wanted.

Tom said that no, they’re not obsessed with me, and they don’t deliberately do shit to me. Well, I disagree, of course. I think they like to provoke me, they like to get a reaction, etc. However, one that has no respect to think of their neighbor’s reasonable request to lower their music, does show that they’re incapable of thinking of and of considering others. They may not even be able to consider/think of me, anyway. They’re just too naturally selfish for that.

Tom said it’d be better if they didn’t see me spying on them. Well, if I’m right, and attention is what they want, they should get off on seeing me spy on them. This is how it’s gonna be, though, because I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about them and therefore, if they see me spying, they see me spying. If not, that’s fine, too.

Later…

OK, the white car is in the carport, but the van’s nowhere to be seen still, fortunately. Since the car’s in the carport, I guess it’s safe to say that it’s in for the night. Now all I have to do is hope the van or any other vehicles don’t come slamming about or playing music. Hopefully, the van people got to see the white car people as they wanted to and will be out of the picture for a while. Also hopefully, this person isn’t a new roommate and will just be here for the weekend, then will fuck off till the bitch’s next out-of-state company blows in (if that’s really what this is)! Once again, though, why does everyone have to come see the bitch? Can’t the bitch go see them?

Last night, before I noticed the car parked in the carport, I saw someone walk through the carport (it was close to dark, though, so I couldn’t see who the fuck it was) and I thought, oh shit! The people in the van just hauled her in a big dog and she’s going to the back to rig it up, but then I realized I didn’t hear any barking. If this bitch does get a dog, though, it’s out of here, and more than likely so is she. If she got a dog last night, it would have been rigged to the car in the carport all night just a few feet from the bedroom window, of course, the little fuck!

I know Labor Day will be no different than the last two, whether the cock’s moved back in or not. There’ll still be a scene from over there. I don’t know if the cock will visit or not, but the pearl van will, and others.

I did the laundry, I did the dishes, I walked, so now I’m gonna go relax with this wonderful book I’m reading!

Later…

Current report - a white car with heavy black trim, that I believe I’ve seen before, just pulled in. No music, just a couple of horn honks. I’m still too stressed to concentrate on reading here, till I know what the fuck’s going on over there for sure, or until the vehicles die off. It smells so good over there. I think it’s coming from over there, anyway. It smells like they got some good chink food over there. I’m shocked that the bitch hasn’t been spending more time with her never-ending slew of company outdoors in the heat, blabbing away with their loud mouths.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 14, 1998 I’ve never been so pissed over not getting my period! Tom says it’s the water pills that are fouling things up. But I only took 3 water pills and the last one was days ago. If my period needs water to hitch off, then what’s it waiting for? I’ve got plenty of water on me. In fact, I could easily end up gaining a pound a day of water if I don’t get my period soon enough. My tits aren’t sore, but I sure feel like I’m getting it at times. I could swear I’ve felt cramps beginning. Well, I’ve been late before for my period and my cycle’s been erratic anyway, for the last several months. It’s just that it’s always when you no longer need or want something that you sometimes get it. Please, God! I do not want a child. Please don’t make my plumbing work. Please don’t make me give up my life, please! I love life too much nowadays and I need my freedom. I’ve been through enough physically and mentally. Go give the kid to some other woman who doesn’t want it, but spare me, please! Let me live. Let me sleep.

Logically speaking, I know I can count on God to not dish out stuff to me that I couldn’t handle. I can’t count on God to be fair, to let me weigh what I want to weigh, to not kill my husband, but I can count on him to spare me from motherhood and all its burdens.

Speaking of getting things I wanted too late - where was this call rejection thing when the freeloaders were calling? You can turn right around and block out an anonymous call you got even without knowing the number. So, after getting the first call, I could’ve just blocked them right out. I didn’t mind their calls that much, though, but it was Tom I was worried about. I didn’t want him to know they were calling because he had enough to worry about, and something like that may worry him more than it’d ever worry me. Besides, being blocked out by me may have only made them more determined to talk to me about racial harmony and they could’ve been hurt bad and I could’ve ended up in jail. Because you know that if they’d have pushed hard enough and perhaps came to the door, I’d have killed every single one of them right then and there.

Later…

Typical Andy. Not a word of sympathy over Bunny (I had left him a message about it). As usual, he’s so into himself and what’s going on with him. It was all about how he and Michelle went to the gay bar and they got attention with Andy’s tambourine. How immature. I mean, that was fine for years ago, but is Andy ever gonna grow up? Is he gonna be doing this when he’s 80? I swear that guy’s living the same life he’s always lived ever since I’ve known him. The only difference is that he’s in Arizona. But he’s still a waiter, still on the phone, still smoking pot and cigarettes, still alone, still wanting the impossible, and going about trying to get the impossible in the wrong ways and in the wrong places. Fantasies are great, but we all have to live in reality while we fantasize. Fantasies can’t be brought to the reality side of life. I used to think you could turn fantasies into reality when I was young and naïve, but the two are separate. You’re either dealing with pure reality or pure fantasy. If Andy would stop trying to mix the two and trying to make his dreams into reality, he may have an easier and better life. Dreams are dreams. Reality is reality.

Yesterday’s trip to the dentist was pleasant, but not so pleasant. It was nice seeing Charlene, Gary, the black lady, Melanie’s gorgeous face, and people I knew. These aren’t strangers anymore. Charlene’s friendlier than Melanie in ways that she’s more outgoing and talkative.

I told her I felt bad for her what with having to clean my teeth with the braces, but she said she didn’t mind. She thought it was nice that I thought of her, though. Nonetheless, the cleaning wasn’t the bitch I thought it’d be. It didn’t take longer than usual. She just took the wires and bands off, then cleaned them as usual, even though they had brackets on the centers of the top teeth (she thought I had braces on the bottom, too).

We were jokingly saying how she beat me up since she pinched my lip and pulled my hair by accident at one point.

Then Dr. Smith came in and sure enough, he said I had a cavity on a corner of one tooth. So, I’m gonna be getting that filled on the 1st, when I go to see Melanie. I highly doubt that there’s a cavity, though. But like I said, doctors will do anything to make an extra buck. Tom says the only thing that makes him skeptical is how I hadn’t been to a dentist in 10 years, then all the teeth that happened to have fillings were ones being pulled, and now I have fillings in teeth that aren’t being pulled. I can expect this every time I have a cleaning. No matter where I go, they’ll tell me every six months when I have my cleanings that I’ve got some sort of cavity. Most of which will be fictitious.

Then they took an x-ray of the tooth, and Melanie and the black lady (name?). Were waiting for me. I looked at Melanie and asked, “You gonna hurt me again?” She just laughed and Charlene joked about her being in a weird way when she laughs like that.

Yes, Melanie really hurt me. God, did it hurt! She had to put big-time pressure on that tooth and although the pain was only for 2-3 minutes, it sure felt like a hell of a lot longer.

She asked me if I got any more animals and I told her our rabbit died.

After the torture, we were standing at the counter as Tisha, or whatever the hell her name is, was looking for an appointment time for me and I commented on how tall she is. She said she’s 5’ 8”. Taller than her husband.

She also said that hopefully they’ll do the filling first so I’ll be numb when I see her, but nope. I’ll be seeing her first and even if I were numb, I don’t think it’d be close enough to where she’s got to apply such horrendous pressure. Wish she’d numb me every time, though!

I asked her if she had any idea how long it’d be before I didn’t have to see her every two weeks and she said she didn’t know, but that it’d be a while. Thank God she’s at least good-looking!

Speaking of that gorgeous Melanie, boy did I have quite a dream about her last night! I was in some huge building in a room far away from where there were a lot of people and it was getting dark. I don’t know why I was thinking that I should leave the room before it got dark and why I couldn’t just turn on a light, but anyway, as I started to leave, someone went running down the hall I was about to step into. They were breathing hard. It was fearful breathing. Like they too, wanted to get out of the darkened, deserted area. I called out something and saw it was Melanie and she said, “It’s me.” Next thing I know, she’s kissing me passionately on the lips and we were in a big, bright, crowded room. I remember wondering how she’d feel if she knew that all these people could see us kissing, then I awoke.

I inactivated the anonymous call reject and put the freeloader bitch’s number on our rejection list. So, if they call from another anonymous phone, fine. I’ll just block that, too. I’m sure Andy will like being able to just dial in, without having to punch other buttons first. Hope that doesn’t inspire him to call more, either!

Tom did his duty in life - worked on the car. He ate, watched TV, did some computer stuff, and then he lay in bed with the cordless headphones and listened to a discussion on hypnosis while I read.

I love this book I’m reading. The Haunted by Ruby Jean Jensen is great. After I finish it, I’ll discuss it here.

Lastly, we screwed. Naturally, he was too tired to get on top, let alone get off, but as long as he gets in there, sex is perfect.

Later…

God, this little shit next door is getting more confusing these days. The silver car that usually picks her up/drops her off just pulled in. I ran into the music room and although I only saw her from the neck down to just below the elbow, I knew it was her. Her arm’s as big as my thumb, that’s how skinny she is. She appeared to be walking a little kid. I thought she walked her kid into the house and that the car would leave, but just after I saw her go into the house with what I thought was the kid, her father came out of the house and got the kid. What? Has she got two little ones now? Or was she carrying something heavy or bulky?

Later…

That pearl-colored van pulled up quietly at the freeloaders at a little past 5:00. It’s still there now, too.

This has been a bloodless period. All cramps and no blood, but when the blood does come, I hope it’s enough to flush this water off of me. In other words, I hope I don’t have a half-assed period, although I suppose it really makes no difference. My water level’s gonna fluctuate no matter what, but if I can stay in between the 116-119 pounds I believe I’ll be staying at - great.

I just heard one loud door slam and if it was next door, as I’m sure it was, it ain’t budging yet. Pearly’s still parked there.

I take that back. It just left. After a deliberate, loud mother-fucking slam that sounded like it was gonna come through these fucking walls, it left with no music. Well, at least we’ve finally learned our lesson about the music after what? 2½ years? Of course, that’s subject to change, but hey, if it does, I’ll be dialing them a 30-day notice to fuck off and out of here.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 13, 1998 Maintaining the same weight of approx. 116-119 pounds is a piece of cake. What with how I get stuck here and there and watery before my period, I can count on being set back from 116 pounds to 119 pounds. Yesterday I woke up at 116 pounds, but by the end of the day, I was 119 pounds because I didn’t shit that day. I’m also due for my period today, so even though I finally shit today, I’m still at about 118 pounds because I’m pretty watered down. I hope my period isn’t too late. I don’t want to take any more water pills this month because if I do, my period will be too half-assed. I want to let it do its job fully and clean me out of water, etc.

I know God would never do this to me, since he’s always made sure not to give me any more than I could handle, but it’s ironic how just yesterday I was saying, “Watch. Now that I stopped wanting a kid, God will give me one.” Tom was talking about how maybe when we move and aren’t in such a need for me to do all I can to ensure I sleep, we’ll be able to sleep together. I know that’s just a dream, though. God would never let me be normal enough to sleep with my husband, so thank God he loves me and wants to be with me forever anyway.

Nonetheless, that’s what started our discussion about the weird way things work out. Even though my logical side knows God would never stick me with a kid, there’s always that fear in the back of my mind. What if he makes my plumbing normal? God can do anything. What if we just happen to hit the odds and hit it right? God can make sure one of his sperm and one of my eggs meet no matter when we screw. So, I guess that until I hit menopause, these fears will always be lurking deep within my subconscious, but still, most women would envy me. They’d kill to have their own little built-in birth control system that they could depend on more so than any human-made birth control device.

Lisa called this morning, and thankfully, she didn’t cut herself again. She was upset over some boy in school taking the easy way out, as most people do. This boy can’t handle her problems and basically only wants to stick around when she’s all smiles. When she has problems, that’s a whole different story. So I reminded her that if someone can’t accept her as she is, through her good times and her bad times, then they’re not worth it. I told her also, that I understand that these things hurt at her age (till she gets used to it) and that her feelings are normal. The poor girl feels anything but normal now. My heart really goes out to her.

Later…

God’s doing what he does best - breaking the car so that Tom has to do yet another round of car work. God’s favorite pastime, I’ll tell you!

The silver Caddy, which I think is really a Chrysler New Yorker (I’m so bad with cars) just pulled in and dropped the bitch off, and I also saw a car parked on the street. It looked like it could’ve been that dark blue car. I think that’s the cock’s roommate.

Our insurance doesn’t cover the new allergy pills I’m taking (Claritin). It fucking figures, huh? So, we went and picked up several samples at the doctor’s office.

I would get into my little trip to the dentist, but I’m kind of wiped out now and just want to read, so I’ll get into it tomorrow.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 12, 1998 I haven’t taken a water pill since the day before yesterday, am due for my period tomorrow, and woke up at 116 pounds.

Tomorrow’s gonna suck. I always look forward to seeing Melanie, but I’m gonna be there for fucking ever! Tomorrow’s the double whammy. Charlene’s gonna clean my teeth before I see Melanie, and I’ll probably be there for at least an hour, maybe more.

Tom says they’ll tell me I have one cavity like they always do when I get my teeth cleaned. Well, if they do, that’ll be getting rather obvious. If they tell a person they’ve got a cavity every time they get a cleaning, then it’s obvious that they’re just trying to make an extra buck and that most of these cavities are non-existent.

Yesterday my allergies were so bad! A nightmare! It got to the point where my nose was so stuffed up that I couldn’t taste anything, I couldn’t lay down flat, and I really thought I had a cold. I give up on trying to identify what it is because every time I think I know what it is, the thing that I thought was it doesn’t bother me. Nonetheless, I cleaned all the animal’s cages. The mice, the pig, and the rat.

I think I have an idea as to what could be a more effective way to lose weight than the walking and low-cal diet plan. It’s the running bursts, I think. See, I don’t just walk, but I also add spurts of running, too.

I forgot to say that about a week or two ago when Andy came to grab Laura’s clothes, he had no problems shutting the gate, and even admitted that yes, it was probably him who left the door open because he forgot to slide the bar across the latch. That was nice of him. Still, I can’t wait till we move away from this old-fashioned crap.

The gas company painted our little tangle of gas pipes that’s out back. We don’t know why. Guess they were doing something with it. I wonder what the gas and electric meter readers must think when they see a rabbit in our yard?

Later…

I have some sad news. Bunny’s dead. Tom discovered him in between a clump of hedges, and we buried him out back by one of his favorite trees. For about a week, he hadn’t looked too good. He seemed weak and kind of out of it. He wouldn’t even eat the graham cracker I gave him a couple of days ago. He loved graham crackers. Tom said that from the looks of it, he was killed by a cat. He was going to die anyway, as rabbits and rodents typically live 2-3 years and they get weak and out of it and stop eating the week before they die, but the cat finished things off quickly. We think it was Daddy Cat. Mama cat wouldn’t be so hungry (none of Bunny was eaten, according to Tom) since female cats are better hunters, White Paws is too little and is sort of weak herself since she hardly eats, and Blackie certainly wouldn’t do it because he and Bunny loved each other. Blackie was sad, too, as if he knew his friend was gone. As Tom said, it’s an instinct for certain animals to prey upon weak and vulnerable animals and kill them just to kill them. As Tom also pointed out, it may have ended poor Bunny’s suffering a lot quicker, too.

In better news, Tom’s in good health, thank God. He got a letter back from the doctor saying all was fine and to come back in a year.

Remember how I said I told God the other day that I’d take Caddy Kid in exchange for weight loss? Well, Caddy kid banged by loud and clear twice today. His usual times are at 7:40 AM, 1 PM, and sometimes in the early evenings.

Mom’s finally decided to go ahead and sell her house, but I still have to see this to believe it. I kind of felt that the house wouldn’t sell till after she was gone. However, after I had time to soak up what Tom was telling me, I had a vibe that the house would go next February or March, but we’ll see. I still vibe that she’ll live to the age of 77, but not according to the doctor. Even Tom said she’s been bad and has been falling down lately.

Anyway, all that’s in the house is now fair game. Then Tom (of course he has to be the one to do most of the work) is gonna prep the house for a Realtor. Ma’s gonna take the first offer she gets, so it oughta go fast. We won’t be getting the $300 a month that Ma’s been giving us to look out for the house once it’s gone, but I think it’s best that the house goes. I’ve pretty much always felt that way since Dad died.

I asked Tom what I could do to help him and he said just supporting him would help him. That’ll be easy enough. Way easier to deal with than when his father was dying. Things are different now. I love to see Tom every day and to talk with him. I couldn’t imagine not seeing him every day, but back then I wanted sex every day and wanted a kid and was like, maybe. Just maybe I’m not sterile after all. Maybe God was just waiting for the perfect time to let me get pregnant and maybe a kid is in my destiny and maybe I really can handle it and he knows this. Now that I’m not a nympho anymore, and now that I’m facing the reality of my sterility 100% and realizing just how blessed I am to be sterile, I can let him go a lot easier and let him be tied up elsewhere a while. I’ll still see him regularly enough, so it’s OK.

I called my doctor’s office and left a message for someone to call me back. Some guy called back, and I told him about my allergies and how some days I’m fine, others I’m not, I take Benadryl, but Benadryl makes me drowsy. So, he’s calling in a prescription for a new allergy pill that’s supposed to be great. Tom mentioned it to me the other day, too. It’s supposed to not cause drowsiness and you only take one pill a day, too. He’s calling in a month’s worth and says to call if there are any problems. Oh, I hope to hell this works!

TUESDAY, AUGUST 11, 1998 This must be the longest I’ve gone in between writing in a long time. A whole 4 days! That’s because (I’m trying to get out of the “cuz” habit and write properly). I’ve been busy as hell, but things have been great.

Most of what’s kept me tied up is the computer work I’ve been doing. I have only nine more journals to proofread! I told Tom to thank Mary for me for proofreading them. That’s the name of the lady’s voice I have my talking lips set to. There’s Mary, Mike, Brutus, Freddie, and variations of these voices.

I had Tom switch me back to Windows ‘95. Windows ‘98 sucks and even Tom agrees with me. I hate its sliding menus. Also, there’s no point in my being able to choose two colors for my active and inactive title bars when the damn thing only displays one color half the time.

Before I get into my big project I was doing - another quiet, freeloaderless, doorless, dogless weekend. With or without him in the picture, though, I know I’m gonna have to deal with winter noise. Meaning that as soon as it cools down, the kids are gonna play ball regularly enough. God’s gonna compensate me for sure for these quiet months because that’s how it always works. I always have to pay for every little blessing I get.

I told God, though, that he could stick Caddy Kid on me all he wanted to if he’d let me lose more weight. This weight-loss thing is going so slow that I’m virtually positive my weight’s settled at what it’s comfy at and is gonna stay at (116-119). Anyway, the day before I told God I’d take Caddy Kid for weight loss since I have to pay for everything, I heard him for the first time in a while. I thought someone was knocking on the door, till I looked out and saw him banging by. But ever since, I haven’t heard from him. That’s fine with me, though, because I still can’t stand it when he goes pounding by, and losing weight isn’t as important as it once was.

Later…

Lisa called a while ago, and I love the different ringtone for long-distance calls. (part of that new package) it rings intermittently for long-distance calls, thank God, or else I’d have ignored the phone and written it off as one of our many sales calls. I cannot believe how persistent these salespeople are. I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it before and neither have others I’ve talked to. Maybe God really is paying me back. First he took away my sleep for taking it away from hundreds of others. Now, he’s annoying me with the phone for annoying hundreds of others.

Anyway, Lisa cut herself again and went back to smoking (I don’t know if she ever really quit to begin with). I told her the same things I’ve told her before about why she shouldn’t be cutting herself or smoking. All I can do is hope that it’ll sink in in time and that it won’t take something as big as window-jumping to get her to learn her lesson.

Here I am, finally without the anger that I’ve had for years over the uncles, Larry, the parents, and now I have to deal with my anger towards Bill. Meaning that I finally either find ways to deal with and flush out my anger towards these people, or let time dissipate it and now I’m replaced with how much I want to kill Bill. God really is bound and determined to replace every single problem I fix or that just goes away on its own, isn’t he? If I were 100 pounds tomorrow, the next day there’d be a new problem waiting for me. If we won the lottery, we’d be inflicted with health problems for sure. Anyway, and like I said, the parents, uncles, and brother, are all in the past, but boy would I love to kick Bill’s ass to hell and back! If only he knew just how lucky he is that I’m so far away.

I find I often have scary, but mainly sad thoughts of Tom dying. No, I’m not talking about vibes or premonitions of any kind. Just thoughts. They’re so sad that they make me cry. You know I couldn’t live without my Tom. Still, I wish these thoughts would go away. They’re so utterly depressing! Just thinking about him dying makes me cry, so that should tell you all the more, just how quickly I’d kill myself if he really did die. Well, if God wants me to die by hanging myself, he’ll let Tom be killed. He knows this. In fact, I told God that if there was only one prayer he’d grant me from here on out, it’d be to let me be the one to die first. Everything else after that is just extra. I’d be enormously fat, based to holy hell, and have all kinds of shit/problems before I ever lived without Tom. Even if I could survive on my own (and I couldn’t because of my schedule problem) there’d be no life without Tom.

Tom and I made a new little sex plan. So far it’s been working out fine, but you know that’ll change. Whatever it is that’s up there, that’s always been so bound and determined to hex me sexually, will get in the way yet again.

The new plan is to screw every Friday and every Monday. Those are the two days that our schedules shouldn’t prevent us from getting together. We can have sex on other days, too, but we’re starting with these two days for sure to see if it helps the irritation I’ve had. As I told him, I can’t keep going through that. We need to either have sex or have no sex at all. So far, he’s been letting himself in there and that’s the only thing I care about. As long as he either gets in there or says he’d rather not, I don’t care how the sex turns out. In fact, now that he knows I’m dead serious about not having a kid and that that’s no longer something I want, he’ll probably never cum again which is fine with me. Not because I have any doubts about my sterility, but because I know he’s just as happy with not cumming, and because of the mess it makes.

I had Ratsy in Velvet’s cage for a while. It was cute how they played together. Right now, I’ve got Ratsy’s wire cage inside of Velvet’s Plexiglas cage, since Ratsy would only jump out of Velvet’s cage. Plus, he likes to climb the wire. Tom said he had a good idea for modifying Ratsy’s cage, in his message to me before he split for work, but he didn’t get into it. Well, he ought to be home soon enough.

Now for my big project. Tom expects to have his wallpaper/screensaver changer program done by Saturday. Meanwhile, I made a couple of new wallpaper/screensaver schemes. I wish I’d done this a long time ago because it is sooo cool! It started with me making Tom a little present. After all, he’s made and done for me computer-wise, I thought it was high time I returned the favor. So, I scanned in all kinds of family pictures with relatives of ours on both sides of the family. Minus the folks and Larry, of course. I did start to put in a few of Dad, but then I deleted them. I have pictures of Jen and Larry Jr. Both of us really liked this. Doing the family pictures inspired me with more ideas, so then I went on to make a folder of journal covers, too! I scanned all but about forty covers since there were some duplicates. Also, some were just too ugly for scanning. So now I have three different sets. The ones with Gloria and Norah. The family pictures. And the journal covers.

Later…

They say ignoring a troublemaker is the best way to deal with one, but I disagree. I’ve always learned that facing the troublemaker is the only way to deal with one. Well, it may not be a perfect solution all the time, but you sure as hell have a better chance of getting trouble off your back if you face it, rather than turn your back on it. And if you are gonna turn your back on it, you should face it first. So, instead of ignoring the first sales call of the day, I picked up and said, “Look, you’ve been calling consistently now for years…” then the woman asked me if I knew who she was. She said she needed to talk to Tom about his American Airlines account (the one he doesn’t even have) and I told her to go to hell and quit calling. Again, it ups my chances of getting these assholes off my ass, but for the most part, these salespeople just don’t get it and they just don’t give up. She’ll call again tomorrow. Even so, it feels good to get my frustration out on these persistent assholes every now and then.

I wish I could be just as persistent as they are with not snacking in between meals, but it’s so hard. It started off easier than the one meal a day, but now it’s gotten hard again. I still have more energy, I’m still walking, but I’m back to being hungry a lot. My body’s constantly crying out for the food and pounds it naturally craves, but I’d really rather not let myself get back into the 120s again, because then rocking will be hard again. It never ends, though. All this slavery just to stay where I am now in the first place! Why oh why did I quit smoking? What a waste. I just threw away one problem for a new one, but like I said earlier, that’s how it always is with me. Everything in my life was predestined to have a certain balance of - and + in my life. At least I can say, though, that my life has never been better than it is today. I feel more at peace nowadays, than I ever have before. I’m not dying to have lots of things I can never have. Instead, there’s just one thing I’d really like, which is to move, and that’s a done deal. Meaning, that is possible, that is destined, and it’s gonna happen someday. As for the weight - it’s OK if I lose or stay where I am so long as I don’t get too much bigger to where I can’t rock.

No, I certainly don’t miss the loneliness, the aloneness, the struggling, the addiction to Navane, the wanting a woman, the wanting to be a singer, the high sex drive I couldn’t satisfy with Tom, the wishing sex could end with him cumming, the wanting a kid, the wanting to quit smoking (I know that if I still smoked I’d still be thin, but my lungs would always be just as shitty as they were back then), and a million other things, like my parents and Larry.

If this were a year or so ago that we were in the position we’re in now, I’d have run to the doctor about my sterility in a heartbeat, even though I’d still come out of it without a baby. Now? I’m not even curious about finding out why I’m sterile anymore. If it was as easy as snapping my fingers to obtain the info that’d be different. A part of me feels obligated to go for testing because of how Tom took the time to switch us to Intergroup for its broader infertility programs, but I just don’t want to go. My heart’s just not in it, and I’m tired. First it was the ear, then asthma, then the ear again, then the braces, and lots of colds and flues and infections along the way. I’m just tired. Tired of the medical roller coaster.

Later…

freeloader update - at noon I heard a door slam, and shortly after, Tom came in and said El Cocko was parked in the carport. It left quietly without a door slam not too long afterward. Not one beat of music. And you know damn good and well that if this were in the past, he’d have come banging in. Tom believes that our city letters did the trick as far as the music goes and I think he’s right, although it’s sad that people won’t do right when a neighbor asks them to, but only when the city does. They’ll lower their music for the city, but not for a neighbor! I disagree with him on why he’s not living there, but I hope he’s right because if he is, it may lower the chances of him coming back, although I highly doubt it. I’m sure he’ll be back at some point. Anyway, I think that he moved out because they had a fight. He thinks it’s because of the letters. He thinks that by the time they got the second letter, they realized how serious we were and really checked into it and pushed to have him move out.

OK, say Tom’s right. No retaliation, though? I’d think that if his moving out really had to do with us, that they’d know it and that they’d try to pull some shit on us. Well, maybe they know it just won’t do them any good, and maybe the bitch really doesn’t want to lose her house, which is cool with me. As long as next door’s quiet and not distracting me and interfering with my everyday living, I don’t give a fuck who lives over there.

Wish we’d sent those letters in March of ‘96, though!

Measles was on the patio all by herself just now, so I gave her some of Tweety’s food.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 7, 1998 Here we go again with the allergies. I got up at 7 PM, but by 11 PM, I was so sick of sneezing that I took a Benadryl. That, of course, knocked me out for a couple of hours. My oh-so-horny-all-the-time husband lay down with me and we chatted till we both knocked off. He eventually moved out onto the couch, though, so I wouldn’t have to listen to his goddamn snoring.

I told him I was dead serious about the all-or-nothing sex. If we can’t do it full-time, regardless of how it pans out, then we can’t do it at all cuz I can’t keep going through this irritation I get. I know God will do all he can to see that we don’t stick to the plans we made of having sex on Fridays and Mondays, but I can’t keep up with that shit. It really hurts to have to feel like a virgin being broken into every week or two or more, then having a few days of irritation, then doing it all again. That cycle has to be broken.

I’m still a bit groggy, so I ate, walked, and now I’m having caffeine coffee to hopefully bring me back to life. I feel like I could just lie in bed for hours doing nothing but staring at the ceiling, and you know just lying around still doing nothing, isn’t me. Well, I’m not as out of it as I could be.

I absolutely can’t believe that my brother didn’t either read the letter and call me about it or send it back unread. This tells me that there’s a damn good chance he just threw the letter away as soon as he got it without even opening it, let alone reading it. That’s OK cuz we can part now with no hard feelings. Meaning that since I got to express myself this time around, I can let him go without the anger and anxiety. My emotions have gone dormant now, and that’s what I always wanted as far as my family is concerned. Now I can move on without them and without them haunting my emotions and thoughts. They’re people I remember, that I knew for years, that brought me both good things, as well as a lot of pain, but now just like Jai, Jenny, Jessie, Steve, etc., they’re in the past. No more bitter and negative emotions. Just memories. Just like with the people I just mentioned, they can live their lives as they please. They can think, say, do, and believe anything their hearts desire.

What’s the point of having Caller Reject if you can’t reject certain numbers? Tom got a package deal on phone services. They’re cheaper than what we’ve got now, even if we’ll never really use them. I went to block out Larry’s number anyway, and it wouldn’t let me block that number. What? Does it only block local calls?

THURSDAY, AUGUST 6, 1998 I put Ratsy in the smaller aquarium last night just for variety. I was wrong when I said it’d be nice to have a duplicate set of tubes/cages that the mice have. He’s just too big for them. It was so cute and so funny how he ran back and forth in anticipation of getting some lettuce when I got up. Just like a dog waiting eagerly for food/attention. At one point, he was jumping up and down and hitting his head on the bottom of the maze (which sits on top of this aquarium).

Anyway, we’re gonna modify Ratsy’s cage. The pink and white wire one.

I made some Norah posters earlier, just for something different and fun to do. They’re pretty neat looking. We could’ve made time for sex instead, but neither of us wanted to that bad it seems.

Tom was coming down with another one of his many colds (actually, I’m surprised he hasn’t had more by now), but I guess it never turned out to be much of a cold. His doctor said there was a lot going around now. At this time of year? How odd. He ended up with a different doctor than I’ve got. He said she was nice.

When asked if there were any problems with intercourse, he said no. Yeah, I knew he would. I knew he wouldn’t mention the near never cumming, cuz as I always believed, it was never a problem for him. He’s happy if he cums, he’s happy if he doesn’t, but that’s good. I feel the same way now. Especially now that I don’t want a kid and especially since I know he’s happy either way. So I agree - he can cum, he cannot cum. As long as he’s happy. What they really mean, anyway, when they ask this question, is if a guy can get a hard-on. Well, he’s certainly never had a problem with that. Like I said, I don’t think a doctor would ever ask about cumming like they would hard-ons, cuz if you can get hard, you can cum. It’s all psychological and getting hard without cumming much is very rare. Oh, he’s common, though. Most guys, either consciously or subconsciously, don’t want kids. Where Tom’s rare, though, is that most guys consciously know if they don’t want a kid and they aren’t afraid to say so.

Later…

How wonderful it’s been without Caddy Kid blasting by 2-3 times a day. Lately, he hasn’t been around. It’ll be back, though. It seems to come and go.

The usual weekday routine is still going on next door. I still don’t know for sure if it’s every day, cuz my schedule isn’t always on days, of course. Nonetheless, at 7:15, in comes the silver Caddy. The freeloader pulls up on the street, grabs the kid and leaves, then the bitch hops in the Caddy and off it goes, too. I cannot believe these freeloaders’ consistency! Even I could never be that consistent.

I think I know just what happened, though. I figured that the cock either went home to mommy and daddy or moved into an apartment with a guy pal and is roomies with him. The second is the more likely thing. I think he drove his gray car over to his new apt. His roomie took him back to the house here in his dark blue car. He drove the U-Haul over to the apt., while the roomie drove back in the car and together they moved him in. God, please don’t let me see that U-Haul again! And if I do, please let it be right when we’re moving.

I know this is pure fantasy, cuz the cock’s gonna be back sooner or later and I’ll have to listen to whatever door slams, dogs, company, and ball games he’ll bring in, but I wish things could stay as they have been till we move. It’s been great. If she could just stay there herself, like she’s supposed to, then all I’d have to deal with till we moved would be neighborhood kids coming to use the basketball hoop. I really hope she or anyone connected with her doesn’t act up, as I said, cuz then I’ll just get her evicted and you know I’d rather not. I want her to stick around for a certain delivery to be made.

I took out the two soundproof panels and the tin foil that was in the music room window. I did this cuz the only function that the two panels were serving was to block out light. (Watch. Now that I’ve pulled these out, the bitch will replace her burnt bulb in the carport. I hated when that thing would glare on and off while relaxing to music). Anyway, a little light won’t kill me, and that security light also has helpful functions once it’s replaced.

It’s just that I miss spying, even if there’s nothing really going on to spy on. I can also put a glass of water on the windowsill now while I’m on the walker, and can reach it from the walker. Before, I had to keep jumping off it to get a drink.

I’m only in that room to listen to music and to walk and no noise could bother me when I’m doing that, cuz I couldn’t hear it anyway over the music or fan. The bitch may hear me singing at night, but you know I’m now a true Arizonan who couldn't care less about her neighbors. And if I were asked a reasonable request, why I would just flip, right? I’d be such a true Arizonan and act like I didn’t give a fuck. I’d ignore their request and go further and act as if they asked me to kill my husband or something as horrible as that.

Later…

The bitch and kid left quickly and quietly this morning. If that teenage boy or anyone else lives there, it’s completely unknown to me. Anyway, all I heard was a few seconds of talking. At one point, in her usual pissed-off tone, I thought I heard her say “I thought I told you…” presumably to the cock.

So, did the cock move out cuz he and the bitch were fighting? Or cuz he’s not supposed to be there? I’d say it was cuz they’re having one of their fights. If it were cuz he wasn’t supposed to be there, then why did it take a whole year for them to catch on and order him out of there? Nonetheless, they’ll kiss and make nicey soon enough.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 5, 1998 Andy told me something funny that Melanie, Andy and Michelle’s friend, said last night while I was on the phone with her, but that I didn’t hear. It’s hard to hear over all the typing I was doing and with the voice thing going. Andy said she asked, “What race are you? A man or a woman?” That one’s nice. I jokingly asked Andy earlier, “What religion are you? Black or white?”

Andy also says Gloria has a new album out called Gloria. I guess it’s in English. I’ll have to check it out, although I’m sure it’ll suck. Each album an artist puts out gets worse and worse.

Tom went to the doctor today for a check-up. Finally! I’m really proud of him. I kind of feel obligated to get tested now, since he did switch insurance cuz this one’s supposed to have more stuff for that, and since he sort of got checked for that, but guess what? I don’t want to. I just don’t care to find out just what makes me sterile anymore these days. I’m just not all that curious anymore and I certainly don’t want a kid anymore. Thank God! I don’t know what I’m going to do, though. We’ll see. First, I want to get out of the bi-weekly appointments with Melanie before I decide whether or not to take on any more appointments. After the ear, then the teeth, asthma, etc., it kind of gets old.

On the 24th Tom’s going to Vegas. The bank’s sending him. Unfortunately, I can’t go too. He’ll be going in the morning and flying back that same afternoon. They’re gonna train him to be a teacher. How neat, huh?!

TUESDAY, AUGUST 4, 1998 The bitch slammed her door at 6:30, and right now, there’s a car parked in front of her place on the street. It’s too dark to see what car it is, though.

Andy came over and was here from 7:00 till just now. I fed him a TV dinner that I had Tom get just for him in exchange for terrorizing the poor guy. I also let him browse the Internet, of course.

He called to wish his brother a happy birthday. He called David in Enfield, but he wasn’t home. He called to wish his mom a happy belated birthday, too. She and Al are in their early 70s now. Guess they won’t be around too much longer.

The good news of it is, is that he came over sober, although he was his usual slow, flaky self with his usual not-so-good memory. He also noticed the weight loss and says that even my face went down and that I’m still so little. Yeah, I know I’m not as tall and as wide as most women, but I still wouldn’t cry if I lost 15 more pounds.

Is the grand finale coming up? The one where the dogs go on their last barking fit of the day? It’s almost 9:00, so we’ll see in a little while.

I’m having a blast with the Microsoft Mouth. It’s great for proofreading.

MONDAY, AUGUST 3, 1998 Tom searched online again and downloaded me what I thought was the perfect wallpaper/screensaver/scheme changer, but nope. It’s so bugged. It does a bunch of weird shit and sometimes it gets hung up. I tested and experimented with it for hours, but every time I think I figured out how to fix it, it does something else it shouldn’t do.

We screwed yesterday and it went fine, except for the first 20 seconds he was inside me. Oh, my God, it was excruciating. Is this really because the muscles and all that aren’t used to regular sex? Or is it cuz I’ve got some kind of cut that never healed? Tom says he thinks it’s cuz we don’t screw regularly. Like with the braces. I got used to them after a few days, but if I were to get used to them, take them off for a while, and then put them back on, I’d have to get used to them all over again. Well, I don’t know if it’s cuz of the part-time sex, some cut that never healed properly, or something up there that’s once again hexing my womanhood, but I try not to give in to it. I just deal with it. I have a cream I put down there when it acts up.

Why do I still get the feeling, though, that he sometimes deliberately won’t go inside me cuz he’s either not in the mood, wanting to play games, or both?

Later…

Forgot to mention earlier how I woke up at 115 again. And I didn’t even take a water pill yesterday and I had 3 meals, too.

I heard soft bass thumping at 11:00 last night for about 10 minutes, but couldn’t figure out where the hell it was coming from. There were some door slams that I thought were next door, but I didn’t see any cars there. I just hope they behave if he’s back, or whenever he does come back, cuz I’d really rather not have to have them evicted. I’d rather they stay and that we move first, so I can be their librarian.

Later…

Well, tonight I learned a big lesson. Don’t ever play a joke on a paranoid pothead. A few conversations ago, Andy had told me he’d still be making prank phone calls if it were still easy enough to get away with. Also, he wishes he’d get some prank phone calls. So, tonight, I gave him what he asked for. Tom installed this really cool program into my world. It’s talking lips. You can set the size and shape of the lips and pick from female and male voices. You can also adjust the pitch and speed and add echo effects and shit like that. Using different voices, pitches, and effects, I called Andy’s and this girl answered. Before this, though, I left several messages on his machine all saying the same sentence (Hi Mark, I want to suck your cock) in different voices with different effects. This thing can also read text from my journals and things like that. I had it read parts of earlier journals onto his machine.

When I called and got that girl, he hadn’t listened to his messages yet. Anyway, I talked to this girl and since I can type so fast, I really thought that she and Andy would know it was me. How many people do they know with computers and who can type as fast as I do? Michelle has a computer, but hers is a piece of shit. She also can’t type as fast as I can. Anyway, I used the names of people Andy knew and spoke to the girl, who I found out is Melanie, a friend of his and Michelle’s, and then I spoke to Andy. I told him I was sorry my voice sounded so funny, but I had cancer and had to talk through a pipe in my throat.

I basically hit on him and was stunned to see him fall for it. I could not believe it! How stupid could he be?! But it’s all cuz of the pot. He can’t remember shit or figure things out too easily cuz of the way that pot kills his memory and slows his brain down. I just can’t believe he didn’t put two and two together and realize it was me playing around with him. He not only was too stupid to realize it was me, but it terrified him. And even Melanie, too. Are druggies always so paranoid and so easily spooked? Andy’s afraid of everything and everybody! Everything either bores or scares him, I swear.

After we hung up, he later called and left a message while I was getting Tammy with this thing, and he said that he’d kill me if he found out I was behind these computer things.

So, I talked to Andy later and told him and his friend, Melanie, that if I had any idea that this thing would freak them out, I’d never have used it on them. I told them I was so sorry and would never have guessed in a million years that it’d scare them. I told Andy how shocked I was he didn’t realize it was me giving him what he wanted while testing out a new program. He said I better feed him for this when he comes over tomorrow night, but that yes, he did ask for this. Yeah, food is another one of his loves. He says he still eats a few bites a day, but I doubt that. I think he’s always got food in his face.

Anyway, I only kept Tammy on for a few minutes and spilled the beans on her in the end. I figured it’d be best not to leave her hanging and wondering about it for too long, but again, how come she didn’t figure me out? These people are so slow! I said I was a friend of Marks, mentioned the pipe and cancer thing, then when it came time to break the news to her, I typed in how they weren’t gonna put her in bucks for $400 jail (what I accidentally said to Tracy when she said she was worried about going to jail for ripping someone off). Something very obvious. She said, “Very funny. You scared the shit out of me. It’s 11:30 here.” Then I told her about the program, gave her and the girls my love, then we hung up.

Where was this thing in the late 80s - early 90s? I’d have had so much fun with it.

Just one more year. One more year! God, I’m so fucking sick of not being able to concentrate while at the computer due to the constant distractions. In the daytime, it’s the city noise. At night, it’s the animals. When we move, my computer’s not going in the same room as the animals are in. And what is it with these dogs? This is the second night in a row that they’ve gone on a 9:15 barking spree and it’s pissing me off. It’s dark. It’s been dark. Those dogs should be quiet. I went out to see if I could hear what might be stirring them up, but who knows? I think it’s just that they feel neglected. I thought I smelled cigarette smoke coming from the freeloaders when I went to the side of the house, but as of yet, I haven’t heard anything from over there. I’m sure the dogs just want attention, and I’m sorry these dogs are so abused and lonely, but I just wish they’d shut the fuck up!

SUNDAY, AUGUST 2, 1998 Today my nephew Larry would've been 18 years old if God hadn't have taken his life. God, you killed the wrong Larry. If you had to kill a Larry O, God, why did it have to be little Larry?

SATURDAY, AUGUST 1, 1998 I think I accidentally found my folks online. As I was in getting my horoscope, I thought of different screen names the bitch could be using for them. I’m just the naturally curious type. On a whim, I typed in a variation of her old screen name that she ditched, then typed, “Nice screen name,” sent it, and it actually went through. There are millions of AOL users, so it could be anyone, anywhere, but who knows? She can’t respond since I blocked her out of my list, but that’s mighty fine with me.

Later…

Tom got up last night around midnight and sure enough, he didn’t want to screw today. I knew he wouldn’t, either. See, I’ve noticed a pattern in him. If for some reason I can’t screw one day, he can’t screw the next day. I was also mid-cycle yesterday and that old subconscious fear no doubt kicked in. He claims we’ll screw later, but my heart still isn’t in the idea. I don’t give a shit at this point how the sex turns out, but I just have no desire to do it in the first place. I guess I better at least put up with it if it’s really pleasing the man I love, cuz the man I love, says he wants more sex.

Tom fixed the leaky faucet in the tub, the cabinet in the kitchen that was falling off its hinge, and the screen door in back that just ripped off its hinge again. Like I said, every fucking faucet leaks in this old dump and every door is either crooked, won’t close all the way, or is partly off its hinge.

At least one of us can fix these things.

Last night I popped back up to nearly 120 pounds. I wasn’t the least bit surprised, but I sure felt uncomfortable. I had that heavy, bloated feeling and felt like a balloon fixing to burst, so I took a water pill. I woke up today at 115 right on the nose. Wow, huh?! It won’t last long, I’m sure. I’m sure it’ll be a very occasional thing - me hitting down at 115. This face, though! This fucking face and neck! Will it ever shrink? My face and neck have never been this swollen. Even when I was in the 140s years ago my face and neck weren’t this big. I feel like I’d have to get down to 90 pounds before it’d shrink back to normal size, but that’s just not gonna happen. Maybe when I’m old and dying or if I get some horrible disease, but I’m virtually positive I’ll never be under 110 pounds again. Probably not even under the 115 pounds I awoke at. I’d have to take water pills every day of my life in order to lose a lot more weight and keep it off and that’s not gonna happen either.

Tom was online and downloaded a couple of word processors for me to check out. I haven’t yet, but we did check out some other programs he downloaded. One was this really cool thing that lets you set up to change your wallpaper and screensaver, either in order or randomly. You can have it change every second, every several minutes, or every day, week, month, etc. The thing was great, but it was fucking shareware and limited in its functions. You could only use 3 wallpapers and 3 screensavers. That sucks! So Tom’s gonna see if he can make a program to do more than that.

The other was this so-so thing that adds effects to your screensaver pictures. It flips them, twirls them, and stuff like that.

To my utter amazement and satisfaction, Larry hasn’t called. Great, but does this mean he never read the letter and is returning it to me? I sure hope not. I really hope he read the letter and felt I wasn’t worth calling about it. I want to be the one to have the last word this time and to have him decide to drop it at that. He doesn’t have to agree with a damn thing I said in the letter, but I just hope he read it and will drop it, but if he does call, it’s his dime. I’m not gonna return his call. I have nothing more to say. So, in the end, whether he reads the letter, returns it to me, or calls me - he’s a done deal as far as I’ll always be concerned.

I have no intention of contacting my parents again in any way, but it’s sort of funny in a way what with the message I sent them. I wish I could be there to see the look on their faces when they saw I had found them. How utterly stupid, though! If I were gonna change screen names to avoid someone (although I don’t know why they didn’t just block me out) I’d really change it. Not just use a variation of a name.

Tom said all I have to do to see if a screen name exists is to use the box that searches for members currently online. I don’t know about that, cuz out of curiosity I tried their old screen name, and that came back saying that member wasn’t currently signed on, just like the second screen name did. Then I just started randomly hitting anything and was told these members weren’t currently signed on. I’ll have to ask Tom about it when he gets up and see what he thinks.

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

So it turns out the last time I thought I got sick was a false alarm, and the real deal is only starting now, two weeks later :,) (rambling under the cut, some health stuff etc no mental health tho just physical)

FUCK I JUST TYPED OUT THE WHOLE THING AND THEN ADDED THE READ MORE AND IT DELETED EVERYTHING. i hate it here

Anyway. I completely forgot everything I put in that ramble, which is amazing. Anyway yeah I’m sick and what’s really messing with me is the fact that I’m really dizzy all the time? I don’t think I’ve had this happen before. I don’t have a fever, I feel super feverish but I almost never get fevers anymore (last time I did was over a year ago when I had the flu and covid at once, jackpot, and I’ve been sick super often this last year. Funfact my sense of taste is still messed up from back then in that things will taste much sweeter to me than the average person. Tap water is sweet. Potatoes are sweet. Everything is sweet. I almost never add sugar to my deserts because it’s overwhelming and also it keeps me in a constant state of lowkey dehydration because tap water is all I drink and I can’t stand the taste of it anymore because it tastes sweet. Back then I went for two and a half days without drinking and honestly idk how or why no one dragged my ass to the hospital back then but anyway. I figured out that warm water with a spritz of lemon juice is the only thing I can stomach when I’m sick, no honey or tea, nothing so that’s fun)

Yeah I also feel weirdly nauseous all the time? Like. My stomach hurts a little but I can eat normally, but then I randomly get super nauseous out of nowhere, but nothing ends up happening. Weird stuff. My throat hurts, my head hurts, everything kinda hurts, and yeah. The lemon water is making my throat hurt worse but tbh I’m not going the dehydration route again so we gotta pick our evil. Tomorrow I have my first driving lesson in the complete darkness that I can’t cancel, so that’s gonna be fucking fun

I also notice how my joints are hurting worse when I’m sick? Like this has happened a few times before because my joints are kinda fucky but I’m definitely noticing it right now, my knees are like begging me not to use them lmao 😭

Actually I’m also gonna do a covid test now and might put the results here later hehe anyway yeah

Update test is negative so there’s that at least

[wetthandss]

Pathfinder update: Backup characters and Keilo endgame

Today I helped one of my party members make a backup/future characters, a Vishkanyan inventor boy with a big ass steampunk khopesh. Tomorrow I will help another player make a backup as well, a little Ysoki oracle girl who was actually her character I played alongside with in D&D 5e using homebrew conversions, but was so ignored by the shitty DM we had (Will tell that story another time). Can't wait to see her in action again. Considering Kalan's penchant for throwing small creatures such as Stuffy, I can imagine the Ratapult will make a return.

Let me catch you up with Keilo as a character. He is a half elf boy who knows no family, a feral child basically who grew up in an SCP-3898-esque grove where he was infested with a parasitic thorny vine that wraps his body inside and out. It whispers to him, and demands blood sacrifice to be made to it. Whatever it is, it's power hungry and is wanting more and more by the week. Bags full of live meerkats won't sustain it anymore. When the party absorbs their first genius loci in the Daouda desert, the corrupted Khamaseen sealed inside Aleimlaq, Keilo and more specifically the parasitic leshy will feel that surge of power and want MORE. The leshy will practically drag Keilo to find more of that sweet delicious nature spirit juice. The reason why is, the leshy is a genius loci itself, and brought Keilo into the world as a DNA clone. It knows it's dying, so it's sending him on the mission to transport it and feed it blood and eventually consume other genius loci. However, even the corrupted genius loci of the rainforest, savanna and desert will not be enough to satiate it. Once all three are absorbed, the way into the mountains is cleared using Lamashtu's horn and they can confront the corrupted loci of the mountains, the manifestation of the Titans. When they absorb this evil spirit, Keilo's loci will take complete control of Keilo's body, killing the consciousness inside him. Keilo will then be put into a lead antagonistic role and the player (who I will just call Z for his anonymity) will switch to Savish, the Vishkanyan from earlier. Don't worry, this is all with the consent of Z. A bit of spoilers for him, but it's the journey that counts, and he expressed his desire to make Keilo evil far before talks of assimilation with the Loci. There's still a while to go before they get there too, at least 4-5 levels worth using milestones. I give them a lot to do between story beats, making friends and allies and solving problems. Anyways, Savish is an inventor, and left his community in Egel to investigate new technologies outside of Egel and Ram. He came to Aten because he heard the Sawf family in the Aleaza' clan specialised in gizmos and gadgets, and indeed they do. He's looking at stuff there, and would be especially intrigued by the sand diver the party brought back from Lamashtu's trials. It's purely to introduce him early on, and I have permission to use him as an NPC anytime before the switch. Maybe I'll work him into some things to get a more intimate relationship with the party beforehand so the switch won't be jarring.

I don't know how to work Posy (the Ysoki) in yet, we're gonna work on that tomorrow. Will update then. I won't be able to write much more because there are some other projects I need to work on, but once the semester ends for good I'll be doing a lot more. Update over!

[400legends]

Unpleasant Discovery in B'Austin (Day 168)

Malaka's bay door opened and sent a swirl of dust into the air obstructing my first view of B'Austin. I hadn't been expecting much beyond the fueling station and a few businesses, and as the dust dissipated, my expectations were confirmed. B'Austin was a crater of a place.

Cosmic Peanut squinted against the bright light. "Lamelia said we've got 8 hours on this rock." She pointed to the left, and I saw a W’uther and a Kyrrov talking, and a droid slowly making its way toward Malaka's fuel tank. "She's the W’uther with the cowboy hat."

I nodded, but my attention was on the droid that had dragged the fuel hoses to our ship. "Git er done. Git er done. Git er done…" It repeated the words over and over as it connected the hoses.

"Is that….?" Requiem looked at the droid and then at me.

"Yes, it would appear to be the corpse of a Proxy used to as an android. Captain, I'm going to get the shotgun. Please wait a moment."

As my hand closed over the shotgun propped against my work table, I thought to grab the modified plasma pistol I'd been working on, too. If someone here was using Proxy bodies as housing for droids, I wanted to be equipped to ask questions and get answers.

The road to town was empty of people and almost devoid of buildings. As we stopped to examine a store called "Plug's Butt Ugly Stuff Hut," I saw the Kyrrov from the fueling station walk by. She had her hands in her pockets, and she shouldered open the door of Swallop's Slop Shop.

"Visitors! Come in, come in." An ancient W’uther shuffled to the open door of the junk shop. "Everything is half price because I'm dying tomorrow! You need guns? I got 'em. You need ahh, circuit boards or um, rocket boots? I got those, too."

"You have rocket boots?" CP smiled. "For real, you have rocket boots?"

"Sure do! I'll part with 'em for a thousand. And that's only because I'm dying tomorrow."

"A thousand? I dunno."

"You can fly! Who doesn't want to fly? Guaranteed to work." He slapped his hands together. "Boom!"

"'Boom' isn't the sound I want to associate with rocket boots," Requiem said with a laugh.

"Boom, zoom, skittle the moon. It's all the same. Come in! Come in!"

The captain peered into the gloom of the shop. "We're gonna get some grub first. Maybe we'll come back after."

"Don't wait too long. I told ya I'm dying tomorrow."

We entered Swallop's Slop and Gravy Bucket. The food looked as unappetizing as the name. I saw a cluster of half a dozen law enforcement in the back corner. The Kyrrov was talking with a human standing behind the bar.

I slid into a booth at the back, and Requiem settled in beside me. "Did you notice that we're the only Hanadarian, Glabrau, or Proxy here?"

The captain shrugged as she worked out the menu screen. "We're a diverse crew. Rock like this, I'd expect to see W’uther and Piranthi. The stray Kygore."

"Perhaps we could get our food to go," said Requiem.

I nodded without speaking.

Suddenly at my should I heard a voice say, "Sheriff! One of the Chet’s got loose."

I looked over to see a W’uther grinning at me. He had a deputy star on his shirt.

"That's not a Chet, you moron." The Kyrrov at the bar called out to the deputy.

"I wasn't talking to you. Ma'am. You just turn back around now."

"Aren't you supposed to protect and serve the community?" The Kyrrov walked a few steps toward our booth, drink in hand.

"Protect and serve! Where you from?" The W’uther trained his eyestalk back on me. "You just run back to the station, little Chettie. Go on."

"I am not a Chet. However, thank you for your concern, officer. We'd like to place our order in peace."

"Didn't mean to offend! Oh no, wouldn't want to hurt any THING's feelings. Ladies, thing, have a nice dinner."

The Kyrrov slid into the booth beside Cosmic Peanut. "What an ass. I'm Merrin. Just quit the fueling station. They hired me to fix their droids. I didn't know they were Proxy zombies, so I walked out."

I tightened my grip on the shotgun as a raucous laugh went up from the table of deputies.

"Thing is," Merrin went on, "I lost my room at the inn when I walked out on the contract. And I spent my last credits on a drink and a booth for the night. I think I'm a little drunk now, and I'm not supposed to fall asleep here." She peered at the half full glass. "No idea what this is, but it tastes pretty good. Do Proxy have serial numbers? Is that offensive? Sorry. I was just thinking that we could go back, the five of us, and see if any of the zombies - sorry - have serial numbers. Strength in numbers, right? I want to know who they were before.... You know, before they got... zombie-fied."

I sent a text to the captain and Requiem: "I feel that we are in a dangerous spot. Perhaps we can all get back to the ship and discuss?"

"Even the Kyrrov?" messaged the captain.

I shrugged and said aloud, "As the Braavashi say, 'The enemy of my enemy....'"

[bbrissonn]

doing everything in your power to not let owen leave for practice, like jumping on his back while he's tying his shoes, stealing his clothes so he has to chase you around the house to get them back, kissing him everywhere, making him 20 mins late

under the cut!

warnings: not proofread

"love, i really need to go." owen said as you pulled him back down into bed. his practice was starting in about an hour and a half, and he had to leave.

"no you don't. you need to stay here and cuddle me!" you whined as he finally pushed himself up completely. only you came right along with him since your arms were wrapped around his neck. you smiled at him before wrapping your legs around his waist and shoving your head into his neck.

"babe, you know i'd love to, but i really, really, really have to go."

"nooooooo."

"yesssssss."

"i'm gonna be late."

"so?" you asked, making you sigh a bit, he started moving around his room, taking his clothes that he was planning on wearing out, with you still hanging onto him. 

“y/n, i really need to go.” 

“shhhhhh.” 

“y/n--” 

“you’re disrupting with silence, bubs.” you whispered, making him let out another sigh. his hands reached down to your thighs, he tried unwrapping them from around his waist, making you let out a whine. 

“stop it!” 

“you stop. babe, you need to understand that if i’m late, i’ll be back later than usual. you’re losing cuddle time right now.” he said, making you let out a gasp. now when he put it that way, it sound a lot worse to you. 

“but you could just stay here forever, then we won’t lose cuddle time because you don’t even leave!” 

“then we’re losing cuddle time for tomorrow.” 

“nu-uh, i said you stay here forever. the coaches can’t make you stay longer if you don’t go.” 

“then i’ll be kicked off the team, babe.” 

“so? more cuddle time for me!” you said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“if i get kicked off the team, my moms gonna drag my ass back home and i won’t be able to see anymore.” 

“ouhhh, we could be like romeo and juliet--” 

“hons, that’s not the point. i have to go to practice, okay? i’ll be back in 4 hours max, you won’t even realize that i’m gone.” he said as you pulled your face away from his neck, looking into his eyes. 

“but cuddle time--” 

“we can cuddle after, y/n/n. we can even go out for dinner if you want. just us. no one else.” he offered, something he knew you could never refuse. 

“fine. but i want extra cuddle time this weekend.” 

“works for me.” he said, pecking your lips after. you slowly let go of his waist, making your legs hang around. he placed you down and you slowly let go of his neck as well. 

“i’m sorry, love. i’ll be back soon, okay? i love you.” 

“i love you too, o.” you answered with a small smile before he left the room, clothes in his hands.

taglist <3 @mack-samo @hugheshugs @nickblankenburgg @studsccsnackavoybambi @blanksbae @bemybinarystar @ancient-remnants-of-love @power2myheart @cuttergauthierr @emsully2002 @cuttergauth

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

raincheck

Peter Quill x Reader

Prompt: “if you weren’t so drunk, maybe.”

Summary: dragging the crew away from a bar and back to the ship is no easy feat. convincing quill to go to bed isn’t any easier.

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 1,778

Got a Request? Prompt list for: tony | clint | quill

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“Next time, you go pick them up,” you told Gamora tiredly, trying to shrug off the arm Quill had slung around your shoulders about halfway back to the ship. He let you, only to snake it around your waist, his breath tickling your neck as he leaned into your side heavily, his hand spreading over your hip and his thumb hooking in the waistband of your jeans. “Oh, for God’s sake, Quill.”

He giggled as you pushed him away, and you rolled your eyes at him as he sauntered off and flung himself onto the couch. You’d just spent the last half an hour wrangling him, Drax and Rocket out of a bar in the one of the seedier districts of the city and back onto the ship. You were supposed to be leaving before suns-rise tomorrow, and with both your pilots drunk, that didn’t seem likely. Quill had been happy to see you; he’d spent most of the time bouncing like a puppy and trying to drag you further into the bar to dance. He didn’t seem to care that the closest thing they had to music was the dude coughing every few minutes in the corner.

You kicked off your boots, stumbling when Drax moved past you, bumping into your hip. “Although, if you can manage less than twenty minutes trying to keep them all together long enough to get them out the door, all power to you.”

Gamora gave you a small smirk, tucking her hair back behind her shoulder as she stood. Quill’s head had narrowly missed her lap as he’d collapsed beside her, and she raised an eyebrow at him as he groaned into the cushions. “Did anyone get shot this time?”

You considered that for a moment, tilting your head to the side as you shrugged off your coat. “Actually, no.”

“Then you’re still the reigning champion when it comes to handling drunken fools,” she replied, amused.

“Night’s not over yet,” Rocket grumbled as he headed for the storage-closet-turned-bunk he shared with Groot.

“Oh, please,” you shot back snidely. “You were stumbling so much on the way home; you couldn’t aim right if you tried.”

He snorted obnoxiously, mussing the fur on the side of his neck further as he scratched a paw through it and yawned. “Wanna bet?”

“Go to bed, Rocket.”

He let out a string of half-hearted curses on his way out of the room, and Quill let out a muffled laugh, still face-down on the couch. You ignored them both, turning back to Gamora. “As you can see, they were completely happy to cut their night short and come back to the ship.”

She gave Quill a pointed look before meeting your eye again. “Should we leave him there?”

Quill scoffed into the cushion, waving a hand at the two of you without looking up. You sighed, shaking your head. “I’ll get him to his bunk.”

She gave you one of those small, charming smiles she so rarely shared. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night.” you replied, waiting until she disappeared from the room before turning to face Quill again. He had rolled onto his back, and he gave you a boyish, crooked grin, his face flushed from drinking. You smiled down at him patiently; this wasn’t the first time you were charged with getting him to actually go to bed instead of just passing out wherever.

You folded your arms across your chest, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You’re gonna get up yourself, or do I have to drag you?”

“Jus’ sleep here.”

“You can’t sleep here, Quill.”

He fixed you with a childish pout, mimicking your crossed arms. “Why not?”

“Because, you idiot, you’re gonna get up in like an hour and do something stupid, like break your neck trying to climb the ladder to the cockpit.” you told him dryly, and he laughed again. “C’mon, get your ass up, Star Lord. Time for bed.”

“Anything when you call me that,” he grinned proudly. He held up a hand, and you took it with another roll of your eyes, hauling him to his feet with a grunt. He bounced on his heels happily, leaning into you and refusing to let go of your hand. “Dance?”

“I’ve already told you, no.” you said, smirking in amusement despite yourself. “Sleep.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“Oh, shut up, Peter, you love me.” you protested, pulling your hand from his and turning to lead him down the hall. Quill’s hands found your waist as you did, wrapping around your middle. His chest pressed against your back, his cheek touching your hair as he hummed the opening bars of Escape in your ear. The lilt of the tune was almost hopeful; like he could entice you into a dance after all. His hold made it difficult for you to walk at a normal pace, and you sighed, your head lolling back on his shoulder. “Do you mind?”

Quill’s lips travelled to your ear as you reached the door to his bunk. “Come to bed with me?”

You scoffed a surprised laugh, turning between his arms and stepping back slightly so you could meet his eye. “Oh, there’s a good idea.”

“’m serious,” he told you, a cheeky, enticing smile curving his lips and lighting his eyes. His hands were on your waist again, warm through the flannelette shirt you were wearing, and he rocked his hips towards yours once slowly, suggestively. You could feel heat climb into your neck and you pressed your lips together, hoping pointlessly to fight it back. This was completely unexpected; the two of you had a tendency to flirt with each other, especially after a couple too many drinks. But this was different; the way he was touching you, looking at you… it was too earnest, too intimate to be simply playful humor. Peter’s hands slid down to your hips, squeezing them. “Come to bed with me.”

You sighed, fixing him with a tired expression. Still, instead of your usual sarcastic response you decided to try another tactic and said: “If you weren’t so drunk, maybe.”  

The words were halfway to a confession of a desire you hadn’t really let yourself have. You were friends, but he was sweet, funny, and attractive and you were too tired to be bothered with pretending like you’d never thought about it. Besides, he was so drunk now, that you were pretty sure he wouldn’t even remember what you said, anyway.

“Aww, c’mon, Y/N.” he begged, opening the door. He continued in a sing-song voice, his hands tapping out a playful rhythm on your hips. “You know you want to…”

You laughed, letting your head fall against his chest. “It’s a bad idea, Quill. You’ll wake up in the morning and regret it.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Then maybe I will.”

“Nooo…” he caught your chin, tilting it up so you could look him in the eye again. His hand moved from your chin, ghosting his fingertips over your cheek before moving to your hair and smoothing it against the side of your head carefully. Tenderly, even. “No, you won’t.”

“Yeees…” you teased back, trying to force yourself not to smile. “You don’t even want this, Peter, you’re just dr—”

Quill cut you off by using the hand still on your hip to pull you in, capturing your lips with his. You could feel his smile still on his lips, and your surprise melted away, your eyes closing, as his hand slipped under your shirt to the small of your back and held you to him. You rested your hands tentatively on his chest for a moment, sliding them up to wrap around his neck as he pulled you closer.

His fingers were tangling in your hair, his stubble scratching lightly at your skin and you could feel warmth building in your belly so wonderfully as his thumb brushed over your cheekbone. You could drown in that warmth, sucked in like it was honey or warm caramel. Both of Peter’s hands returned to your hips and he turned you suddenly, pushing you up against the wall beside the door. You let out a little gasp as you met it, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, touching his tongue to yours.

Your arms tightened around his neck, and you leaned against him, going up onto your toes, desperate to be closer to him. One of Peter’s hands moved to your backside, squeezing it wantonly. He pressed his hips into yours, his whole body hard and wanting and heated against your own.

“Quill—” you whispered his name, breathless, as you parted to breathe – barely, though, his lips still brushed against yours as you spoke. “Quill, I—”

His lips were on yours again, his tongue in your mouth. The hand on your hip moved upwards, your shirt bunching up with it. It came to rest on your ribs, his fingers warming your skin. You ran your fingers through his hair, teased his lip with your teeth gently, and couldn’t help yourself when he slung his hips into yours more purposefully.

A moan slipped out, light and yearning and desperate, and it was then that Peter finally pulled away.

A cocky grin spread across his face as the two of you caught your breath, a slightly embarrassed laugh on your lips. He gave your backside another quick, playful squeeze, and you swatted his hand away, remembering yourself. He snickered, his smile widening.

“Yeah, you loved it.”

You shoved him, pushing him back a few steps. “Oh, shut up.”

Quill giggled, that childish bounce back in his step as he moved to stand in his doorway. “So?”

You sighed, forcing yourself to shake your head. Your whole body was still buzzing, but you couldn’t. “It’s a bad idea, Quill. A very bad, very drunk idea.”

“C’mon, Y/N,” he whined, his hand taking yours again. He tugged it, trying to urge you to follow. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“God, you are such a guy,” you sighed, stepping back. He was drunk, so you bluffed. “Tell you what, Quill. You still want this in the morning when your big brain is back up to being in charge, you come find me, okay?”

He pouted, but it softened as you stepped forward again, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “’Night.”

He smiled softly, surprising you by returning the gesture and kissing your forehead. It was light, but his lips lingered against your skin for a few moments. You closed your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the touch while you could. When he spoke, it was against your skin. “Night.”

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tags: @lovely-dreamer19​ @wittyforachange​ @wefracturedmotivation​ @january-echoes​ @glossyloner​ @capitalnineteen​ @youclickedthislink​ @s0ftness​ @castieltrash1​ @absolutly-me @bombardia​

want to be tagged in quill stories? or any other characters? send me an ask :)