#there is a lotttt of whinging

[gorimbaudandgojohnnygo]

Things have been kinda rough this month. After the shitshow that was last December, I promised myself that I was going to do things differently this year because I do not want to end up at urgent care after another panic attack/nervous breakdown, and at first it seemed like it was working, but then things got…ungood. I don’t know if it’s because the holidays are always stressful, or if it’s because of Mercury Rx, or if it’s just my fucked up brain… But in any case, all my recurring issues came back to haunt me.

Old griefs are resurfacing, and I’m constantly on the verge of tears. I’m broke as hell; I’ve been busting my ass with day job and side-hustle stuff to try and make sure the kiddos have a good Christmas (+ C.’s birthday four days prior!), but I’m still not sure if I’ll be able to get everything that’s on their lists. And it’s my birthday month, too, and I want to be able to enjoy it! Speaking of being broke, we once again had ten days between when last month’s food money ran out and this month’s came in, so I had to spend money I’d set aside for Xmas gifts on food. I’m super stressed out about all of it, which makes the kids stressed out, and then I snap at them and feel even worse. I have a bunch of writing-related deadlines I’m way way behind on. Partly because, while some of them are potential money-making ventures, they are not as immediately lucrative as the day job/side-hustle stuff, and I have to focus on the things that are bringing in money now, not later. But also partly because, even when I do get a few minutes to write, I’m usually so stressed out and exhausted that my brain isn’t functioning well enough to get the words out. On top of all that, P. and I have mostly been too stressed and exhausted to enjoy our time together after the kids are in bed—I don’t just mean sexually, I mean in any way; we’re usually too tired to even put on a movie and snuggle. And on top of all that, I jacked my back at the beginning of last week, and I’ve been having terrible pre/menstrual cramps, so I’ve been in a lot of physical pain on-and-off. Oh, and I have some irritation in my vulva that makes me feel like I have to pee all the time—it’s not a UTI, thankfully, but it’s annoying. And I put up up a pinned post on my main blog about my current situation to try and get some more $$ coming in, but it hasn’t been getting much traction. I’ve also been trying to rest and relax here and there, so that I don’t completely burn out and have another nervous breakdown, but I feel guilty for relaxing when I could either be earning money or catching up on the writing I’m behind on. Basically, I feel guilty about everything right now—guilty for being broke, guilty for being behind on everything, guilty for being stressed, guilty for my stress making my kids stressed. Ugh.

Okay, now that that’s out of the way, on to some good things—or at least, things that are more interesting than just whinging about my life.

Thanksgiving was okay. My parents bickered, as usual, but there were no big blowout fights like there have been in past years. I got a text message from my Filia, saying: Happy Thanksgiving Day to my beautiful friend. :) are you and the fam enjoying time together today? i hope so. Today i am grateful for all of the memories i have with you. not a day goes by that something doesn’t trigger a thought :) i hope we can make some more… i love you and i miss you. I teared up because it is so much the same on my end. Though I haven’t seen her in nearly 15 years, over the first 20 years we knew each other we created so many memories together that, well, everything reminds me of her. And I miss her every day, but at least now we chat via text occasionally, and send each other stuff in the mail sometimes; not like all those times in the past when she didn’t even communicate with me.

And then on our drive home, it started to snow, and The Replacements’ “Unsatisfied” came on the radio and it was all so sad and beautiful, missing my oldest friend while the snow fell softly on all the sleepy houses and Paul Westerberg yowled I’m so, I’m so, unsatisfied. Are you satisfied?

A couple days after that, we got a $25 gift card from the grocery store we do most of our shopping at, for being such good customers. It was enough for a couple days worth of meal ingredients, and helped get us through a little bit of our time without food money. And that night, I made a small batch of wassail because I had all the ingredients on hand, and made cocoa for the kids, and we spent the last night of November drinking tasty hot drinks and watching a Christmas movie.

The first couple days of December were pretty good. I put up the advent elf (which we’ve had for years but don’t use every year). Each day, I put in a note with a Christmas or seasonal-related activity the kids can do, plus a small surprise like a tiny toy or trinket (I pick up little things like that whenever I can, so I had a stash ready to go), or a quarter they can add to their piggy banks. Their first activity was to go through their toys and books to find some that were still in good condition but that they no longer wanted, to donate, and they did that happily. And we started putting up the Christmas decorations; got the tree up and the lights on it on the first, put the ornaments on it on the second.

On the fourth, I got really sad and anxious, because the next day was mammogram, part two, where they had to do more imagining on my right boob and find out if the asymmetry was something Bad or not. I was reasonably certain that it was going to turn out fine, but I was still a little scared, you know? But on the morning of the fifth, I went to my appointment, and after taking just a few more images of that side of my chest, they ascertained that everything is, in fact, totally a-okay. Afterwards, I got myself a coffee and a pastry, then dropped off the books and toys (plus some gently-used winter coats and boots, both kids’ and womens’ sizes) at the women’s and children’s shelter. On the drive home, I listened to the Velvet Underground, and everything was so beautiful and I was so happy and relieved because I no longer had that particular fear hanging over my head.

That night I had a dream that my ex/old friend Levi had died, and I only knew because his wife, Kellyn (who was also once a friend of mine) sent me all the stuff he’d still held onto from our relationship/friendship. It made me deeply sad. I’ve written about it before, but— Levi and I were never really right for each other as romantic partners, but we were great friends. And, because were friends for so many years before we dated and we remained friends for so many years after our breakup, and because I became friends with Kellyn when they started dating, I really thought they’d be in my life forever. But Maggie got them in the great friendship divorce of 2014 (which still seems unfair, as she wouldn’t ever have known them if it weren’t for me, but it is what it is). They’ve been out of my life for a decade, now, and I miss them, and I hope they’re doing well, and it’s distressing to know that if something did happen to one of them, I’d probably never know.

The next day, my back pain was at its peak, so I took a long, warm bath with epsom salts to try and ease it enough that I could go out and about. And though it still hurt, I was able to go out, and spend a fantastic afternoon and evening downtown. First my mom and I did a little holiday gift-buying at the art museum shop, then we had tea together at her studio.

After that, I went over to the new bookshop, for a little get-together for Racine Writers-in-Residence past & present (plus whoever else wanted to stop by). It was great to be around a bunch of writers and artists, as always. It was great to be in a bookshop, with that dust-and-vanilla smell of old books. There were snacks and drinks—pies and cookies; coffee, wine, and beer. Ren, who put the whole thing together, asked what I’d like, and mentioned that the beer was a honey blonde ale from Littleport, our local brewery, so that’s what I had. I sipped my beer and talked to various writers about the ins and outs of submitting to lit mags (and the ins and outs of running lit mags); then talked to one of the artists about our mutual love of making art out of trash and other random things we find on the ground. I browsed the shelves for a bit. I wasn’t going to get a book—being that I’m super broke, I’m trying not to spend too much on unnecessary things for myself right now—but I made some off handed comment like: “Oh, I wish I could justify buying a book right now,” and Ren said: “I’ll buy you one! I just got paid today, and this way I can support a local shop while also helping a homie out.” I sorta tried to talk him out of it, but he seemed to really want to, so I browsed some more. I noticed that they had a big selection of used copies of books by Beat (and Beat-adjacent) writers, so you can guess what happened… I went with an early edition of Jack Kerouac’s Dr. Sax, because it’s one of my favorites of his, as well as one of the few Kerouac books I didn’t already have a copy of. Ren handed me the money and I went up to the counter to pay for it. “Oh, great choice,” the owner said, and we started talking about Jack Kerouac, then we chatted about William S. Burroughs for a while. Then he asked me if the music that was playing was good, or if he should put on something more upbeat, and I said: “Well, I like it. I mean, how can you go wrong with Django Reinhardt?” He was impressed that I knew it was Django, and I said: “There’s no mistaking that guitar sound, or Stéphane Grapelli’s violin.” Before I left, Ren asked me to recommend two or three movies for him to check out. He said he watches a lot of movies during the winter, and he wants to broaden his filmic horizons, so he’s asking everyone he knows what their favorite films are. I gave him the two that always pop into my head when someone asks for my favorite films: Down By Law and Wings of Desire. I started laughing after I named them, because I was like: “I sound so fucking pretentious. You ask my favorite movies and I name two black and white art house films, one of which is in a different language. But truly, they are two of my favorite films.” The owner overheard, and said: “Oh, Down By Law. I love that film! Jim Jarmusch is always fantastic, but that’s one of his best.” I agreed, and we chatted about it for a moment, then he said: “Do you like Walt Whitman?“ I responded: “Yes, I like Walt Whitman very much. Leaves of Grass.” Gahhh, I think I have a minor crush on the bookshop owner. Not one where I seriously want to get with him—he’s not my type, physically—but just. Someone in my town who digs Beat writers and Jarmusch films and Django Reinhardt??? Amazing. 

When I left the bookshop, I headed back to my mom’s studio, where my mom and dad and P. and the kiddos were all waiting. We were going to order out for dinner, and eat it at the studio, but before dinner my parents gave me some cash so P. and I could go and have a drink at our favorite pub. We walked over there, and sat down at the bar, and I ordered a Jameson on the rocks. Our favorite bartender was working that night—I’ve bonded with him before over a shared love for The Pogues and Lou Reed—and he was telling us they had a bunch of new, interesting beers on tap, and said: “Here, I’ll give you guys some samples.” And he poured us heavy samples of two different beers. (My favorite was the one that had raspberry and rosemary in it!) It was the first time since I started my ‘either no drinks or one drink only’ plan that I’d had more than one drink in an evening, and I got a little worried that I was going to be hungover the next day, but thankfully, I wasn’t. I must have paced myself enough that I metabolized everything without issue. (I’m still not going to chance that very often, though.)

Saturday morning was probably the worst of the worst. The kids were in terrible moods—fighting with each other, having tantrums about every little thing—and I did not deal with it well. So when the time came to go grocery shopping and run a couple other errands, I decided I would go by myself, so I could get away from it all. It helped. I blasted Weezer’s blue album and Ben Folds Five’s self-titled in the car, like it was 1995 or some shit, and sang along to all those songs I still know so, so well. I checked my P.o. box and there was a holiday card from a friend. One of the stops I had to make was to return a gift I’d gotten for one of the kids, and the person behind the returns desk was a beautiful queer person. They were super helpful and sweet, and I really appreciated it, not only because it lightened my mood, but also because I’m sure they are slammed with shitty customers this time of year, so I wouldn’t have blamed them for being surly. And they complimented me on my outfit, said: “I’m loving this whole look you’ve got going on. It’s fabulous.” It was just what I needed.

That evening, I chatted with a Tumblr mutual about our shared obsession with Kathy Acker, and that night, I stayed up late watching Doctor Who on my tablet. (I’ve started over with new Who, from the first episode with the ninth doctor, on.) That, too, was just what I needed.

The next day was better. My back felt better. It was a warmer day than we’d hand in a while, so C. and I played out in the backyard for a bit, and later in the evening we took a family walk around the neighborhood to look at people’s holiday decorations. I cooked a delicious dinner, and that night, P. and I got to watch a movie and have epic sexytimes.

Monday was worse, again. My back hurt more, again, and I was just so, so sad, and so worried about being able to afford Christmas gifts for my kiddos, and feeling like such a failure, and all I could really manage to do was make the pinned post for my main blog and cry a lot.

But Monday night, I finally got a good night’s sleep for the first time in a while, so I woke up feeling better rested. Tuesday morning, my period started, which explained some of the sadness and some of the back pain, but it wasn’t that much of a relief because it’s my heavy flow month and therefore the accompanying cramps are bad. Late afternoon, I took C. to the library. He played in the kids’ play area, and made a Christmas ornament (they had all the components out on tables in the youth department); I checked out a bunch of books.

That night, I had a dream about Derry. Namely, that I was at one of his band’s shows, and, after their set, he jumped down from the stage and right into my arms. Though it’s not as sad to dream about him now as it was before we’d reconnected, that dream still hurt. I haven’t been to see his band since early 2014, and that was during the time we weren’t speaking, so it has been closer to twenty years than ten since we’ve had a moment like the one in the dream.

Over the past couple days, well, things have been both good and bad. C.’s mood is improving. We’ve started playing Minecraft together—after a year of him begging me to, I finally gave in, and it’s pretty fun, and he is very happy that I can now participate in one of his favorite activities with him. I’ve been cooking a lot of delicious food. I’ve gotten back to writing with a vengeance. The new mini-zine is really really almost done, though it turns out it’s not going to be so mini—turns out I had a lot to write about Christmases past. I also have to keep taking breaks because it is traumatizing. These are not happy Christmas ghosts I’m writing of. And I’m still crampy, and still stressed and sad about being so broke near the holidays.

Today I applied for another credit card in hopes I could use that to buy the rest of the gifts, but I was not approved. And then I cried, because even if I do manage to get more gifts for the kiddos, which is not seeming likely, I won’t be getting the few things I really wanted for my birthday or Christmas (which include a few art and writing supplies, one book, and going to a gig all my electronic music pals are doing a few days before my birthday). And then I felt guilty for crying, because so many people have it so much worse, and Christmas and birthdays shouldn’t be about the presents or the parties, and am I just an ungrateful, greedy little bitch? But then I reminded myself that it’s okay to feel my feelings, and I’m allowed to be sad, even if it’s about something as seemingly unimportant as not getting what I wanted for my birthday.

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Shy(but a bit bratty) ! Sub! BAU! Reader x Mean! Dom! Hotch : Cockwarming

R knew not to try and mess around with Hotch but decided she wasn't patient enough to wait for back up before going into the unsubs workplace.

Hotch decides to teach her patient by making her sit unmoving on his cock for almost the whole day without fucking her while he works on reports.

Edging her every time she moves with a vibe.

And of course, she moves a lotttt at first even though he is edging her but then she just wants to cum and Hotch knows this so even when the day ends and he fucks her, she doesn't get to cum at all.

Oh I love your brain !! I modified just a bit to get it out in a reasonable time bc I couldn’t wait on this one 😮‍💨 But I might have to expand on it at a later date… 👀

—————

Patience is a virtue.

It’s just not one you possess.

“Aaron,” you speak his name on a sigh, trying to control the waver in your voice for fear of it being interpreted as a whine. “Please? It won’t happen again. I promise.”

He doesn’t deign to respond to your most recent round of whinging, instead clicking his pen closed and dropping it on the stack of reports he’s been meticulously working through for hours in exchange for the remote by his coffee mug. He presses a single button, and the answering vibration is a welcome relief. Wordlessly, without so much as a glance your way, he returns his focus to his case file.

Your open legs, perched on either side of Aaron’s thick thighs, quiver at the stimulation against your overly sensitive clit. You can’t tell if it’s been minutes or hours of this torture, but that band deep in your belly has been coiled and ready to snap since Aaron called you into his office and sat you down on his cock with the promise of making you learn your lesson earlier today.

Squeezing the edge of the wooden desk in front of you in a white-knuckled grip, you try to control your breathing. Maybe if he doesn’t hear you, he’ll let you cum this time.

“No.”

The vibrator turns off and yet another orgasm dissipates into the ether, eluding you.

“You think I don’t know what you’re playing at?” The low rumble of his voice from behind you sends a shiver racing down your spine. “I taught you everything you know about profiling.”

“Aaron, please-”

“Which, again,” he cuts you off with a slap to your inner thigh that forces you to gasp and involuntarily rock against him, “means you should’ve known better than to enter that building alone.”

Hot tears well up in your eyes, a mix of desperation for release and immense guilt at the clear disapproval in his voice threatening to send them spilling down your reddened cheeks. “I’m sorry, really, I am.”

“No, you’re not,” he counters in an even tone, shifting his hips beneath you in a way that has his thick cock dragging torturously along your walls. You let out a whimper, bracing your hands against his knees but not daring to move any further for fear of retaliation. His hand skims along a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear, then he grabs your chin roughly to force you to face him, fingers digging into your cheeks. He lowers his mouth to yours but stops just shy of a kiss, determined to deprive you of any tenderness before murmuring darkly, “But you will be.”