#why did he looked finer than the movie

[1v31182m5]

[johnwickb1tsch]

Everyone is sending GIF requests, so, here is mine. Hint: Jealous John? (Though I doubt this man can ever be jealous but...whatever comes to your genius brain)

Thanks!

@sweetwolfcupcake SWEEETS!!!!! I loved this prompt SO MUCH!!! You're such a genius. *kisses your head* I hope you like this! 💗💗💗

Bodyguard!John Wick x Shy!Curvy!Fem!Student!Reader

⚠warnings: threat of noncon (not John), mention of parental death

For the record, you didn’t mean to fall in love with John Wick. But he was nothing like the other goons your father had tasked with guarding you before.  Wick was tall, and handsome, and had the soulful eyes of a poet. You know he’s dangerous; he can kill a man 30 ways with a pencil (the men of your father’s Bratva will not shut up about it) but he seems so…gentle. And the thing that really proved your undoing?

That good looking bastard was bookish, and it did something inconceivable to your lit major brain. Ever your dark shadow, you spent countless late nights in the library together, and so many Saturday afternoons browsing the used bookshops, combing for treasures. He would rescue the books that looked better fit for the waste bin, taking them to repair. Maybe he was there to protect you, for your father had many unsavory enemies, but it was easy to forget when John discussed with you the finer points of the Bloomsbury Set or the themes of Anna Karenina.  

Maybe your father assigned John to you because he was one of the few gangsters around in his brigata one could trust to guard a relatively innocent young lady–that didn’t mean John was safe from you. You just couldn’t help yourself; you’d like to plead insanity, your honor, the night you finally broke and tried to kiss him, while he was helping you with your homework for Russian Lit 301. 

How stupid you felt, how utterly pathetic, when he’d very kindly dislodged you from his so soft mouth, looking at you with pity in his sad dark eyes. “You know…we can’t do this,” he told you.

Mortified, you’d fled to your room and cried, knowing you are the most ridiculous human being on the face of the earth.

What were you thinking?

You are nothing like the tall, ethereal creatures that populate the clubs where Wick frequents with your father. You are shy, and curvy, and frankly…a nerd. An old soul, your father would say fondly, but you know he is just being kind.

You’re not sure how you got it into your head, that you were going to make Wick sorry. You’ve never been one for going out, but you decide to give it a whirl, wanting to be anyone but yourself. You decide to go to the Red Circle, to hang out with the other Bratva brats who care way more about clubbing and clothes and who’s fucking who, than classes at NYU. 

At first you really hate it–but after a few shots of vodka, it’s not so bad. John has to hang back, keeping an eye on you but not interacting with your friends. He’s scary good at lurking in the shadows, but you know he’s keeping an eye on every move you make. Maybe that’s why you let Alexsei kiss you, the son of a semi-friendly loan shark who works in proximity with your father. You don’t really like him, if you’re being honest. But he’s not totally hideous–and he’s there–and John will have to watch it all. 

You and Alex start to have a thing. It’s no big deal. Something to do, on the summer break from your studies. You invite him over to watch a movie, knowing you’ll have the house to yourself. Your father is always at his office doing business, your idiotic brother is always out getting into trouble with his khuligan friends, and your mother…is dead, God rest her poor soul. 

You can tell Alex is a little drunk, when he shows up at your door. He’s very handsy, when you settle in on the couch to watch the latest mindless action flick, his pick. It’s ok, until he tries to unbutton your pants.

You have a secret. 

You’re 21, nearly graduated from university–and you’re still a virgin. 

This is not a thing you intend to give to Alexsei Plushenko. You don’t even really like the way he touches you.

“Stop, Alex.”

“Don’t be scared,” he tries to coax you. “This will be fun.”

“No,” you say. “Let’s just…”

He covers your mouth with his, shutting you up, his heavy body pinning you on the couch. “Don’t be such a stuck up bitch.” His groping fingers squeeze your breast clumsily, painfully, before fumbling with your jeans again. You try to push him off, but he’s heavy, and strong.

Suddenly, he is yanked from you like he weighs nothing at all. You hardly recognize what is happening at first, until you hear the sound of flesh striking flesh. John is on him, his iron fist meeting the younger man’s face. 

“John! Stop!” 

Wick looks up at you, meeting your eyes in a primal lock of stares–your heart drops and soars again, as you feel as though you’ve stumbled on a wolf over his kill, and the wildest thing?

You get the inkling that wolf is jealous. 

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. A beating will make some complications for your father. A death? Could mean war.

Wick punches the handsy young man one more time, his eyes never leaving yours, before hauling Alex up by the collar and frog marching him out the front door, tossing him down the concrete steps of your home.

John finds you waiting for him in the marble foyer, his eyes wild, his knuckles torn. You don’t even know what to say. 

“What did you even see in him?” he finally demands, clearly annoyed.

“He wasn’t you,” you answer without thinking.

Wick steps up to you, toe to toe, so that you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. His hair has broken free from its slicked back style, tendrils in his eyes.

He’s never looked more beautiful, your savage savior.

“You’re trying to get me killed.”

You shake your head, the very thought anathema to you. You are transfixed, unable to look away, unable to think. “You’re too precious to me,” you admit, and screw your eyes shut the moment you admit it, a spear of mortification piercing you from your heart to your stupid, aching, cunt.

“Milaya…” 

It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said to you.

Your eyes drop to his knuckles, torn open in his defense of you. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Not to me.” You don’t know where you get the courage, to take his hand, and lead him up to your room. You can hardly believe it, that he actually follows you. In your ensuite bathroom you dab at his knuckles with a washcloth, slather him with ointment and plaster him with bandaids. You run out of sober flesh colored ones, so the last cut gets a Disney bandage, Ariel and sea-flowers decorating this severe man’s knuckles. 

He lets you do all this, watching you intensely with those dark eyes you’re certain can see into your soul. You stand too close–and he lets you, this haunted man who watches over you day and night. Your whole life you have never wanted for anything, your father’s money buying you all your heart could possibly desire.

Until now.

You find it hard to meet his eyes, zeroing in on a spot of blood on his stark white dress shirt. 

“Y/n.” With a gentle knuckle under your chin he turns your gaze up to his again. “You are too smart, and too beautiful, to be wasting your time with a fuckboy like Alexsei Plushenko.”

The first part you already knew. The second, from this man’s lips? Your knees nearly collapse out from under you, a flood of excitement and dread coursing through your system. You almost can’t stand it–it’s like being burned alive, and your native shyness rears with a vengeance. 

You try to flee, back to the safety of your room, and your books, your imaginary lives that can’t really hurt you–but he catches your hand. His grip is not hard, but it is enough to stop you dead in your tracks. 

“Y/n…” He’s pleading with you, but you don’t understand what he’s asking you. 

“You said you don’t want me, John…” you say, still unable to meet his eyes. “So let me go.” 

He answers by pulling you against him, the solid line of his torso a brick wall beneath the hand you raise to catch yourself. But bricks are not warm, like the flesh beneath his designer clothes. You can feel the wires in your brain sizzling, the synapses simply melting down. Your heart is Chernoble waiting to happen. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You said–”

“I said, ‘We can’t.’ Not, that ‘I don’t want you.’”

You almost cannot breathe, your heart attempting to beat out of your chest, a ringing in your ears that drowns out all else. There is nothing, nothing, in this world you’ve wanted more, than to hear those words from this man. But now that he’s standing before you, against you, holding you–you cannot move. You do not know what to do. 

He solves this problem by cupping your cheek in his big hand–God, how you’ve noticed those hands–and then he is pressing his mouth to yours, gentle at first, but then…hungry. As though John Wick has been starving, for you, and it’s all you can do just to stand there and take it without melting into a puddle on the floor. His arms wrap around your back, holding you, lifting you to your tiptoes as he devours you. When at last he pulls back you are left seeing stars, struck utterly speechless with your hands on his broad shoulders. 

“Tell me to stop,” he raggedly demands, his eyes boring down into yours. 

Finally, you find your courage, meeting his stare. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper. 

“Good. Because I don’t think I can.” He kisses you again, just as hungrily as the first time, his arm an iron band around your waist and his fingers sneaking up into your hair. That’s your kryptonite: your hair, and blithely you know he can do anything and everything he wants to you now.  

Your father is a bad man, but you have not had a bad life. You have never known hunger, or true physical pain. He has protected you from the violence of his world. He has played things smart enough that not even the FBI can touch you, even though they absolutely know what he is and where your family gets its money. Despite all this, you have been dying inside, a slow, withering demise, until John Wick’s lips touched yours. He is the life-giving rain over the desert; your heart is a field of wildflowers erupting in a superbloom. 

This time, he leads you, in between kissing you, to the loveseat at the foot of your bed. He sits, and only when he tries to pull you into his lap do you resist. “John…I’m too…much,” you insist, conscious of your generous flesh and what it would be like to set that on top of him, afraid he’ll be horrified. 

However, he just scoffs at you, grabbing you up anyway and guiding you down. For a moment you are weightless–he knows how to upset a person’s balance, how to use their weight against them to put them on the floor. This time he uses it to put you on him. You’re not exactly proud of it, but the ease with which he utterly manhandles you makes your long-neglected lady parts sing with desire. 

“You are perfect, dietka,” he insists, pulling you closer with hands on your round behind, “And I am very strong.” For the first time in you can’t remember how long–he smiles at you. That beautiful half smile with a sparkle in his dark eyes that takes your breath away–you love him so much it hurts. 

This time you don’t feel so shy, about kissing him. You feel like your bones are filled with butterflies, and you both moan and giggle as you do your best to devour each other from the mouth down. Aside from an appreciative squeeze of your thighs bracketing his hips, he doesn’t try to seduce you, even though you know you absolutely would have given him anything he asked you for. He is content, just to kiss you, for this night at least, and oh. He’s good at it too. 

You decide you would burn down the world, for one more kiss from John Wick.  

Later you find yourself snuggled in your bed with John, fully clothed, your head on his shoulder as he toys with the fine hairs at the back of your neck. His touch is heaven, and with your legs twined with his it’s hard not to squirm and writhe against his muscled thigh like a horny little gremlin. 

Later, you tell yourself. It can wait for later. 

Like maybe, tomorrow. 

“We’ll have to be careful,” he warns you. “If your father…” 

If your father found out, the best thing that could happen to John is getting fired. 

“I won’t let you get hurt,” you promise, kissing his bearded cheek, praying you’re telling the truth.

He chuckles at this; a deep sound you feel more than hear. “I thought that was my job?”

“You know what I mean.” 

“I know.” He looks down at you with a tenderness that curls your toes. “It would be worth it, for you.” 

Your heart has suddenly decided it would like to take up residence in your throat–permanently.

“Oh, John…”  

He kisses you again, a soft brush of lips that renders you weightless. This is how you die: it’s almost too much to stand, this impossibly full feeling in your chest. Then he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You have been driving me mad, you little minx. I wanted to kill everyone who so much as looked at you in the Circle.” 

You snort at the thought–you do not understand, really, that he could absolutely do it too. 

“Not to worry. I think the library is more my speed.” He rests his head against yours with a small, contented sigh. “Mine too,” he admits. The smell of old books around you is a soothing balm to you both. 

You know small bits of his past. Morsels he has sprinkled, here and there in the conversations you have had. You know he did not have an easy childhood. You know that this life was not really his choice. Even less so than most, who move and work in the Underworld. 

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?” you ask. 

He lifts an eyebrow at you. “I’m liking New York, at the moment,” he tells you with an affectionate squeeze. 

“Oh come on.” 

“Fine. I like Paris a lot.” 

“Hmm,” you answer, but what you think, is: Done.  You will have the opportunity to arrange to study abroad soon, and you think a trip away from the Tarasov territory might do you both some good.

Surely Papachka wouldn’t deprive you of your most trusted bodyguard?

[lavendertales]

Hi hi hi 🥰🥰🥰 any thoughts on writing a fox on reader and Joel Miller where they have an age gap (obvs) maybe reader is a friend of Tommy’s and Joel is a bit protective over her but they end up fucking and the whole time he’s trying to shut her up from the clickers by covering her mouth, choking her but at the same time talking dirty etc etc I’ll let you live out your thotty imagination with this one xoxo

Hiii love, thank you for the request! Well this one was... phew 🥵 hope you enjoy!

Where you belong || Joel Miller x f!reader**

summary: who would've thought one of Tommy's good friends would have such an impact on Joel?

word count: 2k

WARNINGS: this is FILTH. age gap mention, teasing, some dirty talk, mutual pining, male & female masturbation, choking, unprotected piv, vaginal fingering.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @pajamasecrets

Stubborn and harsh as he may be, Joel Miller knows how to appreciate some of the finer things in life.

A good song, a fine illustration, a movie that sticks with him for a while… and then there’s you.

Tommy’s made it clear that you were a close friend of his and Maria’s, and Joel respected that. He stayed within the limits of respect, never crossing the border. But he did enjoy the occasional sneak peek at you, always when you weren’t looking.

He’s not sure why. It just always felt… easier. Just watching you from afar and keeping things cordial between the two of you was always the easy and safe option, as opposed to actually caring too much.

Caring meant loss. And Joel had enough of that. He just needed something nice for a change. Something good, something that wouldn’t be tainted by the threat of harm.

Perhaps that’s why he’d grown so fond and so protective of you. Being significantly older than you was certainly another reason why he preferred to keep his infatuation for you at bay, but it also gave him a reason to be your unspoken protector. You didn’t ask for it, yet he simply provided it. For that, you were beyond grateful.

And frustrated, too.

Particularly on this hot summer evening in Jacksonville, when you were out checking the perimeter for raiders or infected, and you used every excuse imaginable to establish physical contact with Joel: a light grip on his arm when you faked a potential fall, soft giggles at his dry jokes that no one else seemed to get, and being face to face with him with every single opportunity you got. Five, in total. You gazed at him, searching his face for confirmation that he understood why you were doing all that, why you were craving his touch so dearly, and still you failed to see that. Joel remained as hardened as ever, and it only grew your frustration more.

So when you got back into town, throwing your gun on the rocking chair in the corner of your living room, you were surprised to see Joel behind you, footsteps heavy, as if he was angry about something.

“What’s wrong with you?” his thick voice asks.

You turn to him, utterly dumbfounded, almost insulted at the question he just posed. Maybe you misinterpret it, too, but hell if you give a shit right now.

It’s been months since Joel’s caught your eye, months of sneaky glances and wishful thinking, and closing onto three years without the intimate touch of another human being.

It’s too much. In this moment, all feels overwhelming.

“What is wrong with me?” you emphasize the pronoun. “What is wrong with you?! Have you not noticed me around you for the past, I don’t know, two hours?”

“Sure I have, how can I not?”

You scoff, hands on your hips and licking your lips in frustration. Gesture which does not go unnoticed by Joel, who licks his own in return, awfully tempted in this moment.

“I don’t know, Joel,” you reply sarcastically. “For someone with such great hunting and surviving skills, you sure lack some basic observation skills.”

He frowns, approaching you. “What are you talking about?”

You grow even more dumbfounded, curious whether he’s playing the fool intentionally or if he’s simply playing with you.

“How long have we known each other?” you ask.

“Six, seven months.”

“Seven months. Seven months since you’ve known me, and you still don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

“What don’t I know?”

You approach him too, your lips parted to make room for words that refuse to come out. Instead, you breathe through your mouth, your body nearly quivering at the simple, yet overpowering sensation of being so close to him, yet so far.

“What I like and don’t like,” you say in a near-whisper manner. “I don’t like being fooled. I don’t like being played or led astray, and I don’t like guessing. I hate guessing games. I was never any good at them.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

You nod several times, puckering your lips. “Clearly.”

“And what do you like?”

The way he says it, so rich with gruffness and tempting, it’s causing your knees to buckle and your heart to race faster. It’s the first time tonight you think he’s actually teasing you, and you feel heat spreading throughout your body, settling in your nether area.

“A lot of things, actually,” you reply, unable to look away from his full lips.

“Mhm. Like what? Tell me. Use your words.”

Yeah, he’s definitely fucking with you. But it’s all the more enticing.

You don’t tell him, though; you simply reach to press your lips onto his, only for a split second, and then you pull away. You watch his face closely, checking if you have his approval. When he wraps a faintly hesitant hand around your waist and pulls you in to kiss you properly, you melt into his arms, and realize that you do have all the approval in the goddamn world.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen. In a matter of seconds, you find yourself writhing beneath him on the bed, splayed shamelessly by his calloused hands. Under normal circumstances, he’d be a perfect gentleman and ask you out, spend as much time with you as possible, but for the past two decades, Joel lived on the edge, strictly in survival mode. Which means that some relief is all he can allow himself to have.

Your hands hastily undress him, messy just like the kiss you are sharing with him, and your breaths get ragged, as fast and irregular as your heart.

“You don’t know—how many goddamn times I’ve—wanted this…”

Joel’s voice is trembling despite its huskiness, and it causes you to shiver with excitement. The thought of him wanting you this much, this desperately, is getting you wetter with each passing second.

“Never allowed myself to—to want you” he confesses, peppering wet kisses along your jaw while you worked against his belt and zipper.

“Why not?”

“Tommy might kill me.”

“Or Maria.”

He chuckles briefly, prompting the same reaction out of you. You help him out of his jeans and his boxers, your mouth watering upon seeing how hard he is already. It’s beyond flattering, and you’re not sure how much longer you can stay apart from him.

“Thought about you too,” you confess, spreading your legs further so that you are on full display for him.

Joel stares at you in a delirious haze. In the sunset’s gold and red light, he can see the glistening of your pussy, and he swallows harshly. He doubts he’s ever felt this parched in his whole life, the waiting tearing him apart.

“You did?” he asks cheekily, cupping your sex while you gasp in surprise.

“Yes. Oh yes…”

He’s palming you gently, eyes locked on your face and nowhere else. He’s practically working on muscle memory, but it serves him correctly it seems.

“What did you think about?” he demands, drawing circles around your clit.

“Just you… touching me.”

“Like I’m doing now?”

“Yes—I thought about you… while I was touching myself.”

Joel can’t help the grunt that escapes his lips. That sole confession awakens something primal inside of him, something big, roaring in his chest. He pushes with two fingers past your folds now that he feels you wet enough to grant him easy access, and starts pumping in and out while you whine.

“Shh,” he coos you gently. “Easy, baby girl.”

“F-Fuck—“

“From this moment forward, you’re being silent. Not quiet. Silent. Is that clear?”

You bite on your lower lip and frantically nod your head while you palm your own breasts. It feels so good just to feel his fingers inside you, you can’t even imagine more. It’s definitely been a long time for you—presumably for him too—so you are awfully sensitive and needy, but just knowing that this is Joel Miller doing this to you, causing your body to react this way, to arch under his touch and whine from his words, it’s making you hotter and wetter than anything you could’ve ever imagined.

“Be a good girl for me and shut up, will you?”

He asks too softly for you not to obey, and again you nod frantically, unable to utter any words.

Joel’s fingers keep pumping in and out of you, faster and faster, and you do everything in your willpower to not scream. You barely let out a few whimpers, but it seems they get Joel going: you catch a glimpse of him stroking his cock in the process, the sight lewd as fuck. You focus on that while you reach in between your legs to furiously rub your clit while Joel’s fingers fuck into you, and his own hand is curled around his cock. Breaths ragged and in tandem, you work on each other to climb the ladder of ecstasy.

“Fuuuuuck—“you mutter, mouth in the perfect O shape as you feel your orgasm fast approaching.

“Keep your mouth shut, baby girl,” Joel reminds you, abruptly pulling out his fingers, now sticky as he takes them to your mouth, and you instantly suck on them, having a taste of yourself.

You don’t hide the disappointment on your face upon feeling empty, especially when you see that he’s not even jerking off anymore.

“There could be clickers around,” he seemingly justifies his command.

“We checked the area. There are none.”

“There are plenty of reasons for you to keep your mouth shut, darlin’. Or do you need me to find another use for it?”

You smirk. “If you want to.”

He doesn’t, though. That’s not for tonight, he thinks. Not when you’re both so worked up and needy. He wraps his hand around his weeping cock, almost ready to explode at how hard he is, and guides himself to your entrance. Muttered cuss words fill the room from both of you, said like a chant on repeat with the first roll of his hips against yours. Your pussy swallows him whole, and he watches mesmerized as you take all of his cock in, coating the hair at the base with your juices. He doesn’t waver with the pace: it’s fast and hard from the second thrust. He slams his hips into you, your wanton cries musically pleasing to his ears.

It’s only then that he wraps his hand around your throat, putting an end to any words you might’ve wanted to say. You only moan at him as he’s fucking you speedily, needy, with a fury you’ve only seen him use in combat.

“Do you fuckin’ know—what you do to me?” he grunts, the impending sensation of his release overcoming him. “Do you, hm? Look how full you are… stuffed with my cock… good girl, just like that…”

With a bit more pressure applied to the grip over your throat, you moan as you come, coating his cock with your arousal. The sensation of your walls trapping him inside you is the final click for Joel when he comes too, pulling out and painting the filthiest painting over your swollen pussy and thighs. His warm seed is all over your lower area, and there’s so much of it, you wonder how long exactly it has been for him since he’s last felt relief.

Breathless, you reach for him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him tenderly, a stark comparison to the rough way you were being handled just a few seconds before.

“Do you know what you are doing to me, Joel Miller?” you cheekily ask after a while.

“Think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

You both chuckle, the sound shared only between the two of you, in your bed.

It’s the first time in months Joel gets a good night’s sleep. And the first time in months since he’s laughed. All because of you.

[prose-for-hire]

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

(Part 2 to Toil and Trouble)

Pairing: Spike x Harris!reader

Request: I wanted to write a second part to this and I got few comments asking for a pt2 as well! This is the aftermath/relationship between reader and Spike after their date and the conversation that needed to be had with Xander.

As you had sensed, that date had been the first of many with Spike. It had been months since that evening where you had untied him and walked into the moonlight. If only life was like a movie, it could have stopped there. With the promise and hope of everything being okay.

Your twin, of course, couldn’t just let it rest. The tension had reached boiling point. In fact, you had been avoiding him for the past three months. That conversation you had promised him? You were never in the room long enough for him to even take a breath to start to speak.

Spike had found himself a crypt, had almost managed to help kill the slayer through Adam at the Initiative and had given you one of his rings to wear. He had turned to you, halfway through an episode of Passions and had actually managed to drag his eyes away and earnestly offered you the knotted silver band. It was a promise. You had never taken it off since.

You, although knowing Spike had been up to something, didn’t want to hear the finer details. So long as your brother wasn’t going to be hurt, you didn’t want to hear it. You just wanted to be close to Spike. Of course it would be nice to save the world and all that but, really, that ship had sailed and it was more your brother’s hobby than yours.

You were sat in his crypt, curled up on his sofa by his side. Your bodies bathed in candlelight, glowing in a silent contentment. All that could be heard was the distant buzzing of the tv. But that didn’t matter to you. Only he mattered. Your head rested on his shoulders as he wrapped an around you, pulling you in closer. The popcorn you had been sharing had long since been abandoned.

You pressed a few soft kisses against his neck, the near-silent sigh of pleasure you heard from Spike made you smile into the kisses. He used his hand to guide your head to face him, pressing your forehead against his. He savoured the moment closing his eyes at the contact, he could stay in this moment forever and be the happiest man alive.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his. He tasted like cigarette smoke and popcorn. He cupped your cheek in his hand, thumb caressing your cheekbone as he started to deepen the kiss, the way he always did. Knocking the breath from your body. He tilted your head back, thumb sliding to caress your neck with his strong hand, his lips hungrily-

The door to the crypt swung open with such force that it came off its hinges. You tensed and Spike pulled you in close to his side, willing to defend you against anything that came your way. He was fiercely protective and you knew he would lay down his life for you in a heartbeat (one of your heartbeats, of course).

“Can’t a vampire have one sodding moment to rest in peace with his love?”

It was your brother. Again. And his friends, Willow and Buffy. Buffy had a stake and a scary look on her face. The only real threat you had ever felt inside the crypt coming from those supposedly on the side of ‘good’.

Once, you may have sprang apart but you were too comfortable and really, you were an adult. Your brother would have to physically prize you apart if he wanted you to move away from Spike.

“Xander! What is your problem?! You’re dating a demon, I’m dating a vampire it’s not exactly much of a difference”

“Actually, love-”

“Not now, Spike!” You both said at the same time.

“I really bloody hate it when you do that” he muttered but surrendered at the look on your face. You just didn’t want him to say anything that could get a redwood in his chest. You really, really liked him.

“Anya’s different” He insisted, awarding him a glare from you.

“Oh my God, you’re such a bonehead! It’s exactly the same”

“Why don’t we all make with the calmness and take a deep-”

“No time or place for none of your spiritual-wicca bollocks now, Red” Spike warned, knowing you well by now. You didn’t like it when people told you what to do. Especially not the ‘morally superior’ group of your brothers friends.

You reached for Spike’s arm subconsciously and rubbed his arm slowly, showing him that you were right there with him. Thanking him for speaking up. You didn’t actually like arguing, you just didn’t like to back down either. Your brother didn’t exactly appreciate the display of affection, however.

“That’s it! You and me, pal, outside!” Xander said, putting his hands in a fist in a way that could only be described as a mockery of a fight.

“You and what army, Xander” You rolled your eyes. Nevertheless, Spike shrugged and walked outside, lighting up a cigarette as he went. Xander looked a little nervous but took a deep breath and followed him out.

You started to follow too, not wanting either of them to come to any harm but Buffy blocked your way. When you tried to move past, it felt like walking into a brick wall. She was incredibly strong despite her size.

“You’re, uh, strong” You offered lamely, stepping back from her.

“We should probably leave them to it”

“Did you ever think that I might be hurt when you all decided to keep this from me?” It was only because of your healthy curiosity that you had come across Buffy slaying and then researched it yourself. If you hadn’t, when you had first been faced with a vampire you may have not even had a stake on your person.

“We told Xander you should know, but we kinda didn’t wanna get in the middle of a twin-fight” Buffy explained, shuddering at the thought of the infamous twin fights she had witnessed between you and Xander. To you both, they weren’t all that serious usually but it appeared to be in front of others. This time had been different though.

“I’ve known you since I was a kid, Willow, where’s the loyalty?”

Willow opened her mouth and then closed it again, unsure how to speak. She had always been fond of you but she was best friends with Xander and she had never really forgiven you for spreading the news that she had cheated on Oz with your brother around school. You had only told one of your friends, you just happened to have been overheard.

Meanwhile, outside…

Xander had, in a surprise to everyone involved, punched Spike and held him against the wall of the crypt. Spike took it, choking out smoke in surprise but stood there and didn’t even defend himself. Only for you. He was love’s bitch, after all. He knew how upset you would be, even though he was an idiot, you loved your brother a lot.

“Leave them alone, this is mucho evil even for you! Stop acting like you like them”

“Be easier, wouldn’t it. If it were an act” Spike shrugged, dropping his smoke and grinding it under his boot, “I love them”

“Oh yeah, love without the actual, you know, lovin’ part”

Spike gave him a look, one that was one part unamused to two parts looking like he wanted to kill the man stood before him. Xander still had Spike’s shirt balled in his fist. He raised his other fist again, as if to land another punch when you ran out from the crypt and grabbed your brother’s hand.

“That’s enough!” You pulled your brother off him. Your annoyance threatening to boil over.

“You don’t need to do this, Y/n”

“Do what exactly, Xander?!”

“You proved your point, I should’ve told you about Buffy. But rise of the evil dead here is bad news”

“You’re such a hypocrite, xander! Anya is older and has statistically killed more people than Spike and yet you stand there all high and mighty acting like I need to be saved from myself. Well, I don’t. Spike is really good to me, perhaps if you gave him a chance…”

Xander scoffed but he knew you well. Sometimes more than you knew yourself. That look in your eyes, you were deeply upset. You just wanted to be close to your brother again, but you couldn’t even consider losing Spike. You were in love. Deeply.

Spike lit up a cigarette, stepping to your side and handing it to you before lighting up for himself. His mind was always on you, he was in tune with you. You never hid anything from him, you didn’t have to. You took a drag, trying to hide the visible shaking from your hand. This could go two ways. You and Xander could make up like you usually would or the rift could widen and Xander might turn his back on you. A wash of anxiety

“All I want is to look out for you” Xander admitted, looking at the floor. He took the fact he was a minute older than you seriously, assuming the ‘older brother’ role despite there being no real grounds (but that was an argument for another time).

“And you did that by letting me discover vampires by almost getting eaten by one in high school?” You asked pointedly.

“You never said…”

“Better be bloody dust” Spike muttered, jaw tensing at the idea of any vampire wrapping their jaws around you. You were his, if there was any biting to be done, he would of course do the honours.

“How many times have you almost been killed by a vampire, Xand? I’m guessing double figures. Can’t we just call it quits? Uh, I don’t wanna… lose you” You admitted quietly, rolling your own eyes this time. You and Xander didn’t usually do the whole feelings thing. You mostly used humour to cope with your dysfunctional family and just shared knowing looks when you both felt the same way about something.

“Hey! No way, you’re stuck with me. Like glue, the glue-iest” Xander launched at you, giving you a hug, wafting the smoke away and fake coughing as he did, though when he released you from his bone crushing hug, he couldn’t help but say, “But it-it’s Spike. He’s gross, Y/n”

“Yeah, I’ve definitely seen him lick his own nose blood” Buffy grimaced as she recounted it, joining them with Willow from within the crypt.

“He’s my boyfriend. No amount of nose blood or evil rants can change that.”

Willow and Buffy seemed to soften at this, as well as the adoring look that Spike gave you. Both knew what it was like to love people that others might not understand too. He truly did love you, he made a mental note to tell you properly as soon as you were alone. He just wished he hadn’t said it out loud for the first time to your brother rather than you.

“But-” Xander started again but Willow stood on his foot.

“Didn’t you say we would meet Riley at the Bronze at 11?” Willow changed the subject quickly. Buffy checked her watch and groaned, she had stood him up all week and I was already 11:30. Spike bit his tongue from saying ‘trouble in paradise’. Something you noticed and tried to hide your smile. You had both discussed Buffy’s love life at length.

“Why don’t you guys come? Merry merriment for all, right Xand?” Willow asked kindly, echoing Xander’s earlier phrasing.

“Oh, right, yeah, family bonding and all that” You offered, knowing more than anything that danger followed Buffy around and that Spike enjoyed picking a fight with any demons that you came across.

“Watch it” Spike murmured from your side. No matter how much he loved you, he didn’t love the idea of Xander being family. But he did nod his head to agree he would go.

As you and your strange group walked together through the streets, with Spike muttering something about charging the slayer for the damage done to his crypt’s door. Spike didn’t like your brother and he certainly didn’t like the slayer, but he liked you very much and he had decided he would have to live with seeing them a lot more often.

“Huh, maybe it runs in the family”

“What?”

“The demon-y magnetism” Willow laughed and Xander kicked a rock at her words but didn’t say anything. He was just getting you back, maybe he could live with you and Spike being together. Well, maybe he would give it three strikes and then he would try and bring up the idea of you leaving him again.

Spike rolled his eyes at Willow’s words but you smiled softly, leaning in to press a kiss against his pale cheek. You slid your hand into his and he squeezed tightly.

“I love you too, by the way” You whispered softly in his ear. You had heard him. He glowed, a smile spread across his face, you always loved it when he smiled. It lit up his entire face, brightening all of his features.

The moonlight caressed his face, his eyes glistening at your words. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss against your forehead as you trailed behind your brother and his friends. He would sit through this, for you. Because he loved you, more than he had ever loved another before.

[dearstvckyx]

Flufftober | 10.24 |

Late Candy Run - Jamie Drysdale

The night before Halloween, you and Jamie Drysdale were lounging on the couch, a scary movie paused on the screen while you debated the finer points of why the lead characters always run toward the creepy noises. Just as you were getting into it, you both glanced at the empty candy bowl on the table, realization hitting simultaneously.

“Oh no…” you murmured, wide-eyed.

“We don’t have any candy for trick-or-treaters,” Jamie replied, equally horrified.

Cue the mad scramble to throw on jackets and hop in the car, speeding off to the nearest 7/11 with a level of urgency usually reserved for overtime games. Jamie parked the car in a haphazard angle, practically jumping out before you even had the seatbelt off.

Inside, the candy aisle was…surprisingly bare. A couple of bags here, some off-brand chocolates there. But Jamie was undeterred, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “We’re buying out whatever’s left. Trick-or-treaters are gonna love us.”

Without hesitation, you both started loading up your arms with bags of mini Snickers, Reese’s, Skittles, and…what was that? A lone pack of gummy spiders? Sure, why not. You had so much candy that Jamie insisted on trying to fit all of it in his arms at once, only for half the bags to come tumbling down and scatter on the floor.

“Could you not?” you laughed, nudging him as you both bent down to pick everything up. He just shrugged, grinning like a kid in a candy store…which, technically, he was.

When you finally got to the register with a literal mountain of candy, the cashier gave you both a long, skeptical look. “You guys, uh, throwing a party or something?”

Jamie, in perfect deadpan, replied, “Nope. Just fulfilling our civic duty.” You tried to hold back a snort as the cashier scanned bag after bag.

As you left, Jamie was already tearing into one of the candy bags, popping a mini chocolate into his mouth. “So, technically, this counts as an advance tax for the adults handing out the candy, right?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t eat half of it before tomorrow,” you teased, stealing a piece for yourself. He shot you a look that could only mean he was plotting to eat more than half before Halloween even hit.

The drive back was full of both of you munching on candy, laughing, and planning how you were going to act like the coolest house on the block tomorrow. As you got back and started piling your loot into a gigantic bowl, Jamie grinned, picking up one last mini Snickers, and handed it to you with a dramatic flourish.

“For your excellent work tonight,” he said, pretending to bow.

You took it, giving him a mock curtsy. “Thank you, kind sir. May our sugar-filled stash be the envy of all trick-or-treaters.”

And sure enough, Halloween came, and thanks to your last-minute haul, you and Jamie did, in fact, have the best stash on the block—even if there were a few less mini chocolates than planned.

[sneezemonster15]

what do you think of yuuta and rika?

Obsessive love turned obsessive cursed spirit. In the JJK film, their relationship while Rika is still alive, is a very close and innocent one, as in the kind that one would expect two shy and introverted kids to have. Like two lonely kids finding solace in each other. But while Yuuta treats the relationship like a child would, Rika seems way more obsessive. I felt like it turned from 'sweetly childlike' to 'obsessive' pretty fast. Rika always looked a little odd to me, the first time when she meets Yuuta, she is alone sitting on a hospital bed with a dreamy faraway look in her eyes, and then she sees Yuuta and smiles as if she has known him forever, her love for Yuuta seemed more adult as compared to Yuuta's love for her, which even though strong, is innocent and childlike, not romantic. To see them playing childish games, which Yuuta takes in good innocent spirit, just like a kid would, Rika seems more resolute and serious, even though she is also a kid, it created an unsettling feeling and it was justified later. And it made one anticipate that this relationship will be the precursor to something drastic. It made more sense when I checked out Gege's interview about the same.

Like you can tell Gege didn't intend to write Rika as a 'normal' person. Like a bomb that will potentially explode and will be destructive as hell. Rika was jealous of Maki in the film, given the attention Yuuta gave to her, and the idea of being with Yuuta as one at the end of the film, the idea of symbolically marrying him ends up drawing her to her full power.

However, Yuuta came of age in the film, after he realizes that it was him that cursed Rika unconsciously, and makes a pact with her, his relationship with Rika also evolves. Although I do think that even though it was Okkotsu that cursed Rika, had it been anyone else than Rika, it would probably not have resulted in a curse, and definitely not such a strong curse.

Anyway, after that, he takes accountability for what he accidentally did to Rika. And now they are a unit, she works more like a subjugated shikigami from ten shadows technique than a wayward cursed spirit. They definitely have a strong bond. But I don't think it is romantic.

However, what is certainly potentially romantic is the relationship between Yuuta and Maki, like it was portrayed in the movie. Yuuta is not a kid anymore, he understands the finer nuances of love, an equal kind of love.

Maki is no nonsense, revolutionary and resolute type of person with a specific goal, who has had a lot of exposure to toxic, inhuman and entirely misogynistic men like Naoya and the entire Ze'nin family tbh. Yuuta certainly breaks that stereotype. He is not afraid to take the more humble position in the relationship, his humility, modesty and sweet humor kind of 'melts' her defences, makes her softer around the edges. She opens up to him even though initially, she did not have the best impression of him and generally was a little prickly towards him. But it evolves. Their relationship is given credible development in the film.

Finally, it's this cover art that I find symbolic of Yuuta and Rika's relationship.

Looks like she is lovingly cuddling with a Yuuta doll. Like a little girl. A doll typically symbolises a plaything, it has no power, to be controlled by someone else. Love can be obsessive like that, but when it's one sided, it makes one anxious, raises red flags. Which is why it made sense that she was drawn to her full power only after Yuuta gave himself to her body, heart and mind. It's clear that Yuuta's guilt about cursing Rika played a big part in him bonding himself to Rika. It doesn't seem like an equal sort of love, it more than borders on obsessive and a bit insane. But it is a very strong bond nonetheless. Rika also reaches some kind of resolution at the end of the film about Yuuta, so I think Yuuta can go ahead and find love someplace else.

[spookyshipperfics]

The Finer Things (Chapter 1)

Find it: a03 / Fandom: The X-Files / Rating: Explicit

Part of the Do You Like Scary Movies? series

Tagging @today-in-fic

What is it About? Scully and Mulder are sent undercover onboard a luxury train to investigate the presence of a suspicious and undocumented train car. Playing a wealthy married couple is tricky, but they run into even bigger issues when an unwelcomed agent gets sent in for backup.

Read a Sample: You’ll want to pack predominantly dressy casual, but formal wear will also be required.

Skinner’s advice still bounced around Mulder’s skull. What did dressy casual even mean? For a man who wore a suit and tie nearly every day, he worried the slacks and collared shirts shoved in his suitcase weren’t up to code. The rental car suddenly felt hot, and he cracked the window.

Mulder had been told a lot over the last two days. He and Scully would be riding the Dusty Mountaineer, a train that twisted and wound through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado before opening to the deserts of Utah and, finally, Nevada. It was five days of luxury meets majesty, or at least that’s what the brochure promised. And while that all sounded fine and dandy, they weren’t going for leisure.

The Dusty Mountaineer’s last few trips had included a mysterious train car unaccounted for in any brochures or official travel documents. The FBI suspected some sort of smuggling operation—firearms, drugs, chemicals—but whispers of strange creatures being transported to a testing site in Nevada warranted a knock on the Spookys’ basement door. After all, Mulder had recklessly jumped onto a train only a few years ago for similar reasons.

This train ride would be different, though. For starters, he and Scully would be going undercover as a married couple… again. Goodbye, Rob and Laura Petrie. Hello, Pete and Chrissy Curtis. Who would’ve thought that with all this chaos, the contents of his wardrobe would be what broke him?

“Scully,” he said, glancing at her in the passenger’s seat, where she leafed through documents containing information about their cover stories. “What do you consider dressy casual?”

He didn’t need to look at her to know she rolled her eyes. The sigh of annoyance confirmed it. “Mulder, if the items you brought are anything like what you’re wearing now, you’ll be just fine.”

His shoulders relaxed in his sports coat. He felt considerably better about the fitted white T-shirt and khakis beneath it. “You think?”

“I do,” she responded dryly, and Mulder couldn’t help but sneak another peek at her. Outfitted in a light blue dress that was much more form-fitting than anything he’d ever seen her in, it was difficult to bring his attention back to the road. He did, though, trying to ignore the memory of her smooth thighs peaking from beneath the fabric.

“What do you do for work?” Scully’s voice drifted into his ear, jolting him back to reality.

“What?”

“What do you do for work?” she repeated.

The fluttering papers in her hand reminded him why they were here in Colorado. He had more important things to worry about than how soft Scully’s thighs looked. He was a goddamn FBI agent about to go undercover for five days. Maybe that’s what was really making him nervous. It wasn’t the definition of dressy casual; it was pretending to be married to Scully. It had been easier in Arcadia. He hadn’t really known what to expect. He didn’t realize how much he’d enjoy touching her or calling her pet names.

“Well, dear,” he began, “I’m a community college professor specializing in conspiracy literature and theories, but I also teach history because that’s what pays the bills.”

“Good,” she remarked.

Deciding to go for the extra credit, he continued, “You teach pre-med at the same college. That’s, of course, how we met. What was it now? Seven years ago?”

“Six,” she corrected. “Just like in real life.”

“I know. I know,” Mulder assured her. He knew exactly how long ago they’d met. Scully had changed his life when she’d walked through his basement door. Something like that you didn’t forget. “I’m thinking of making that part of my schtick. You know, the whole forgetful husband trope. I’m bad with anniversary dates. I forget to pick up milk on the way home.”

“That tracks,” she said, and this time, he could hear the smile in her voice. “Birthdays aren’t a strong suit of yours, either.”

“Not a strong suit of Pete Curtis,” he countered. “I want to be clear that this is strictly a character choice.”

Any snarky rebuttal Scully might have tossed back at him was left unsaid. Instead, she let out an excited “wow.” After rounding the last bend, the Dusty Mountaineer came into view. The fifteen-car train was a shiny black and decorated with elaborate gold accents and lettering.

“It looks like something out of an Agatha Christie novel,” Scully remarked.

Mulder nodded. “Let’s just hope this story doesn’t play out like one of hers. I could do with a little less murder.”

The Dusty Mountaineer’s narrow hallways were wood paneled, the floors a floral carpet. It was a bit like stepping into a time capsule. There were no TVs or other technological entertainment, and even the staff were outfitted in clothes of a different era.

“Dinner is served at six. Our dress code requires passengers to dress appropriately when not in their rooms. Formal attire is required for the cocktail party on Friday night.” Jamie, the crew member assigned to walk them to their lodging, continued rattling off rules and detailing the agenda before stopping at a cabin on the far end of the first sleeper car. “This is you, Mr. and Mrs. Curtis.”

Despite everything Mulder had seen thus far, he still wasn’t quite prepared when Jamie pulled open the door. His eyes swept across the cabin and widened. The wood paneling continued inside their room, which contained a full-sized bed, a small table for two, and a sofa. Cubbies and hidden closets allowed for tidy storage. A shelf holding complimentary champagne and glasses hovered above the table.

It was a far cry from the derelict accommodations they were used to. The Bureau had splurged only because people thinking they had money could work in their favor. If the stupid rich couple was caught in an area of the train they shouldn’t be, they could chalk it up to entitlement. Money clogging their brains.

Still, being allowed to even exist in this old-timey glamour sent a secret thrill up Mulder’s spine. He automatically reached for Scully’s hand. The need to conceal the action as part of their cover had him practically shouting over Jamie, who had barely finished explaining how to convert the sofa into a cot. “This is great, isn’t it, honey?”

“It’s beautiful,” Scully responded, and he could tell by the way her eyes glistened that she meant it.

Running on a diet of caffeine and adrenaline, they took advantage of the three-course dinner and complimentary champagne. Upon returning to their cabin, Mulder offered Scully the en suite bathroom first. He took the opportunity to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Scully emerged in silk pajamas a few minutes later, a cloud of minty toothpaste and something floral—lotion maybe—trailing behind her. Mulder followed her gaze to the far end of the cabin, where the full-sized bed loomed. He realized then that this wasn’t like Arcadia at all. There was no downstairs couch to retreat to at night.

Find the rest on a03

[headstrongblake]

❝ you’re clearly exhausted. you can go in the morning. ❞ / bell & o / @thewholecrew

despite being nearly four hours late, pushing her movie plans with her big brother much further into the night than she meant to, octavia still managed to make it to the old apartment building. she shook her head and teased her brother nearly instantly upon entry about how not a single thing in the apartment looked any different than it had before she moved out and into her loft. though oddly enough, it was comforting. after all the things that had changed this year, it was relieving to come home to her brother. to feel at home still as she settled on the couch with a blanket. anything you want to tell me? her brother asked, with that i already know, so you might as well spit it out look, he's gotten her whole life.

emerald hues rolled as she popped a few pieces of popcorn in her mouth, offering her brother a shrug he couldn't see as he put the DVD into the player. "not really, i told you, i was working." octavia said, munching on more popcorn as he settled beside her, his eyes burrowing into her for details. just because he'd rather she find some normal boring job somewhere or only work behind the bar at his nightclub, didn't mean she was hiding her growing business. but, for his own sake, he didn't need to know the finer details. that's what people like nate, and her bestie were for.

"c'mon, it's laaaate, i don't wanna fight with you," octavia playfully whined, nudging her brother with her body as she leaned into him despite his mutter of who's fault that was. "lets just watch..." her sentence trailed off with a large yawn as the back of her hand lifted to cover her mouth, "lemme watch some hunger games before i have to drive across town okaaay?" octavia asked, sitting up straight to shake her body a little in hopes of waking herself up a bit. even though her stake out had run late, she really did want to spend this quality time with bellamy. since she moved, they didn't get nearly enough of it. ❝ you’re clearly exhausted. you can go in the morning. ❞

brows lifted a little as octavia looked at her brother, mulling over the idea of crashing on the couch before she nodded and shrugged, "yeah why not, it's not as nice as my couch, but i can manage a night," she teased with a smirk spreading across her lips. after the movie, she could shoot nate a text to let him know she was staying the night with her brother. or, you could sleep in your bed.

"my...what?" octavia asked, turning on the couch to face her brother as she leaned over him to snatch the remote. clearly she heard him wrong. it's been over four months since she moved out. by now, she had expected him to do...something with the space. anything even. "you kept my bed?" she asked, confusion leaking into her features as she paused the movie's intro. i kept everything you left the same, it's still your room. briefly, all octavia could do was stare, overwhelmed by her brother's subtle show of love. there'd been a time she'd done the same thing for him. "oh." she said quietly, her smile softening as she settled against her brother's side, unpausing the movie before them. silence fell between them as the movie played, but eventually, green eyes lifted, watching her big brother with adoration in the dark.

[babsvibes]

Maybe a perspective flip from Logan’s perspective in the “His eyes followed the path, spending an inordinate amount of time at her navel…” section of already medjool dating

😭 so sorry for taking forever on this one!! Yes, and I’ll combine it with an ask I received from the lovely @percysburgers, requesting a scene from AMD as well! Even though the original excerpt is from the spicy chapter, I’ll keep it PG-13. As always, they’re in their twenties/thirties.

Already Medjool Dating - Louise is the last person to find out she’s already dating Logan.

If he was another man, he would say he was lucky.

Sitting back in his bed, he looked at this beautiful woman, who trusted him enough to let him see all of her. They were having fun, sexy fun even, and he knew too many people that would kill for an opportunity like this.

But Logan had waited and worked and suffered a very long, torturous time for this moment, so he considered it only his just deserts. (Never mind the dopey smile that he had to cough away every time he remembered they were really, actually together.)

After a nod from Louise, he let his fingers skirt across her soft skin and let his mind drift to the past. He traced her bellybutton and thought of food, which had started this all.

When he first reentered her family’s restaurant, he expected to be a jerk and have a laugh about how everything in the old joint was exactly the same: same layout, same menu, and same pun board despite nearly two decades having past since he last visited.

However, his waitress was decidedly not the same.

Oh sure, she was still a complete pain in his ass, immediately trying to run him out as soon as he sat down, devolving until she was challenging him on whether he knew the difference between a bread and butter pickle and a dill pickle (Why? He couldn’t remember. His answer? Probably the dill). But this Louise was another ballgame, with an even finer point to her sharp wit and a wider arsenal to combat him. And also the boobs. He did notice the boobs.

He had lit up while they were arguing, involuntarily but still excited all the same. No one liked to have fun like this anymore. Arguing over things that didn’t really matter just because. Everyone he knew found the game to be a waste of time, but not her. She was going to win, and he did love a challenge.

Little did he know what a damn challenge she would be.

As he skimmed his way down and over her hips, he moved slower, sure to commit the curves to memory just right.

Logan didn’t like to brag (yes he did) about his… prowess when it came to dating, but he never wanted for long. He was attractive, a smooth-talker, and he loved cheesy movies. A winning combination, some might say. Did the relationships last more than a month after they found out he could be kind of an egotistical ass? No, not really. But the getting there part? That had never been an issue.

Well, here was someone that already knew he was an ass, but she… kept talking to him. When he came for another burger, she beelined to his table just to slam down proof that she was right in their previous argument. When Bob came by to tell her she could take a break, she waved her dad off to keep talking in the booth. And when they ran out of subjects to tease each other about, they talked about things they agreed on and liked even. Pretty good signs, right?

Wrong. Turns out, Louise was a skilled debater, a genius strategist, and also a complete and utter moron. Specifically with anything romance related but he had caught her once trying to pet a dog through a window, so he couldn’t fully rule out other forms of moronic behavior.

He had assumed they both knew what they were building towards, especially with how often they cropped up in each other’s lives. “There’s this restaurant I want to try, but they don’t have single tables.” Boom, he was there. “I have to pick up a shelf from Gregslist, but I got weird vibes from the seller.” Boom, she was there. “I want to go to a concert, but none of my friends know the band.” Boom, they were there. Harmless at first but definitely foundational.

Then a stupid gimmick restaurant had opened up, Hide and Leek, that only served soup. No doubt the place would shut down in a few months or so, so they had to jump on it. It was fancier than either of them expected, candles, string music, multiple tiny courses… of soup. Thankfully, they dressed semi-appropriately and were let in. He remembered choking on his own tongue at the sight of her, looking exactly the same but wearing a slightly lower cut blouse.

His eyes moved back up, his hands following suit, cupping her boobs but not quite playing with them. He could do that later. Right now, he was on a mission. He thought back again to the soup place.

Between the ambience of the restaurant and the lure of his companion, the words felt pulled from his throat.

“I like doing this with you,” Logan said, spooning a bite of vegetable broth—the appetizer soup before the entrée soup—to distract him from getting in his own head. “We should just make it official. Less questions that way.”

She snorted and said why not. His heart jumped into his throat, but he stuck his spoon in his mouth to keep from saying something stupid. Neither mentioned it again.

In hindsight, probably not one of their better moments of communication.

Resisting a sigh, Logan traced up along her collarbone then down each of her arms, a little faster now.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t face facts that their relationship had… an unconventional beginning, but it did sting a little to remember when it finally clicked that he had been dating her but she was not dating him. At least not intentionally. It hurt his pride, and pride was a powerful thing.

Pride almost drove him, if only for a second, to cut himself off from her altogether.

The invitation to his cousin’s wedding put a pause on that idea. He refused to sit quietly at the same table as his mother and listen to her make snide comments all night. He refused. Maybe he wouldn’t have a date or a partner, but if Louise was there then he at least had an ally. A friend. God, she had been amazing. Every remark from Cynthia sent their way was swiftly returned, every nauseating wedding tradition was made tolerable by her jokes, and he remembered gazing at Louise in awe.

“This caviar covered veal simply doesn’t have enough baby animal death to satiate my need,” Louise said, pitching her voice to sound like his mother. “How will I ever achieve eternal youth if I can’t steal it away from everything around me?”

He laughed, glancing back at Cynthia having a harsh word with the caterers but too far away to hear what they actually said. She felt his eyes it seemed, her head snapping to him. He quieted as she looked down her nose at him, then Louise, then him again. His shoulders slumped.

A slight thump hit his forearm on the table, and he turned back to Louise, whose wrist still rested on his arm, fist clenched like she might start a fight.

“Are you letting her get to you?” She asked in what seemed like genuine concern. His mouth opened but no words came out. Still, she waited for him to give her an answer. Because she cared. About him. She really did. He shook his head.

Letting her hand fall off him, Logan looked at her wrist and wished nothing more than to put it back, to kiss it and let her know he was fine, to pull her to the dance floor so they could both embarrass themselves.

“It’s all good,” he offered simply. “Want to keep making fun of people together?”

While grazing that same wrist with his thumb, studying the veins, it hit him how alive he felt even while wading through dreamlike memories. He supposed the rush might have come from realizing that all their choices—the fumbled questions and the torturous patience—still led here. It could also have something to do with them both being naked.

With that, he finished observing her. Logan was ready for this memory to join all the others. A compilation of nonsense, of fun, and of affection that he couldn’t help but break the tension of by tickling her until she was slapping his hands away.

AMD Chapter 3:

The tips of his fingers traced over the entirety of her body, slowing down where he thought she might still be sensitive. His eyes followed the path, spending an inordinate amount of time at her navel, her breasts, and one of her wrists. Louise swore that he was memorizing her.

[kxllerblond]

Lance Josson -— The obnoxious older brother figure who is also an obnoxious vampire. ( PINTEREST )

Lance, like many older immortals, is a being with a plethora of his origin lost to the sands of time-—including his turning and most of his life before. Be it truth or lie, he will be incessant on the fact he simply does not recall that stage in his life at this point.

His earliest bit of life he will bother to recall is serving as a knight for some royal court for some king that hardly did enough to warrant any real spot in his memory. What he does recall in detail though is serving alongside some bastard with a messy head of dark curls and a too-serious attitude who ended up being part of some elaborate Kill The King plot orchestrated by some thieves guild at the time. While interesting enough to shake him from his already settling stupor of apathy most immortals gradually would gain, it annoyed him enough to settle into his memory and he grew to remember this fellow knight simply due to his distaste for him. A mild grudge for a man long dead, funny that.

Lance carried on in life through the years hopping from role to role and position to position, changing everything but the first name he carried with him everywhere he went. While he had plenty of experience in the lower rungs of society, he grew to enjoy the finer things in life and the upper echelon and would eventually take an interest in business and economical pursuits to ensure he never left it.

This would eventually lead him to cross paths with one Clark Thompson. He was an annoying little thing, Lance had thought at first. Young but with the demeanor of a jaded old man, a composure that was anything BUT if one merely looked hard enough. In a way, perhaps, he had reminded the vampire of a version of himself that had mostly faded from his recollection or perhaps he had just been bored enough to convince himself they were similar in some way. Whatever the case may have been, Lance continued to cross paths with the man-—unintentionally at times, intentionally at others.

The two grew to have a rivalry of such as was common in their sphere and this eventually gave way to something close but not quite a friendship. Between their banter and dedication to vexing one another, the dynamic can only be described as brotherly at this point.

General personality wise, Lance is if Clark could get his shit together. He's relaxed, he's confident and it's no show or defense mechanism. His humor is very dry and he's very committed to his sarcasm. His faults are his bouts of cynicism and his overall lackadaisical nature. While he is also a bored immortal like Clark, he doesn't feel that ITCH to fix it and more or less casually strolls through life simply following whatever pursuit catches his fancy. He's more mature and put together than Clark is is certainly the one to roll his eyes and tell the cambion he's overreacting. Despite his detached attitude and Clark's obnoxious one, the two do seem to genuinely care for one another.

Other important/random bits -—

🍷 He shifts aliases every few decades, etc, but he always keeps his first name. His current last name in use is Dumont and he is a very wealthy CEO of a handful of wine companies.

🍷 Obnoxious British accent because why not.

🍷 Even though he has a very social and party guy sort of personality, he's actually not that super into people and is more introverted at heart.

🍷 He absolutely delights in bad vampire movies and fiction.

🍷 Super stylish like Clark. Put them in a room together and heads will turn 100%.

🍷 He actually really likes animals and will often have pets. He's had everything from crows to skunks to rats to ferrets to just a cat or two.

🍷 He is big gay, big homosexual. The stories he could tell you about how gay medieval knighthood was too, phew boy.

🍷 Where Clark is all flat and no emotion, Lance is very expressive. He rolls his eyes, scoffs, whistles, etc. If he thinks you're an idiot, you're going to know before he even says anything. He is a Mean Girl and he will let you know it.

🍷 He likes to collect things! Usually this is weird and occult shit but he also has a weird little habit of being a completionism of, idk, Beanie Babies or Squishmallows. He'll complete a collection and then just sell it all at once and find something else. He's also the type to give you a cool rock and say it reminded him of you.

🍷 He's at least 700+ but his actual age is pretty unknown.

🍷 He's one of those quirky vampires that can go out in the sun but not for long and not without looking like a goth baddie at the beach. He avoids it when he can.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 56 THEON V (pages 723-732)

Theon experiences nightmares as things quietly spiral out of control, Asha arrives at Winterfell for all of five seconds and is not much help at all, and 'Reek' leaves with a promise to return with an army.

-

- great wolves the size of horses with the heads of small children. ... They're dead, dead, I saw them killed, he tried to shout, I saw their heads dipped in tar, -

Nice, very subtle, you'd be likely to dismiss it if you didn't already know, but he doesn't identify them as Bran and Rickon, just "small children" and "them." But because the news ravens said he killed Bran and Rickon, we assume it must mean them. A nice, quiet bit of trickery, though it does provide precedence for movie rules: if it didn't happen on screen, it didn't happen. (And sometimes even if it does happen on screen, it still didn't happen.)

Last night he had dreamt himself back in the mill again, on his knees dressing the dead.

mmm, and there's the second (hindsight) flag after "heads dipped in tar" because why would he be doing that? yeah, there's a possibility it was just a nightmare, but why would his nightmare include dressing the dead? Why would the boys need their pants put back on but for deception, or the kind of thing Theon isn't letting his men get away with?

Last of all he donned his crown, a band of cold iron slim as a finger, set with heavy chunks of black diamond and nuggets of gold. It was misshapen and ugly, but there was no help for that. Mikken lay buried in the lichyard, and the new smith was capable of little more than nails and horseshoes. Theon consoled himself with the reminder that it was only a prince's crown. He would have something finer when he was crowned king.

oh, buddy. No.

Probably reading too much into it, but black diamonds were in Joffrey's crown too. Robb's has nine iron spikes, though I'm guessing it's also/only supposed to be because his people are the ironmen. Renly's crown is gold... was gold. All three things that make up his crown appear in other crowns for the other kings, but Theon's is misshapen, a result of his own efforts spiraling out of control. (His men killing Mikken because he refused to submit to Theon's "surprise betrayal.") Theon himself considers the crown a temporary one, and knowing what we know about how this plays out, it just feels like a bit of a metaphor for his situation and upcoming plot beats. What he has is a shoddy imitation of what he wants, but it's also something he won't be keeping.

... Ha, vengeance one man at a time. ... Oh Theon, that was poorly executed, in every sense of the phrase.

Also is it just me, or- no, no, that's a little too conspiracy. or is it? so my brain is currently running three possibilities for the actual killer: 1: the people of Winterfell slowly fighting back and eliminating Theon's people one by one as they can (possibly Osha coming out of the crypts) 2: Ramsay did it to sow discord and paranoia 3: "The ironborn can't keep secrets, they had to die, and someone had to take the blame for it." Theon killed his own people for reasons (so they wouldn't tell anyone the truth about the boys)

coupled with the earlier comment about one of the 'mystery murders' from Theon 'at least he's not haunting me' in the middle of a string o guilt ghosts... three's looking really plausible actually. It only sounds tinfoil until you stop and think.

I should never have come to the hall, he realized belatedly. I should have summoned her to me.

Ahhh, poor Theon, he just wants to be in charge and adored and told he's doing a great job, but he's just not cut out to be a CEO. He has his own strengths, but this? not one of them.

"When has a maid ever understood a man's need for revenge?"

... Theon. Perhaps consider yourself lucky you aren't going to be standing in a room with a Stark woman any time soon. Trust me, there are plenty of maids who do a damn good revenge.

also, ngl: it took a second to click that Rodrik and Maron were the names of his dead brothers. I read Rodrik and my brain immediately went to Rodrik Cassel.

... gasp. Asha! That was rude... but also true, even Theon knows his crown is ugly.

"Gone hase she?" Reek was at his elbow. (...) He could not think of anyone he wanted to see less. It made him uneasy to see the man walking around breathing, with what he knew. I should have had him killed after he did the others, he reflected, but the notion made him nervous.

Ahhhh, so it was a blend of 2 & 3, Ramsay did it, but it was at Theon's request to cover up the subterfuge with the boys.

I'mma take the win on that one.

... Theon... *raises the steel chair to smack Theon for selling a rape victim to a new rapist but bypasses Theon to bludgeon the sadistic torture rapist to death instead* you live only because you didn't think it would be a transaction completed, or did you Theon, either way you remain on thin ice for now...

And the tall doors opened with a crash, and a freezing gale blew down the hall, and Robb came walking out of the night. Grey Wind stalked beside, eyes burning, and man and wolf alike bled from half a hundred savage wounds.

"Working through stuff trauma dream" or "vision" = 🥛 oooohhh, been ages since we took a drink for that.

..."by the time he was finished she was sobbing" *smacks Theon unconscious with the steel chair*

Urgh, Theon is frustrating!!!! I know he can be a better person, but his treatment of women and smallfolk is just. AARRGGHHHH!!! I'mma hit him again! See if I don't!

Theon's regret for not going with Asha feels like it's a bigger than it is. and by that I mean it feels like it's more than just "he regrets not going," more like, part of him understands that by choosing to stay he's losing himself, his Greyjoy heritage, that part of him that belongs on the sea, he's chosen to stay and he's never going to get back what he's incidentally spurned doing so. Because his whole thing has been about the dichotomy of his first and second decade of life, living on Pyke vs living in Winterfell and the struggle between the two versions of him that created.

aaaand ending the chapter with the internal monologue confession (ish) of the truth about the dead boys.

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter.

Since you all made a mockery of last week’s theme, we’ve decided that there will be no theme.

Aries 

According to “The Cube Rule of Food”, A Sandwich is defined as having independent structural cabs on opposing sides to the filling; for instance a hamburger. HOWEVER a Club Sandwich, which is a double-decker BLT with poultry and an additional slab of bread in the middle, is correctly defined as… “Cake”. Have fun eating your BLT Cake this week.  

Taurus 

Start the countdown and buy your supplies now. It’s less than 250 days until Halloween and you need to make a splash this year. Plan on throwing a party, themed around Historical Figures - and you’ll be Amelia Earhart…. And when your guests arrive, you be in Hawaii.

Gemini  

Your capacity to remember commercial jingles from the 70’s is only as impressive with how localized those same commercials are. Nobody knows what the Milford Plaza is, or where Puppy City is, or what discounts on slacks are available at M&K. Turn all that knowledge into a trivia game! 

Cancer Moon-Child 

Yes, you can play a flight sim, or space sim, or racing sim with a mouse and keyboard, but they’re all more fun with a dedicated controller. But for you freaks driving Train Sims… those dedicated controllers look like something out of a Minuteman Missile Silo. Y’all are FREAKS!   

Leo 

Look up into the night sky. Somewhere, about 200 km over your head at over 27,000 kph, there’s a hunk of metal that, upon impact, would turn you into a finer mist than DOOM’s BFG 9000 could ever hope to accomplish. The next time you start feeling romantic, just remember it’s up there, waiting patiently while traveling three times faster than any bullet on Earth… just waiting for you to get into space so it can bite you. 

Virgo 

Have you watched “Smokey and the Bandit”? You better not watch Burt Reynolds in that movie because he just does NOT know how to operate a CB Radio Microphone. Ok, Ok, so. Just watch how he talks into it - he grips the mic switch and Never.. Lets… Go. CB’s Don’t Work That Way! Jerry shoulda taught you better!

Libra 

“Loop-DUJH, hohm-MLEEJ, Loo-TEHB, Garg-HMEH!” If you’d taken up learning Klingon like we told you to LAST week, you’d be laughing right now. You uncultured “Peh-TAHQ”!

Scorpio 

Where did we go wrong with you, Aquarius? We’ve tried for months, seriously months, to be nicer to you. We bent the rules of the cosmos and worked on making you feel more included and supported and what d… OH! Sorry, Scorpio. Mistook you for Aquarius there. Forget about it. You just… go get an ophthalmological examination scheduled this week.

Sagittarius 

Lemme screw you all up. The original USS Enterprise on Star Trek should have looked more like the Reliant from The Wrath of Khan. The only reason it looked the way it did was because Walt Jeffries had the design upside-down across the table to Gene Roddenberry and he approved it that way. So turn your best work upside-down and someone else will stamp their approval on it.

Capricorn 

There is a company that sells pillows with specialized photo printing on them. You know what the hottest seller is? A picture of a Samsung Galaxy Note 7. It’s the perfect puffy size and shape. Why couldn’t you come up with something that fun to sell? Or maybe you can. So the same thing, only… make it self-heating for the winter months. And add a Bluetooth Speaker in it.

Aquarius 

Yeeaahhh. Sorry about the mix up there. Hey, look. We’re still in your star sign, so-o-o-o… eeeeyeeeaaahhhh. (*Long Exhale*)” Look, we all know how this is gunna end. Neither one of us is going to budge on this ‘Scope until the heat death of the Universe, so. Let’s just agree not to get into each other's way down the stairs. OK?

Pisces  

Here’s the naughty one that was held over from last week. Buy a container of K-Y Jelly, find the consumer helpline phone number on it and give a call. Let the person know that you are impressed with the spreadability of the product, but dissatisfied with the flavor, requesting information on any berry-flavoured versions. Just make sure you ONLY do this on April 1st! 

And THOSE are your Horrible-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook and Discord.

[critical-chris]

Mouse Hunt (1997)

That's right, folks. Today we're talking Mouse Hunt.

I know what you're thinking. Why? When I've spent most of my reviews discussing recently released or relevant films, why would I suddenly take the time to watch and write about a forgotten 1997 comedy vehicle driven by Nathan Lane and Lee Evans?

Dollar, dollar bills ya'll. This is my first ever commissioned review, and the sick individual willing to cough up some cheese for Critical Chris had to hear my thoughts about Mouse Hunt. What an advertisement for my services.

I had never seen Mouse Hunt as a kid and frankly had never heard of the movie until college, when a friend of mine insisted that we take time out of our busy drinking hours to watch one of his beloved childhood movies. The same friend who spent prime weekend days clicking away at League of Legends, or whatever that stupid World of Warcraft ripoff is called, on his laptop at our kitchen counter. Like smart, intoxicated adults, we declined every time. Instead, we focused on finer films like Anchorman and Katy Perry: Part of Me. You know, classics.

I would classify myself as a Nathan Lane fan, but in the sense that what I've seen of his I have enjoyed and not that I've seen all of his movies. I loved him in The Birdcage, found him to be one of the only good parts of The Producers, fondly reminisce on the life he brought to Timon in The Lion King, and liked a few of his bit parts here and there. Lee Evans, on the other hand, I truly only remember from There's Something About Mary, but enjoyed his performance quite a bit in that movie.

For context on my state of mind going into this movie, I had just watched Aftersun for my upcoming blog on Oscar nominations and predictions, and was still wiping the remainder of the tears I cried at the ending when I decided I needed a pick-me-up. If you've seen Aftersun, and you should, you can understand that mentally I was in a very depressed space once the credits rolled. That movie kicks you in the gut when you least expect it. What better way to pull an emotional 180 than chase that film with a battle of wits between a couple bumbling buffoons and a rodent.

The setup for Mouse Hunt is simple enough: Two rather distant brothers reunite when their father, the proprietor of a string manufacturing company (because that's common), dies and leaves them not only the company but an aging and decrepit mansion. Oh, and he left them a piece of string. Nathan Lane plays a stubborn, indifferent renowned chef uninterested in his father's legacy unless it comes with a payout. Lee Evans plays a simple unemployed man with more of an emotional connection to his father who has recently been dumped by his controlling wife. Lane only desires to sell his father's company, while Evans sees an opportunity to continue the family business.

Both brothers are shocked to learn their father owned a mansion that is now passed down to them, and even more astonished that it ends up being the work of a historically renowned architect. The brothers cannot believe their luck as several magnates descend upon them offering fat checks and millions of dollar, dollar bills ya'll. There's just one issue, the house is occupied by a sneaky, relentless mouse. Oh, did the title give that part away?

There were some really brutal uses of outdated CGI effects through the film that reminds you the quality of movie you are watching. The setup of Nathan Lane inadvertently serving the overweight mayor a lavish meal with a cockroach inside, which had been hiding out in Lane's father's cigar box, was decent enough, but the cockroach itself looks like something made for Jaws 3D or a clay-mation project for film school.

However, I found Mouse Hunt to be funnier and better made than it had any business being. The opening joke of Nathan Lane criticizing his brother for not owning a black suit to wear to his father's funeral, and the subsequent gag of dropping the casket and sending their pops' corpse flying into a manhole, set the tone for the film. There were a handful of funny, well-executed gags and some good back and forth ridicule volleyed between Lane and Evans.

The joke of Lane and Evans rigging an insane number of mousetraps and accidentally trapping themselves in the same room hints at the gag to follow, and the mouse sending a cherry flying to set off every trap on the brothers is another great moment.

The scene where Evans is firing a nail gun into the walls in an attempt to kill the mouse in his territory, and seeing the grand interior destruction and mouse dodging the seemingly massive metal spikes, was fantastic. It not only has you sympathizing with the mouse, but gives some great disaster movie-esque effects. The same can be said towards the end of the film when Lane attempts to 'flush' the mouse out during their mansion auction by stuffing a running hose into one of the mouse's holes in the wall.

I had a funny feeling that we may have a surprise cameo in this move as well, and when CHRISTOPHER WALKEN enters this thing as a crackpot exterminator with an assortment of gadgets, it sent me over the moon. Walken is cranking up his schtick to an eleven, and has a funny moment when analyzing mouse droppings as he subsequently eats one. He, of course, is outsmarted by the mouse as well, but I loved his addition to the movie.

The other side characters are fine. Evans' wife, portrayed by Vicki Lewis, plays her part okay, leaving him at his lowest only to come back into the fray once she hears of his potential payout from the mansion, only to leave again when the mansion crumbles to dust. Maury Chaykin plays an eccentric millionaire obsessed with the famed architect offering absurd checks to Lane who dismisses him in favor of an auction to drive up their earnings. Everyone else is in the movie just for moments or are forgettable.

The ending was fairly cheesy (pun intended) as well. After the mansion crumbles and the brothers are seemingly left with nothing, they enlist the help of the mouse to convert their father's string factory into a string cheese factory. I suppose they had to come up with some happy ending, but I thought it was kind of a cop out to go with a play on string cheese. However, I probably couldn't think of anything better in 5 minutes, which I assume is how long the writer spent drafting the closing scene.

I don't want to praise the movie too much because, at the end of the day, it is a goofball comedy that is far from a classic. The laughs and gags provided do make it a much better comedy than you would expect by the cover photo and title, but don't go in expecting to find your new favorite laugh riot. Fans of Nathan Lane, however, should be pleasantly surprised.

In conclusion, thank you to my first ever paying fan for sprinkling a handful of singles into my bank account so I could take 90 minutes out of my evening to sit back, turn off my brain, and indulge in this comedy. I'd also like to mention that I was correct for all those years in college and beyond, and this was not a classic movie we were dismissing in favor of watching other movies or drinking our nights away in its place.

Mouse Hunt - 6.3/10

[jodilin65]

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1993 Talk about weird sleeping habits! At least I’m well-rested and my asthma has been much better. I fell asleep yesterday at 7 AM, got up at 1 PM to take my meds, then fell back asleep till 4 PM. Then at 6:30 PM, I fell asleep till 10 PM. Guess it’s cuz of my period and I was flowing quite heavily.

I heard Tom go to bed at 8:00 last night. He has to leave for work at 7:15. He’s decided he’s gonna like working days better. He says 10-hour shifts will be better than 12. That’s for sure. Also, he used to put himself on days when he wasn’t working, so, he says, why not be on nights when he’s off? This way we can still see each other.

I have 4 envelopes to go out in today’s mail. One to Nervous, Nervous’s mother, Fran, Alex, Gina, and 3 to Kim. Tom gave me neon orange round stickers he got at work. I numbered all 3 of Kim’s envelopes. This way she can read them in the order I typed them. I’m also sending Gina a quick letter to the radio station, as well as my picture in The Beat. She kept asking what I look like, so soon she’ll see. The letter’s really short saying how fun she is to chat with different fonts.

Believe it or not, last night I gave her a reading which was fairly accurate, seeing how dead my vibes have been lately.

While Gina was on the air, I left a message for Andy of me talking with Tammy, Glen, and some funny drunk guy named Larry. He loved it and thought it was so funny.

Later…

I just did my legs again with the hair removal thing. A few hairs grew back, but they were much lighter and finer.

Tom accidentally erased the movie The Guardian, but now I’m glad he did. He’s buying the movie for me and this way I can get the uncut version and see more nudity! Plus, I accidentally hit the record button and erased a few seconds during two different parts.

Tom looked the movie up through Prodigy and it turns out she was in some other movie called Local Hero. This was back in 1983. Wonder what she looked like then?

Later…

Tom’s taking a shower now and soon he’ll be off to work.

In a little while, I have to go put my mail out.

Tom made us tater tots and garlic bread. It was good.

I’ve run out of things to say for now, so I guess I’ll write later when I think of more stuff to write.

Later…

I just got done watching Charlie’s Angels. It was a two-parter. So, tomorrow I’ll try to remember to see the second part, even though I’ve seen every single episode.

I have a two-page picture of Gloria from one of her tour books, but she takes up very little space. Therefore, I’ve glued on 6 tiny ones, so, I now have sort of a collage.

Later…

Well, I fell asleep at noon and I got up shortly after 7:00.

Tom had just gotten in from work. He said it wasn’t very fun at all. The poor guy. He also said he may go look somewhere else for a job. Lastly, he says he may be getting a cold. I sure hope not. Especially now that my period’s pretty much over.

Beauty’s doing fine. She basically only eats her lettuce if I feed it to her by hand, but this is cuz she’s still a baby. She’ll eat more independently as she gets older. She eats the pellets with no problem, though. She’s so loving and always gives me kisses.

I wish it were summer! I wanna go swimming! At least I only have to wait for 4 more months or so, rather than 7. I miss being able to be outside constantly. The daytime weather’s usually nice, but it’s more fun when you can swim.

When Tom looked up the movie The Guardian through Prodigy, there was a 26-page write-up all about the movie. He’s gonna print it out and maybe I’ll copy it into my journal. That is, whatever one I’m on when he’s able to find the time to print the thing out.

Later…

Boy, Michael Jackson’s certainly in some serious hot water. Guess he’s about to be charged with molesting young boys. At first I believed he was innocent cuz everyone always wants to bring down a star. People want to gain publicity and power. They want to challenge those who are successful. Now, I wonder if maybe he’s guilty, as there are lots of sickos in this world. Plus, most cops and superstars feel they’re above the law. If he’s brought to trial, he’ll win. He’s famous and he’s male.

Later…

I just turned on the radio so I can hear what DJ is on tonight. Gina’s on weekends and I guess she’s also a fill-in. She hopes to go on full-time soon and I hope she does too. It’s cool to be able to chat with her and others on the party line when everyone else I know is working or asleep. I’ll bet that guy Magic is on now. I haven’t heard yet, as sometimes they don’t speak till after several songs have played.

My period’s over, thankfully. It sure is weird that I’ve shit 4 times today when all I’ve eaten is a cupcake and a bowl of popcorn.

Next shower I’ll have to do some massive shaving downstairs. It hurt too much to use the hair removal thing down there, as well as under my arms. That’s fine, though, as it sure is nice to only have to do it under my arms and my pussy, rather than my calves and thighs, too.

Gina’s on! Great, I’m gonna give her a call after I go smoke a butt.

Later…

I just called in and she’s got me on hold now. It’s pretty weird hearing the same song playing on the phone that’s playing over the radio. What’s she doing? She must be extremely busy cuz this is the second song now that I’m holding through.

I just hung up and called back and said, “Did that reading scare you, or are you tremendously busy?” She said she was busy and to call back in a half-hour.

No problem. I understand. If she’s on tomorrow night too, then she’ll know what I look like before the weekend. I’ll call her in 10 minutes.

Gina just said, “I wish I could let you hear half the conversations we have here on the party line.” It sounds like the phone lines are quite busy. I wonder how many lines there are. No less than 10, I’d assume. I can see that being a lot for one DJ to handle. Sometimes there are two DJs.

Tammy’s on again. I just heard her. Some guy named Stan, too.

Later…

I’ve got to tell Andy to take his phone off the hook Fri. and Sat. nights. This way if I leave him any messages when we’re on the party line, his phone will only ring once. He said to leave him all the messages I want from the party line.

OK, I’m gonna call now.

She said she’s got everyone on hold, and she’s got Stan and Tammy on and wants to keep me on.

OK, whatever. I told her to take her time. Is she testing me to see if I really am a loyal fan? It’s fine by me, as I have nothing better to do anyway.

I never did get around to sending Tammy (my sister) a message, but I will within the next few days. I’ll type some more letters, too.

Now I’m on the line with Stan and Tammy. Gina’s sick with diarrhea and is in the bathroom. She just yelled, “I can’t get sick! I have too many jobs!”

Gina’s also a waitress at Tuchetti’s.

Now, I’m doing promotions stuff saying, “K-O-O-L F-M” in unison with Tammy and Stan. Gina’s singing is very loud, strange and funny. She still feels shitty. They’re talking about movies now. I hate Westerns, too. And old movies and science fiction.

Some woman from 7/11 named Sandy just called in, but I didn’t hear her request.

Later…

Gina may have to work tomorrow night too, as well as 10:30 this morning. Damn! That’s a long time. About a half-hour ago Tammy and Stan hung up. I asked Gina if I could come down this weekend if Tom will drive me. She said probably, but call her at 2 AM first.

I left Andy a message of all 4 of us. Also, I have me on tape doing a promo line.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1993 Well, I didn’t get married last Friday, but I did get a guinea pig. Let me go in order of events.

I felt kind of foolish and Tom felt bad, but what he really meant by “Friday” was discussing a tentative date. We set a tentative date for next December. I just didn’t stop to realize that it’s not something you just do in 5 minutes.

I talked with Tom alone and with Andy alone and I think a year from now’s good. This will give us plenty of time, as it’s a big and scary commitment. I know, though, that life’s all about taking chances and I think that if all continues to go well, I’ll be brave enough to take this chance in a year. I am still a believer in the saying “nothing lasts forever,” but I’ll enjoy one day at a time. I won’t put a time frame in my mind for how long Tom and I live. An example of what I mean is, I hope I live a long life, but I could get run over and killed by a car tomorrow.

Andy still feels I should be with a woman and I understand this, but if I could’ve been I would’ve been. It’s not like I didn’t put in a few good years of trying so I’m not without a woman by choice.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1993 Believe it or not, I fell asleep last night at around 9:00. I awoke at 10:00 to a car going by with a very loud muffler. Originally, I fell asleep on the living room couch. Tom went to bed at 10:00. Shortly before this car’s muffler woke me up. When I did wake up, I went and got into my bed and fell back asleep till a little after 1 AM.

Last night, though, Tom and I had lots of fun. Not sexual fun, but fun hanging out together and finally wrote in my next journal.

When I got up, I cleaned the stove, did dishes, straightened up, listened to music, and typed Kim a letter.

At 4:00 I dropped a bowl of creamed spinach and smashed it to smithereens all over the kitchen floor. I cut my foot, too, and woke Tom who was my savior. He washed my foot and put a Band-Aid on it and cleaned the kitchen floor. So, now I have a black and blue on one foot, from whacking it on the phone which was on the floor, a glass cut on the other foot and a paper cut on my thumb. The thumb is healing nicely, though.

I tried to get some more sleep. At least a few more hours, but it hasn’t worked. I’ll go try again.

Later…

I have been unable to go back to sleep. I typed Lisa, Becky and Sarah a letter, but then got knocked off when I tried to type Tammy a letter. I’ll try again later. Prodigy’s funny sometimes.

I also want to check Springfield’s weather so I can laugh. Unfortunately, they’ve had some mild days in the 50s. They’ll get theirs, as far as the bitter freezing cold goes.

I forgot to mention two calls I made early yesterday morning. One to Barbara, who I woke up. I insisted she left a message for me to call her. She very sleepily denied it, then hung up after two minutes.

I also called Jenny and yelled, “Knock it off, Jenny!” Then I slammed the phone down. I’ll bet she and the bastard brother are still buddies. They can have each other. I’m gonna tell Tammy that if she ever again speaks with Larry to tell him he didn’t want anything to do with me, so why should I want anything to do with him? My life’s way too cool now to have assholes like Larry, Art, or Dureen in it to screw things up. Or try to I should say, as in the end, I learned not to let it get to me. I know what I did and did not deserve.

Later…

This is amazing, yet great. I’m still awake! Cuz I only napped a few hours last night, I didn’t think I was gonna hold out past noon. If I’d been more awake, I would’ve gone to Tom’s parent’s house, but I’m definitely not that awake. He said he’ll try to bring home leftovers.

I went and pulled $20 out of the ATM for cigarettes, then we went to Jack-n-the-Box where I got a breakfast platter.

I also typed two more letters. One to Nervous and the other to his mother telling her what an asshole her son is. I called him up politely to see how he is and I’m so sick of his moods. I don’t deserve his shit. I haven’t done anything to him in ages and any shit I ever did pull on him, he damn well asked for. The guy can fuck off and out of my life just like Dureen and Art. My sending a letter to his mom will surely heat the guy all up. Especially as it’ll shock the shit out of him and catch him off guard cuz I’ve never sent the mother mail before in the past. She’ll be surprised too, and I don’t give a rat’s ass if either of them calls my family.

Oh, before I end the subject of Nervous - his mom had no idea Crystal lived with him or who the fuck she even is. That is quite interesting. I’ve spoken to this girl, so I’m sure she exists, but I highly doubt she lives with him. Not if she’s got any real brains.

Tomorrow should be fun. Tom says that cuz he slept so many hours the last two days, he can go shopping tomorrow when I am awake. Depending on his paycheck we may get the pig tomorrow. Can’t wait! He says it’s a birthday present, but I told him to spare me for my birthday and Chanukah, as I wanted him to have money to buy his family Christmas presents. We’re also gonna look at prices of dishwashers and who knows what else tomorrow.

Remember the note we passed each other on the toy car? The one about us getting married Friday which is tomorrow? Well, he hasn’t said one more thing about it and I hope he wasn’t joking. I’d feel kind of foolish unless he meant next Friday. Maybe he thought I was joking. Well, I wasn’t joking. I wonder what’s really going on in his mind. Are we getting married tomorrow?

What else can I say? I’m in a writing mood, but I’ve run out of things to say. I just hope that whenever I do fall asleep that I stay asleep at least till 2 AM. This way, we can take off as soon as the stores open. It’ll be mobbed, though, being Fri. Plus, everyone’s begun to do all their Christmas shopping.

It’s been oh-so quiet next door, thank fucking God. Come to think of it, I haven’t even heard their dog. Only the one across the street, but it’s not as loud.

I wonder how much of all those letters Bob’s read so far? Is he done? Probably not. I sent an awful lot of stuff, but it’ll be good for him. He needs to fill his time and occupy his mind.

Well, the computer says it’s 28º in Springfield today and tonight will be 10º! It’s only 62º here today.

I talked to Tammy briefly. Apparently, Bill and the girls are very sick, so she canceled dinner. She’s still cooking dinner, but she canceled the company that was to be coming.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1993 Boy, I’ve been having lots of fun playing Nintendo games for hours. Today’s the first time I’ve ever played. Tom set it up in the back room on my TV. There are these 2 games I’ve been playing. My favorite one is where you use a plastic gun to shoot ducks. You get 3 shots to go to the next round. I’ve gone as far as round 11. The other one’s very hard and I have yet to win one round. It’s where you shoot at two flying disks at once.

Now, here’s the most exciting news of the day. (now yesterday) Tom put batteries in a toy car. We were out back by the pool, then we came into the back room where we were sending the car back and forth to each other across the room. Finally, I took a tiny piece of paper and wrote: I love you and I will marry you. Then Tom wrote: When? I wrote: When do you want to, and be honest? He wrote: Friday. I wrote: It’s a deal!

Later…

I got bored with the Nintendo (for now) as well as the TV. So, I tried to call Nervous. The guy’s smart as no one ever even said hello. He just picked it up and pressed a button on the phone. Although, I wonder if that could’ve been Crystal. It seems her style but not his. His is to answer, swear, then unplug the phone. If Crystal’s still there, that is truly amazing.

I tried to call the radio station but kept getting a busy signal. That’s OK, as shortly after I tried I realized Gina isn’t even on tonight.

Tomorrow Nerv, Fran and Bob should get all their mail.

I did try to call Fran at nearly midnight his time, but he said he’d call me later. Or tomorrow. He was either asleep, drunk, or terribly depressed.

I know what I forgot to mention I did earlier. It sure was an unexpected, yet great surprise, too. Tom asked if I wanted to “fool around.” It was grand, alright. He sure does a fine job down there with his tongue. He knows I can cum way, way too fast (in a matter of seconds), so he knows how to make it last and keep it going so I can enjoy it. It won’t be long till I’m on the rag, so this is when I’m the horniest.

Later…

I’ve got to watch myself on the cigarettes. Been getting a bit carried away. I did better the last 3 days by smoking 11-14, but so far, I’ve had 16 since I’ve been up. In 2-3 more days, I’ll be done with the antibiotics. After that and my period, I’m gonna get working on the exercise videos. Been slacking off. I’m soooooooo fucking bloated! It’s absolutely pitiful! I can now feel myself “precramping,” so I don’t have long to wait.

I wish I could be there to personally see the looks on Bob, Fran and Nerv’s faces when they open their mailboxes to so much mail from me. Especially Bob’s face, as he’s the one who appreciates my mail the most.

Later…

I just took all the meds that I’m supposed to take. I think now I’ll go listen to music and then try to get some sleep. I don’t want my schedule to change too much just yet as I have stuff to do.

Tonight’s Tom’s last night at work. Sunday the poor guy’s on days.

Later…

I’m not exactly as sleepy as I had thought I was. I listened to music, though.

Earlier I came up with a very interesting way to improve my game aim which is naturally pretty good. There are 10 birds to kill in each round, so I came up with two rounds worth (20 people) I can’t stand. I imagine they’re the birds.

I may get another letter from Bob tomorrow or Fri. That’d be nice. I give up on waiting for Alex to send a letter. For now. I’m sure he has a reasonable excuse for not writing and is busy. Hopefully, Kim will send a letter too.

I’m kind of hungry now. Damn. I got a paper cut too. Fuck!

Later…

OK, I just put a Band-Aid on my paper cut.

Andy must’ve fallen asleep. He told me he’d call back when I spoke to him several hours ago.

Tom’s mom beeped in with a message for Tom that Thanksgiving dinner was to be at noon as Raymond, his brother, has to work early. She sounded nice and invited me, but I don’t know if I’ll be going.

Tomorrow Tom and I will probably be getting up at the same time for the first time in a while. This will be nice.

I think I’ll go see if Nervous will answer his phone now, although he may be at work. We’ll see if Crystal answers.

Later…

I am sitting at the living room table while Tom’s watching sports on TV. He made us tater tots which were really good.

Andy picked up his pants and the movie I taped him and he left me a blank tape. I spoke to him earlier and all’s well with him. While he was on the phone, I called Nervous. He got my mail and says Crystal’s still there. I’ve never heard the guy sound so relaxed before in my life. This is good for him.

I played Nintendo and did really well. Got some perfect scores and shot the disks through round 1.

Tom and I were discussing a trip to CA in February or March. A package deal to fly to Disneyland and stay at their hotel for 2 days and 1 night.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1993 Well, Tom’s not going to recognize the back room when he goes in there. He’ll most certainly get up before I do, too.

I didn’t make it to my GYN appointment today. I really did plan to go as nervous as I was, but I was not able to fall asleep till 7 AM. My appointment was at 11 AM, and I would’ve had to get up at 9 AM. The place is 40 minutes away and there’d have been no way I could’ve functioned on only 2 hours of sleep. Plus, I only slept 4 hours yesterday. My referral expires on the 26th and I don’t know if I can reschedule by then. We’ll see. Guess I’ll have to call Dr. Wilcox. I’ll live whether or not I ever get there.

Lisa typed me a letter over Prodigy. She says she’s nervous about her solo and Becky and Sarah are sick. Within the next few days, I’ll call Tammy and the girls.

Yesterday I called Mary and guess what? About a month and a half ago, the butch moved out. Mary said she said she bought a house. Yeah, right! On her income? I don’t think so. Not unless she won the lottery or got a hefty inheritance. If she moved into a house, she rents it and probably shares it.

I still feel so bad for Mary as her nightmare isn’t over. She’s going through all I went through. Some guy moved in above her in the butch’s place and he has late-night wild parties with mucho company. She says she’s gonna call the office, but I know that’ll never do her any good.

I got a letter from Bob and one certain line had me cracking up. When he said, “I need your letters.” Oh, he’s got letters coming alright. If he only knew. He has 10 of them on their way right now. Fran has 11 and Nervous has 9. They’ll each get 50 pages in all, maybe more. Remember how I typed and printed out journals 1 through part of 4? Well, I decided I didn’t want to continue doing this and really had no purpose in keeping what I’d already typed. Therefore, I split the 150 pages or so I typed between Bob, Fran and Nervous. I never thought to send Alex any, but, oh well. He’ll get his fair share of mail from me.

We got HBO and Cinemax. I’ve already seen a few good movies on them both.

It seems each year that goes by I become more and hornier. Once or twice a month is no longer enough for me. Nor is it enough for it to be one-sided where only I cum. I always used to love this arrangement. I wouldn’t want Tom to always be all over me, but I give up. I can’t make him any hornier. This doesn’t change my love for Tom and what I feel emotionally for him and what’s in my heart. It still gets better and I feel surer all the time. I never thought I could be with someone this long, let alone live with them. I can’t believe I have more and more thoughts of marrying him. I won’t count on that happening, though. If and when he ever asks me - well - we’ll see.

I guess the only other not-too-cool news, besides me being the only horny one around here, is that I woke up yesterday really wheezing. Didn’t have to go to the ER, thank God, but I had to deal with it for an hour.

Tom and I had a nice talk when he came in from work. We talked more about getting a guinea pig.

My license expires on my birthday. I’ll have to renew it if I can pass the written test. Maybe I’ll just get a photo ID.

The back room was badly cluttered with boxes and books. Now it’s nice and organized. I also have the perfect spot for the pig.

I can hear Tom talking in his sleep now, but I have no idea what the fuck he just said.

Later…

Today was a great day. First of all, Andy left his pants on the front door handle for me to sew a ripped pocket of his work pants. He’ll come get it tomorrow and leave me a blank video. This is cuz I’m taping a movie for him on one of ours.

I called the GYN and rescheduled for 12/16. Tomorrow I’ll call Dr. Wilcox and explain why I need a new referral, and also a refill on my meds.

It was a gorgeous day today, but a cool spell is coming.

I spoke with Lisa today who’s still nervous about her solo. Tammy was pretty busy and Bill just returned from CA. It was a business trip and due to the drastic temperature change, he’s sick. I went through that bullshit those two times I went to Florida in the winter. I also spoke a little bit to Becky.

I’ll bet there’s a chance my parents are thinking I may call right before my birthday for a birthday present. (money) No way! Their money’s not worth it.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1993 Well, lots of little things have happened since I last wrote. First, let me go do up a list of topics and smoke half a cigarette.

OK, I’m back. That only took a second. First of all, I changed my mind. Originally, I was gonna let Tom have the very last page of this book. Now I’m letting him write in the next journal (#51). This book has no lines on the pages, so, this way he can write as large or as small as he likes. He can also have as many pages as he needs.

Well, today the cat went back home. I cried as I’ll miss him. He was the best-behaved cat and so loving. I still have a new guinea pig to look forward to. Perhaps in 2-3 weeks.

Anyway, after he left, I vacuumed and aired the place out. It was a beautiful day at 78º and will be tomorrow, too. I did the dishes, but I hope to not be doing this too much longer. After the first of the month, we’re getting a dishwasher (I hope).

I ordered 2 CDs of Gloria’s through Columbia House and Tom ordered 6. I hope there are no problems with this, as I just realized Tammy’s got CDs coming to this address.

The tooth whitener Kim sent is really working. I noticed a huge difference after only one day.

This coming week Tom’s gonna pick up film and a flash for my camera.

I rearranged my tapes some more, and can you believe that after 4 years, I’ve finally completed my Gloria medley?! Finally, I do still have a few touch-ups to do and I will later.

Gotta go take my meds.

Later…

Well, I recorded a movie and now I’m recording two more shows.

I have 3 letters ready to go out. To Fran, Kim and Bob. I asked Bob if he wants a tape of the edits and some convos. Kim confused me in her postcard to me. She mentioned, “the pictures you just got.” But I never got any pictures. Maybe they’re on their way. I hope so, as that’d be nice. I pre-addressed and put my address labels on 25 envelopes. Kim, Bob, Fran, Nervous, and Alex got 5 each.

The biggest thing I’ve done is talk on the phone to Gina, the DJ at KOOL FM for two hours the last two nights. I was on the party line with a few other people. She is sooooo funny. She is a carbon copy of me and Andy. She’s got our kind of sense of humor. I played her some edits and I even edited her saying, “I think I’ve just lost my fucking mind!”

She sent me over the air saying, “Gina, I’m having fun with you this weekend with KOOL FM.”

She even dropped hints that she may be gay and asked me what I look like. Shall I send her a copy of me in The Beat? We’ll have to wait and see.

She also had me answer one of the party lines by saying, “Sunny 97.” That’s another oldie’s station. I said I punched her out cold, so I was taking over the airwaves.

She had me and 2-3 others singing live to a song, and we told jokes. There’s a really funny one I heard if you know that there’s a Thomas St. and a Grand Ave. here in Phoenix. The joke goes: What did the gay guy do when he got to Phoenix?

He went down on Thomas and thought it was Grand! (names of streets in Phoenix).

Later…

I just went to call Andy, but he’s playing Monopoly with someone, so he said he’ll call me back. I always hated that game.

Tom’s working now, trying to get as much overtime as possible. When he’ll be home, who knows? He’s kind of bummed cuz his job’s being eliminated and the poor guy has to work days next week. Permanently. I’d just want to die. At least he’ll have 10-hour shifts, rather than 12. He’s to be working Sunday – Wednesday from 8 AM - 6 PM.

Later…

Well, finally! The Gloria medley is finished! I just stuck in the last few songs. I did leave out a few slow boring songs, though.

Now, what do I have to edit? Well, as far as that goes everything’s all edited down. So, I’m gonna go through each convo one by one and edit stuff that way. I know that over half of all these convos combined have already been edited. I’ll go through them as who knows what great stuff I could’ve missed.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1993 Finally! I finally got my package from Kim. It sure is great to have my very own camera. Soon, I’ll get film and flash for it. It’s a very small lightweight camera and it seems it’ll be easy enough to use. Luckily Tom knows cameras, so he can help me with it.

She also sent that tooth whitener and already it’s making a difference.

She sent a magazine called The Night Side she picked up in Las Vegas. It’s just like The Beat magazine I was in when I was at Favors. She enclosed a letter along with a letter she got from Bob. Some other time I’ll copy these into #44. I typed both Kim and Bob letters.

Kim mentioned Alex may have once again gone cross-country. Where the hell would he get the money to afford to do this?

Later…

I got a letter from Bob today. Also, a postcard from Kim. She had some left over with stamps on them, so she figured why not send one?

I spoke to Fran earlier and even his friend Sharon. I have a couple of minutes of her on tape, but she’s not nearly as funny as Ann or Melissa (CP lady).

I split that Vegas magazine between Nervous, Fran and Bob. They each got 4 pages.

I do suppose I could write more but I haven’t been in a writing mood.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1993 I never wrote while at the doctor’s office as I luckily wasn’t there forever. She changed my antibiotic to something else and gave me yucky-tasting cough syrup. She also recommended I try charcoal capsules for the gas and bloating I’ve had. This is a weird one I’ve never even heard of before. The last thing she did was have the nurse draw blood right then and there. Originally, I was to return today for the blood to be drawn. Conveniently, it was all done today.

Tom’s been really helpful, patient, and supportive through all this and I really appreciate that.

The only other thing that’s gone on is that Fran’s tried calling both me and Andy.

I took that foam thing I took from my sleeper couch off of my bed. I had 3 problems with it. It was too wide, kept slipping (the sheets) and sagged in the middle too much. I’m better off just waiting till I get a real double bed with a soft mattress.

Real soon I’m gonna hit the sack. I’m taking about 7 different medications right now and they’re making me somewhat drowsy. So - till next time!

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1993 Yesterday was an absolutely shitty day. I awoke at 7 AM with a very bad asthma attack. Tom called 911 and they came and gave me two breathing treatments. After they left, I fell asleep for two hours, but have been feeling very tight and congested. I’ve been wheezing and sneezing a lot.

In about 5-10 minutes, I’m going to my doctor. After that, we’ll stop at Jack-n-the-Box.

I haven’t worked on the computer, but last night I mustered up enough strength to draw a few pictures. Tom really liked them. Especially my eagle. It was the very first one I drew. I copied it off of one of my collector’s plates.

I have a few other things to write about, but I’ll save them for my endless wait in the waiting room.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1993 Today I feel a million times better, thank God! Boy, I sure felt lousy. My lungs are much clearer, as well as my nose. I knew I needed an antibiotic. I slept only an hour or so yesterday afternoon and basically accomplished nothing. I had zero energy. Couldn’t even type letters or the 13 remaining pages in #49. I did, though, glue in 12-30. Maybe later I’ll type up 31-43 and some letters too. I may even do some editing.

Tom’s now working on the computer and we made a “date” for later if you know what I mean.

I tried calling Kim to let her know I still haven’t gotten that package. Maybe it got lost, or something came up where she wasn’t able to mail it out. Yesterday I sent out Barbara’s picture of Bob. Also, I sent a letter to Alex and the old smoking log to Nervous.

Later on, I may also do the dishes and straighten up. I’m doing laundry now.

Tammy’s ordering CDs here and if they come here, which they should, I will ship them off to her.

Tom and I have made a decision yesterday. I’ll never be that tolerant of cat dander and smells, so after this one goes home, we’re getting a guinea pig. I do miss them, and now being with Tom, who’ll help change the cage, it’ll be much easier. I won’t have to constantly lug sawdust down 4 flights of stairs and rinse a filthy cage in my tub. Being in a house is so much easier and better for it, as all we have to do is go out back and rinse the cage with a hose. Tom has plenty of hoses.

I’m an expert on guinea pigs. I know them like I know sign language and I know everything they need. I’ll put him in the back room away from where we sleep. This will be good too, as I won’t have to keep my bedroom door shut or step on kitty litter. They eat more and need more things and are a bit more costly, but we can afford it. I’ll tell you one thing, though, and that is that I’m definitely gonna get a lid for the cage. I’m not about to ever again deal with what I went through with Toffee always jumping out and getting into everything.

Well, I’m now gonna go pull out the stuff that can’t go in the dryer and then make some of my honey cinnamon tea.

Later…

Tom’s now running my clothes through the dryer he’s got out in the garage.

I just played with the cat for a little while and for the first time, I didn’t sneeze. I really needed those antibiotics and now, once again, I want to keep him and forget about the guinea pig. Unfortunately, he can’t stay anyway, and I’d rather get a pig, rather than another cat.

I’m now gonna lay down for a bit. It’s still rainy out and that makes you drowsy. Well, it sucks the energy out of me, anyway. Later I’ll do some editing before dinner. Tom’s making us pork chops again. How wonderful to have someone around who likes to cook.

I’m dedicating the last page of this journal to him to write whatever he wants. Only 3 others have written in my journals - Andy, Nervous and Kara.

Later…

Well, I fell asleep for an hour and a half. I awoke at 2:30. An hour after I got up we had pork chops and tater tots. Then I folded my laundry, Tom took a shower, and we fooled around after. It was great. I really believe he does even better down there than most of the women I’ve been with. Things have been excellent with us, both in and out of bed. He went to sleep after we fooled around which was at about 4:30.

At 5 PM the movie Police Academy went on. I’m watching that now. There are two more movies I’ll probably watch. I’ll edit some other time, but I may still type later.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1993 Tom’s gone out to pick up my antibiotics. Last night at 2 AM I awoke all congested, wheezing and sneezing uncontrollably. It’s been worse than usual. Especially with this yucky rainy weather we’re having. It’s been waking me up a lot, too.

I do have more to write, but I am just way too tired. I’ll write more later. For now, I really must try to get some sleep. I need it.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1993 Today I got the envelopes I ordered. Still no packages from Kim, so who knows what’s going on with that?

When Tom got in yesterday morning at 6:30 he went to bed. He’s been there all day and night. He only got up for a few hours. I don’t think he’s feeling too well. I believe the two of us are going food shopping together tomorrow morning.

We’ve only had sex twice since a little over a month ago. I never met anyone like him before. I think it may have to do with our age differences. He’s through with his sexual peak and mine’s just beginning. I’m getting used to this, though. I’ve been used to this and it’s not like he’s a gorgeous woman. Then it’d be much harder to deal with for sure.

Well, he’s up now. I just heard him open the kitchen door. When we go to sleep, which I plan on doing soon, we shut the door to keep the cat in the back, away from clawing our doors.

Earlier I worked out and did a few other things. I typed a letter to Tammy and the girls over Prodigy. I also sent Nervous an old smoking log which certainly did me no good and typed Alex a letter. Barbara’s picture of Bob is ready for her too. I also addressed 5 envelopes to Kim, 5 to Bob, and 1 to Fran.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1993 Last night I didn’t fall asleep till 10:00. I woke up at 6:30. Tom woke up shortly after.

It’s raining out now for the first time in quite a while. This is good, as it’ll settle any pollen and continue to make allergy plants go dormant.

I hope and pray to hell that I finally get my packages and envelopes today.

Right now I’m gonna go and get myself a cup of tea. After I drink it, I’ll finish copying a page from each journal in #49.

Later…

I finally got my hair trimmed today. Tom did, too. She didn’t do as good of a job as Richard did but did good enough. She didn’t get scissor-happy. It’s been trimmed another 2” but is still below my waist. In less than a month it’ll be to the crack of my ass. I feel she could’ve done a better job with my bangs, although it’s still a bit too soon to tell. At least it’s no longer in my face.

Yes, she’s pretty like Andy said. I’d rate her a 7½ - 8, but her body wasn’t great. Her face was kind of broken out, but pretty. Her hair was permed and almost to the middle of her back.

I had forgotten that there was to be no mail today due to it being Veteran’s Day. Oh well, if I don’t get my package tomorrow, then I give up.

Today it rained and was chilly and windy. First rain in quite some time.

I’ve only had 13 cigarettes in the 15 hours I’ve been up. That’s better, but earlier I didn’t feel too great. My chest was tight.

Well, I’m gonna try to conk out now, but if I can’t sleep, I’ll write some more. Before going to bed, I better go check my messages. I do believe I heard the phone ringing. It’s probably either Andy or Fran. Fran left a message last night.

Later…

Nope. That call wasn’t from Andy or Fran. It was from Wendy. Now Tom’s got two messages. One from Eileen, a coworker with a gay daughter, and Wendy, who took her dog to the vet.

I came back to write something else I had just remembered, but now I forgot what the fuck it was.

I keep telling myself to call Mary, but keep forgetting that, too. She had to have lost my number as she certainly would’ve called by now.

God only knows what’s going on with Kara. I have no way of contacting her and she’s got no way of contacting me. Not by phone, that is. I could maybe write to her at her old address at the Via El Camino apartments and it’ll get forwarded to wherever the hell she is now. She could be in Michigan. I remember her mentioning wanting to return there. Will she ever become a cop? I hope so. That’d be totally for her.

Every now and then I still have fantasies about Stacey. I don’t know what it is with that sick bitch. She reminds me of Kate Jackson even though she has light eyes and hair. Did she really ever have a thing for me? I’ll never know for sure, but yes, I believe she did, despite the fact that she shit on everyone. I can’t picture her ever shitting on Rosemarie, Donna, and Tara and Tonya, though. She most certainly never has or will shit on that damn butch. At least I know that everyone I wrote to did receive all my mail. Even Rosemarie. It’s amazing how much legwork both Stacey and Andy put into trying to nail me in court. They were so sure they were going to, too. I’ll bet they’re still pissed that they lost. I’m sure they lied about losing, too. Stacey’s not the type to walk back into the office and admit she lost. Too humiliating for a person like her. Despite that letter I sent her boss, she’s still working there. I knew she would, as like with cops and staff members in funny farms, they protect their own. I have no regrets about writing it, though. I hope she at least got to read it.

I spoke to Tammy a few days ago. She asked me if I’ve talked to Dad.

Fuck no!

She says she’ll mention my guitar. Like it’ll do any good. She hasn’t heard any more about the bastard, but I hope they all killed each other. All 3 of them are good for nothing.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1993 I’m now on my 50th paper journal! Yes, I am actually here before 1998, the year I figured I’d get to #50 when I first began. Although I’ve officially closed #49, I’ve got a project for the last half of it. It’ll only take me a few hours to do it, too. I’m writing two pages from each journal. The only ones I may not do two of are the books of letters.

Tom and I had a great day. He’s now cooking us pork chops and tater tots for dinner which I believe is to be ready any minute.

Later…

That was a great dinner.

I haven’t been able to reach Carolyn, so if I don’t hear from her by tomorrow, Tom and I will go have Richard do our hair Friday.

Tomorrow I have to call Dr. Wilcox’s office to make sure my referral is good till the 22nd.

Last night I fell asleep at 10 PM and awoke at 4 AM to take my meds. Then, I went back to sleep and got up at 6:30.

At 9 AM Tom and I went to the mall. I got this journal, some makeup, and that hair-removal system for $50. I did my legs and my bikini line (as far in as I could go). It wasn’t really as painful as I thought it might be. I could feel it, but it didn’t hurt so much that I couldn’t stand it. It took a while to do and I still have to do under my arms.

Can you believe my God damn package still hasn’t come yet? Neither have the envelopes. In fact, they still haven’t cashed my check. This is bullshit. What’s taking so long? Guess it’s all cuz we’re getting closer to the holidays.

I totally love this journal. It’s the most awesome one I’ve ever had. The outside’s nothing all that spectacular, but I’ve always wanted colored paper for a change from typical white paper. There are 8 of all 6 colors.

Well, I sure did plenty of stretching when I was using the hair removal system, but tomorrow I’ll do the exercises with the video. I’m just too beat now. I’ll remember to put the beast in the back room and close the door between the kitchen and the living room. He gets in the way. Being as flexible as I am really helps when you’re shaving and or removing hair. Especially the backs of the legs.

I hope Alex writes to me. As I said before, Kim says he writes like hell, but I have yet to see this. I’ll write him another letter begging for a letter. I’ll even put a guilt trip on him, cuz I already wrote him a very very long letter.

I just asked Tom, who’s going to bed now, to pick the next color. He picked the one I figured he’d pick. It was also to be my next choice. I have 9 different colors picked out. That’ll look cool. Not only will I have different colored paper, but different colored writing on it. It’s different than writing with different colors all on white paper.

I think I’ll go listen to music for a while now, then I’ll come back and write some more later.

Later…

Amazingly enough, I’ve only had 11 cigarettes today. Nonetheless, my lungs were a bit tight a little while ago, so I made a cup of this honey cinnamon tea Tom bought earlier. It’s good. It helped to clear me up too, and to relax my chest muscles.

I just listened to some music and soon I’m gonna go make another cup of tea.

I just remembered something else I forgot to remove, as far as hair goes. My widow’s peak. I’m not particularly fond of the thing.

I wish I was much more awake than I am now. I’d type some letters, do some editing, and whatever the hell else. I’ve got a semi-bright lime green T-shirt I’m gonna decorate with glue. I also may take one of my pairs of cutoff jeans and glue stuff on that too. I plan to get more Bedazzeler beads one of these days. They’re at Wal-Mart where I got the glue. It’d also be nice to get more colors of the glue. There’s not much variety in only 3 colors.

Gotta send letters soon through the computer to Tammy and the girls. Lisa got a solo in the band playing sax. Great for her. Today’s Bill’s 47th birthday and I sent no card. I’m sure he’s not crying over it any more than I’d be if I were to not get a birthday card from him. The two of us never really liked each other. We’re extremely different, but that’s fine. All that matters is that he makes Tammy happy.

Now I’ve had 12 cigarettes, but that’s still much better than the ridiculous pack a day I’ve been smoking.

I wonder how Nervous and Crystal are doing? I’m sure by now she’s realized she’s made the biggest mistake of her life. If not, she’s even crazier than he is. I wish I could see the look on his face when he pulls out Bob’s dick. Also, when he got my tits.

Well, it’s now almost 6 PM and I am not gonna be able to hold my head up much longer. I’m sooooooo tired. Be back here tomorrow, though. That can be counted on!

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1993 I am now sitting outside and it is beautiful out. It’s 82º.

Later…

It’s so hot that I just ran in to change. Andy called, too. I can’t believe that it’s 11/9 and I’m sweating out by the pool in a bikini. How lucky I am.

I have so much to write about and it’s all good stuff, too. Last Friday night Tom and I finally fooled around and it was fun.

We finished sealing up the soundproofing stuff in my windows, but I still have to sleep with my radio on. This is cuz of the mailbox thing and that fucking mutt next door. You also never know if they’re gonna slam their car doors and move shit next door. Their driveway’s barely 5 feet away from where I sleep. So, to be on the safe side, I sleep with it on. There is still a positive side to soundproofing. It does decrease noise and it makes it nearly pitch dark if I am asleep during the day.

Later…

Well, I’m in my bedroom now. It’s too hot out there for writing. Too uncomfortable to write as much as I have to write. It’s so bright and sunny out, too. I wore my sunglasses. No breeze at all. If there were a slight breeze it’d be perfect. Perfect for tanning, although it’s perfect now for that. The only bummer is that you get all heated up but the pool’s too cold. I’m not gonna have any patience for tanning till I can swim.

Later…

I just ran out back to cut my toenails. This way my nails don’t go flying everywhere.

Tom’s working on the computer now. We’ve been doing great together.

Still no package from Kim or letter from Alex. Soon I hope, but I just sent one to Bob who wrote me. Guess what he sent? Two Polaroid shots of him in just long pants, two in his underwear, and one of his dick. I’m keeping the two of him in his long pants. One of the underwear shots is going to Barbara in the NHA. The other, along with his dick pic is going to Nervous. He oughta love it.

Last Saturday I did get my address labels and they’re very pretty. Black print on 5 different metallic colored backgrounds - blue, green, red, purple and gold.

I talked to Tom and finally gave in and set up a doctor’s appointment for the 22nd. The one my referral’s for.

Carolyn got her own phone now, so I hope she can do our hair tomorrow or the next day.

The beast, as I call the cat, is doing fine. My allergies are a little worse, though. Last Sunday night I woke up wheezing my ass off at 11 PM. Thankfully it was no ER attack.

I think I mentioned sending a tape to Kim. Well, everyone has tapes, except Bob. It’s time he got his very own copy of edits, convos, etc.

Yesterday at noon I called KOOL FM, my favorite radio station, to request a song. I said I was dedicating it to my fiancé. Tom got a kick out of it. Of course, I taped it.

Later…

I was just eating and outside smoking. Speaking of smoking, I can’t quit so I’ve developed a cutting-down method at least. I’ve been getting too carried away. I’ve been setting the timer so I only have 1 an hour. Soon, after I get comfortable with this, I’ll up the time by 15 minutes. Every 3 days or so, I’ll up it to 15 minutes to slowly lower my nicotine level.

Real early last Sunday morning Tom and I went to JB’s for breakfast.

After, we went to Walmart. I got a leopard print bodysuit, two exercise videos, a journal, and fabric glue. I still have to get new sneakers, ballet slippers (the practice kind you don’t tie around your ankles), and I saw a gorgeous skirt I want. I’m also gonna get a hair removal system. It yanks the hair by the roots and grows back slower and finer. I hear it’s painful, but no pain, no gain. It’s better than breaking my arm again or childbirth. It’s something I can also stop if it hurts too much.

Next month we’re getting a dishwasher. Thank God! We need it.

The exercise videos really work great. One’s Buns of Steel, the other’s Abs of Steel.

The journal I got was really cheap at $2.69. It was the only one of two there that I liked and it’s got no lines. The one with no lines is a nice change here and there. This way I can write super small or big. I can, and I have done that in lined journals, too, but it looks nicer on blank pages. I now have a total of 50 journals!

I also got 3 tubes of fabric glue. Neon colors of pink, green and orange. They all came in 1 package. Tom bought two white T-shirts which I decorated for him. I also did my yellow half-shirt and I’ll do more clothes of mine later. On journal 20 I had glued on material from an old bathing suit. Then I put blue glitter glue on it, but it would always fall off. Well, I tore it all off and decorated it with glue. I also did journal 37 with the glue too, and put 3 rhinestones on it. They were from my half-shirt. They were arranged a bit crooked, so I stuck them on the side of journal 37. Two are blue and one’s yellow. I also put a pink line of glue on the side of journal 5, too.

Later…

Tom’s in the shower now and soon to be off to work. This week he’ll have the next two days off.

I called Carolyn and her boyfriend answered. There’s a possibility of her coming tomorrow afternoon.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1993 I fell asleep around 2:00 or 3:00 PM and although by 10:00 PM I was well-rested, the fucking dog next door woke me up. This weekend for sure, we must seal in any gaps in the soundproofing stuff. This is the last time I’ll be woken up by outside noise, even though it’s only been occasionally. I live in a house now, therefore, I refuse to be woken up by anything outside. Even if it is once or twice a month. The good news is that my asthma’s OK. I just thank God it’s not an everyday thing like it is in apartments I can tolerate dogs and kids very well if it’s off in the distance. I almost like hearing dogs bark way off in the distance. But next door’s too close and too loud. Tom’s snoring is another example. It’s soothingly rhythmic from his room to mine, but I could never deal with it in the same room.

I got two things in the mail yesterday. My referral to a female GYN. Also, a notice of services I didn’t think my health plan covered. Family planning stuff, like birth control pills, IUDs, condoms, Norplant, sponges, creams, shots, vasectomies for guys and tubals for women. At least I don’t have to bother with and deal with all this. Not if he won’t cum and I’m sterile.

Today I really oughta get Kim and Bob’s mail for sure. I mailed Kim her tape in an envelope and wrote “hand cancel” on it.

This weekend or next, Carolyn can do our hair, but in the meantime, I have to get more detangler stuff.

Gotta get like maybe 3 journals and a CD. I’ll save the rest of my money for cigarettes and whatever else I may need. My address labels probably won’t arrive for another month or so.

The cat’s been great. He’s the perfect cat and still never bothers me or claws on my door when I’m in my room. I wish I could keep him.

Now for the weirdest dream of them all, before I forget. I was told by my beautiful neighbors to ring their doorbell at a certain time so I could babysit. I rang their bell and got no answer at the time they told me to. I figured they had to step out. I then looked straight down and realized I was topless! I put my pants on but had forgotten my shirt. So, I glanced over here, thinking, “I better run over here fast and get a shirt on.” But as I turned to run over here, the house kept moving farther and farther away till I was next walking on the beach in CT. I covered my tits with my hand and hair, and in my other hand, I had my journal. The beach was crowded and although no one seemed to notice me, I had to walk out in the water. It was so mobbed that there was no room on the sand, but the water kept getting deeper and deeper. The last thing I remember before waking up was, “Oh shit! My journal’s underwater.” It was up to my neck.

Later…

I am 97 pounds according to the scale, but I’m just finishing my period, so of course I am. In a few days, I’ll be closer to 100. Those Pre-Sym pills do help a bit as far as the bloating goes from water retention.

I’m playing some edits right now and just had another sneezing fit. It was worse yesterday. This weekend I’m gonna dust and vacuum. Gotta do the dishes, too, but hopefully for only 1 more month.

Now I’m gonna make Tom some sandwiches.

Later…

I just made Tom 8 sandwiches. It’s funny but true, that on weekdays I make his sandwiches, and on weekends he makes me my coffee. Also, on weekends, he cooks and I clean. I hate being around him when he eats though. I always thought Andy was #1 on my list of those who are totally obnoxious when they eat making these gross smacking sounds. Not anymore. Tom’s disgusting. Way worse than Andy and me. We agreed to talk about the stuff that bothers one another, but he takes it wrong when I try to tell him about this obnoxious chomping of his. He takes it as a cut-down and gets defensive.

Yesterday morning he and I had a nice talk about his family. He said whenever I’m ready to meet them, fine. He’s been good about this, too, and has never pressured me. I told him I was hesitant cuz everybody loves a liar, and I don’t want to pretend to be who I’m not to please anyone. I’m happy with what and who I am but was afraid they’d cut him down as he has a great job and car, and I don’t. Also, cuz he looks like a conservative man and I look like a girl who’s more on the flashy, modern style of looks. We don’t look the same as most couples do. If his family asks me what work I’ve done, I’m not gonna lie. I’m proud to have been a dancer and to hell with what anyone else thinks. People want to hear awesome lies, rather than the truth at times, although Tom says not to worry at all. I also don’t want to seem selfish either. If Tammy lived here, he would’ve gladly met her long ago.

It’s incredibly chilly out now, so thank God I have this heater. It’ll warm up to 83º today and yesterday was about 85º. I was out back for a bit yesterday afternoon and it was beautiful. Too cool for a bathing suit, but too warm for a heavy shirt. A thin half-shirt was fine.

Today or tomorrow Steve will get his letter. I’m sure he’ll show it to everyone in the office and the entire complex. He’ll also suspect me too, but I don’t give a shit. He’s the type that’ll think it’s weird and somewhat funny, but will mainly be pissed, paranoid and probably scared. I’m sure by now Scott has fucked him over. They’ve probably fucked each other over. How can Bonnie live with a guy like him? I always wondered.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1993 This cat is so good. I wish it were mine. He’s so friendly and loving. He now seems so happy here. He’s not obnoxious and doesn’t wake me up. When I go into my room and close the door he doesn’t claw at it. I think it’s best to keep him out of my room. He knows Tom, but would definitely rather hang with me. This is good, though, as I have much more time to play with him than Tom does. I’m sitting at the table in the living room and he’s sitting right by me. He’s come totally out of his shell.

Now that I’ve been gone two months from Crystal Creek, I decided it was time for Steve to hear from me. You know, the guy that lived below me when I was next to Tom. I assume he and Bonnie are still there. If not, his letter will be forwarded. I never knew his last name, so I addressed it to Steve Jensen. How did I come up with Jensen? Well, Steve’s a firefighter. One time I saw a firefighter on TV here in PHX with that name, so he oughta get a kick out of that one. I’ll bet they do know each other. I pretty much wrote some funny stuff.

I was slightly annoyed earlier as I recorded 3 shows but forgot to up the volume on the VCR remote, so I can’t hear anything. Oh well, they will repeat this show in a few months. All they do these days is 10-15 new shows on almost each of the series, then repeat them all 3 times.

I’m still debating on whether or not to mail Kim’s tape in a mailbag or an envelope. I have done both in the past and they’ve both worked. We’ll see.

Also, when the stamps run out, I could order 50 more or get stamped envelopes. We’ll need envelopes soon, too.

Yesterday Tom got a Signet bill, so I addressed the final letter for Tammy and I’ve mailed out all 3.

Yesterday Tom also got me a portable heater and I love it. It works so well and has a fan and an air purifier too. There are wall heaters here, but only in the living room, the hall by the bathroom and his room, and in the back room. There’s none in our bedrooms and the only thing that comes out of the vents is the AC and EC.

The cactuses I got with Kim are starting to grow.

Later…

Yesterday I called my doctor’s office. They didn’t have my current number and address, even though I gave it to them, so they left a message with Andy. They’re mailing my referral. I have no infections, but they say I have non-malignant cell changes. So. What’s the big deal? Everyone’s cells change, so why should I go to a specialist? Tom says he’s gonna try to talk me into going, but why put myself through more discomfort for nothing? Plus half the GYNs say one thing, while the other half say another. An example of that is, half say I’m average size down there. The other half says I’m too small. I know I’m small. It’s been obvious enough. They also say I can have sex. I have nothing that can hurt Tom, but I’m not sure that’ll make a difference in his appetite.

I’m not sure if I mentioned this yet, but Nervous is gonna be getting an awful lot of mail. Tom got a package of 25 no-postage-necessary postcards for computer stuff. I’d have loved to have sent them to Stacey, Andi, and several others, but they’ll just run and try to get another conjunction. Although they’d lose again, I don’t need the bullshit, so they’re all going to Nervous.

I told Tom of all those weird dreams and he thought they were quite bizarre, too. I have yet to write about one more, but before I do, let me thank God I slept OK. I knocked off at 4 PM, got up at 9:30, took my meds and went back to bed till 1 AM. I talked to Andy at 2 AM for about 20 minutes. Tomorrow he’s taking the AT&T test for the fourth time. I really hope he passes. Again he was saying how he wishes I could go take that test for him. Also that he would’ve gotten a 40% on the civil service test, whereas I pulled off an 81%. How, who knows?

My hand’s pretty sore, so later I’ll do the dream, as well as a list of stuff I want.

Later…

Tom’s gone out to get my prescription and some groceries.

We had a great talk earlier. We finally are beginning to have extra money and things have been so much better with us, it’s making me again want to marry him. To hell with the odds and statistics. I’ve been made to eat my words once again and that is about it getting better with time, rather than worse. But I’ll still never have a kid even though he thinks I’d be a good mom.

He got some great ideas for me to help him out with the computer by doing icons and releasing them for possible donations if people like them. He’s gonna write a biography on me. He told me what he was gonna say and it was very flattering.

He said his friend Wendy says I should go to the crotch doctor as the cell changes could be pre-cancerous. Why oh why must I deal with this? I’ve had enough. Dealing with asthma and allergies is enough.

I got my period and it’s almost over, so at least I’m not horny.

Tom says he ordered something for me by mail, but he won’t say what. It’s multi-colored and made of paper.

I sent a check for $34 for 100 stamped envelopes by mail. Hopefully, my address labels get here soon, and Kim’s package and Bob’s letter.

For Hanukkah, I’ll send Tammy and all of them a check for $25 and only buy a few Hanukkah cards.

When I decide what to do for Tom, do I do it on the 9th or the 25th? How do couples work this out when only one’s Jewish? I’ll figure it out. I’m sure there’s a way. Cuz even though I don’t consider myself Jewish or of any other religion, it’s been a lifelong habit to celebrate or exchange gifts at Hanukkah and ignore Christmas. Except for all the pretty lights, decorations and Christmas songs, it would’ve been so much more fun to have been Catholic as a kid. There are certainly no Jewish Santas. No pretty trees to decorate. Only 8 lousy candles.

In December we might get a dishwasher, then a camcorder. I may also go to Vegas and California in this life. Can you imagine that?! Me? California! Well, that’s what I said about Phoenix, dancing, modeling, relationships, living in a house and marriage. But no kid.

Guess I’ll go make coffee now.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1993 Today was sort of a shitty day. I was living in an apartment all over again. It sure felt that way when the assholes next door woke me up 6 times from 6 PM - 11 PM moving furniture. They were moving something in and out. I’ve always wanted to live in a house and now that I finally do, neighbors are still waking me up. While I seldom hear them, their fucking dog is unpredictable. Whether it’s daily or occasionally, I’m so sick of listening to other people’s noise. I want to wake up when I say so, not someone else’s dog or activities. Also, when I’m awake, I wanna hear my noise. Not someone else’s. I hope these people decided they hate it here and are moving out and a guy like Tom moves in. It’d be so nice to have one person over there with little or no company and no dog. It’d also be nice if these houses weren’t so close.

On the lighter side of things, Kim left a message that relieved my fears. Bob’s alive and well and hasn’t written due to not having money for stamps. She said he was quite ecstatic cuz his court date’s only two weeks away and looking good. In his favor, I mean. She said he was quite “normal” for a change and he mailed me a letter. Kim says my package is to be mailed out today. Can’t wait.

No referral or call from my doctor yet. Oh well, but I am gonna call Tammy now. I still need to read that letter to her.

Also, the cat’s here. It hid behind the stove for a while, but I eventually coaxed it out. It’s friendly and yes, a bit chubby. Shadow was bigger, though. Longer and taller, I mean.

Later…

I finally got ahold of Tam to read the letter to her and to add stuff for her. I printed and mailed 2 of the 3 letters for her. I’m waiting for Tom to get a bill from Signet so I can get the address.

I don’t know this cat’s name, so I’ve been calling him Shadow. He came out from hiding again and was meowing by his litter box.

I sure hope I get Bob’s letter today. Hope to hear from Alex soon, too.

Later…

Tom will be home any minute, but I figured I’d write till then.

Ellie had given me hair glitter gel. I finally used it and it sucks. My hair is all matted.

Last night, around midnight I called Andy. I played him a little more than a half-hour of edits. He called the VV machine. Stacey’s still working there as I figured. Her voice is still on the outgoing message. Two quick segments of her were left. The bitch will probably go call the idiots in Florida, but I could care less. Either them or the so-called parole officer I never had.

Speaking of Stacey, I had a weird dream with her in it and the assholes next door. I dreamt I went out back and caught her sitting by the pool. She had a huge German shepherd that almost bit my knee, but I didn’t care. I was too busy cussing her out.

I was also visiting these so-called people next door, but it didn’t look like a house. I was sitting talking to them in their living room when one of them opened their fireplace door which was solid. The back wall of the fireplace was glass, though, and through it, I could see the apartment next door’s fireplace and into their apartment which was all brick. Then weirdly enough, as I was leaving and walked out the front door, I was outside my old door at Crystal Creek.

Then, there was this part where I was standing at our front door here and glanced down a slight hill at theirs. It seemed to be a brown wooden colored house, much bigger with two floors. I remember turning to Tom who was sitting on the couch and saying, “It’s amazing how they live so close, yet so far.” Apparently, the house was at an angle.

In another part, I was walking across my backyard and through the back of theirs. (there was no block wall) Inside they were talking to Stacey.

Tom’s home now, so I’ll have to remember the weirdest part for later.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1993 Well, I got my period a few hours ago. No severe cramps thankfully.

Yesterday I did more editing.

Tammy called really early, but we were both up. She gave me the addresses of the credit card companies she owes money. I typed a letter to them for her and I will call her at 8 AM her time (later) and see if they’re OK. The letter basically says how she’s struggling and trying to find a job.

Later…

I decided I do like and prefer my phone numbers to be in a journal, rather than an address book. I’ve written stories halfway through #35, and I have decided I’m definitely sick of story writing, so the last half is phone numbers. I’ll probably write stories on and off here and there, but for the most part, I’m tired of it. They’re easier to keep in my head, rather than write them down.

I called Kim a few hours ago. She hasn’t had time, due to tons of ambulance calls, to go check on Bob. She will soon, she says. There’s definitely something wrong. Neither of us has heard a word from him.

Also, no one in my beautiful family’s tried to call, thankfully. Tammy never mentioned anything the last time we spoke, so nothing too exciting’s going on, I guess.

My parents will never send my other guitar, let alone my pictures. I’m sure she never kept the pictures. That was never her intention. Her intention was to throw them away and that’s exactly what she did.

Later…

I just finished making 7 sandwiches for Tom. That oughta help him out and make his workweek easier.

Tomorrow, before he goes to work, he’s picking up that cat that needs to be on a diet.

I have to remember to call Mary soon. It’s been a while since we last spoke and I’ll bet she’s lost my number. I should’ve heard from her by now.

Oh, almost forgot. Yesterday morning I finally spoke to Carolyn (Andy’s coworker). Tom needs his hair cut too, and she says she’ll only charge $5. Between Tom and I, that’d be $10 instead of $16 and she’ll come here. Maybe this weekend.

I can’t wait till Kim sends me that tooth whitener and the camera.

I also can’t wait till I know what in the world happened to Bob. I wish I knew. I hope he’s OK. I hope he gets out here. I need more letters from him. Gotta start filling up Book of Letters #5. It’s got only one full page done. I also hope Alex writes and more often than once a year. Kim says he is a big writer and that once he starts, he goes on and on. Kim said she and Phil got a kick out of Alex’s letter.

I let Kim know I’m sending her a tape. On one side there’s a funny convo with me, Andy, Fran and Nervous. The other side has Andy and Laurie H and also one she’s never heard that I just found of me, Bob and Andy. She oughta enjoy it.

Well, anyway, I think I’ll go do some more editing. It’s been coming along really well. Tom heard some new ones last night. Andy said I could leave them on his machine, but it’ll take forever. It’s a pain in the ass when the VM only goes for 3 minutes each. I’ll wait till we’re on the phone and I’ll play them for him live.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1993 Today was another very good day. Yesterday morning I didn’t fall asleep till nearly 11:00 and was shocked to have slept till 7 PM. There are tons of kids on this street, yet never did I hear a knock or a doorbell. Not even after I got up. I’m so grateful that I hardly ever hear kids. I sure don’t miss hearing them 24/7. The only thing that can sometimes be obnoxious is the dog next door. It’s always outside. The soundproofing stuff in windows really helps. Tom and I are gonna seal it up soon.

This Tuesday we’re having a cat here, but only temporarily. Some elderly couple he knows has 10 cats. One’s gotten fat and needs to be on a diet, so it’ll be here for a month or two.

When I got up, I danced and exercised a bit. Later, Tom set up his keyboard and we played a little of that and some guitar.

I drew a horse which he really likes. Yeah, it was a lucky shot.

Last night we baked chocolate chip cookies and we still got plenty left over. He cooked us burgers and mashed potatoes. Soon I’m gonna go zap some leftovers.

Fran called. It’s cold and snowing! They’re only two hours ahead now.

I hear Tom opening a soda.

Later…

I’m back after having a cookie and telling Tom about a great idea I came up with. The idea is to build a shelf that goes around the whole room across the middle of the wall. Maybe a foot lower than the middle (between the floor and ceiling).

Someone’s out having a good time now. I heard a car stereo. Other than that, it’s quiet and rather chilly out.

Gotta go pee now, but I’ll write more later.

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭?

❝ Ladies, imagine your worst nightmare, like getting kidnapped, having a boyfriend that controls everything about your life and stares at you as you sleep every night, or dating a guy who watches the Fast and the Furious movies unionically, whatever. Now imagine if all of that stuff happened to you - but the guy was attractive?! ❞ - Alex Meyers, "365 days is the worst movie I've ever seen...", June 23rd, 2020.

❤️ NOTE: 365 Days is probably the worst movie I have ever seen in my whole entire life. That's why I set up the challenge of trying to make Massimo into... something, I honestly don't know what. Did I succeed? I don't know, you be the judge of that! It was also very hard trying to keep a straight face while writing this! I actually feel like punching myself for even bringing this into the world...

yandere! massimo torricelli x fem! reader.

The firm grip of his hand on your waist was a reminder of where exactly you stood in this relationship, if you even stood at all.

Massimo Torricelli was a man who was accustomed to the finer things in life and would accept nothing that he deemed to be beneath him. Be it food, clothing, women, his own men that worked for him, he would never lay a finger on anything lest it caught it his attention or he thought it was useful in one way or the other.

You often wondered what he saw in you to begin with.

The chatter of voices and the clinking of champagne glasses brought you back down to Earth as you remembered where you were. The scent of lit vanilla candles cradled your senses as the gorgeously dressed men and women paraded themselves around the ballroom, each person looking more ravishing than the next and all eager to prove their wealth and status to each other.

Pathetic, you thought to yourself.

It was unparalleled of how they all left themselves open, all of their fears and insecurities left on full display as they tried to hide themselves between fake grins, wretched laughs and intoxicating alcohol and other such substances.

The man who accompanied you tonight could not have been more different than the goons and fools that were tailing you like shadows.

Massimo Torricelli hardly had any time for himself let alone a crumb to spare for anyone that failed to exceed his skyhigh expectations. The man was the personification of every single Gucci suit, the scent of dark cologne and the lingering feeling of the burning end of a cigarette bud that was put out on soft flesh.

He always made sure to leave a mark wherever he went.

That included you as well.

To the other party goers you were Massimo's little treasure, the apple of his eye - someone who they could hopefully use against him, either by blackmail or wooing you themselves so that you could put in a good word for them.

The thought made you laugh. Your opinion was irrelevant, no matter how much Massimo claimed for the opposite to be true.

You were trapped in chains upon chains of riches and dirty secrets that no one would ever uncover.

Massimo would make sure of it.

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Nom De Plume | Part Two

Nom De Plume Masterlist

Summary: The first month of filming brings many surprises – Cloé’s behaviour, Austin’s kindness, and your reaction to it all.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Mean Girl Trope, Medium Reader Injury, Austin With a Cajun Accent, Vague Understanding of Movie Production, Mature/Explicit Themes [Dream Sex, Oral – M/F Receiving, Penetration, Unprotected Sex] – 18+ Only

GIF credit: @carriediariesedits

Word Count: 5987

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Filming was a marathon.

Greta knew exactly what she was looking for in each scene. Each shot. And she was happy to film whatever number of takes required to achieve her vision. You were truly in awe of Austin and Cloé’s ability to reset – shifting back in the exact position they started from, delivering their lines with the same emotion and energy as the first eight times.

You wondered if this is what writing looked like to others…only a much more internal process, naturally. Greta had chosen to start production with a few scenes of Antoine and Yvette getting to know one another in the barn, and it felt like a very natural place for everyone to ease their way into the story. You found that the burden on yourself and Pearce during filming was minimal – supplying lines, answering questions, assisting Continuity.

When Greta called cut, Austin would usually make his way over to check in with Pearce and yourself. He would clarify finer points of his character, motivations, and how each line fit into the bigger picture. The degree to which he was invested in the story made your heart ache fondly.

You had let Austin know that ‘Sloan’ would be fine with answering any questions he might have, he just needed to pass them along through you. Over the past two weeks, however, he had not once taken you up on that offer. He seemed more than satisfied with the answers that Pearce and you were able to supply on the spot.

Cloé…. well, she was fantastic on screen. Off? You did not have many kind things to say. She would lay helplessly as her team rushed over to her to ensure her every comfort. You expected a certain amount of swarming by hair, make-up, and wardrobe. But they would literally hand feed her and hold the straw on her Perrier which was chilled to her specified temperature. She basked in the attention, and actively called more to herself when her team weren’t satisfying her. Needily fishing for compliments from any crew member she could make eye contact with.

Her most annoying behaviour, by far, was born of her constant desire to have Austin at her side. She would croon his name and, being a gentleman, he would return to her even though you could tell he had more questions for Pearce and yourself. She fussed and cooed and petted at him constantly. The man deserved a medal for his patience with her. ‘Or maybe he likes it…’ the nastier part of your brain stabbed at the fragile blossom of feelings budding beneath your breastbone.

You huffed quietly at yourself and took Pearce’s coffee order, refreshing your mind with a walk to the craft services trailer just outside the studio. You were reaching for the door, two hot beverages balanced in one hand and a snack in your pocket, when it suddenly swung open toward you, making you jump with a squeak. You were fumbling with the drinks in an almost comical fashion when Austin’s large, steady hands seized a cup in each, smoothly avoiding disaster. You pressed your hand to your heart and exhaled slowly.

“Sorry there, makin’ ya jump yet again…” He grimaced.

You shook your head violently.

“I’m sorry for basically shouting in your face. And very, very grateful for your drink rescue.” You smiled warmly and offered your hands to take them.

“Why don’ we getcha a tray?” He winked teasingly and held the drinks hostage, heading over to the cart to get a coffee for himself and requesting a tray.

You quickly packed his drink into it with the other beverages and he looked to you startled. You smirked back up at him triumphantly, the chuckle that he emitted sending a thrill through you. He grabbed the drinks before turning with you to head back inside.

“So…is it as borin’ as ya thought it woul’ be?” He smirked at you with a raised eyebrow.

You could not help the laugh that shot out of your throat.

“Is it that obvious? Gosh I need to work on my poker face.” You joked but shook your head. “It’s…quite analogous to the process of writing. I just…didn’t expect it? But it makes a lot of sense that…getting it to the point that the creator is looking for takes trial and error.” You opened and held the door for him, gesturing him through.

“My, whatta generous answer. Most people are simply bore’ ta tears.” He laughed cheekily and you couldn’t help but join in.

You looked up to see Cloé’s eyes trained on the two of you, a frightening coldness in her expression. It was not one you had ever seen from her before, and it was extremely unsettling.

“Well, it’ll be a nice change o’ pace ta break outta this bar’ tomorro’ ‘n’ shoot on tha back lot.” Austin continued, resecuring your attention.

“Yes! Male bonding.” You grinned as you looked back to him and he laughed again, removing his cup before handing you the tray. “After two weeks in this barn, I can honestly say I’m excited.”

You watched as he took a deep sip, savouring the warmth with closed eyes. You stood there, spellbound by his presence. His mannerisms. Pearce broke your focus by reaching in between the two of you to snag his cup from the tray.

“Thanks for this.” He murmured tiredly and patted your head.

You felt for Pearce, not only was he attending filming all day, but he was also reviewing the daily footage with Greta well into the evening.

“All right folks, break is over, places please!” The assistant director called, and Austin tensed, looking around for something to do with his coffee.

“I’ll take care of it for you, go ahead.” You smiled, holding out the tray and he mouthed ‘thank you’ before hurrying back to his place amongst the straw.

You took your seat behind Pearce and looked up to set, almost choking on the sip you’d just taken. Cloé was sending you that fiercely cold look once again, her hand splayed on Austin’s chest as makeup touched up his lips. You looked down to the script in your lap quickly, as though that gaze physically hurt you. As far as you knew they were simply co-stars, but her behaviour spoke of something more. Or, at least the desire for something more?

The next morning dawned sunny and warm, the perfect weather for shooting the tarmac scene. You had opted to walk to the backlot, soaking in the smell of the damp earth coming back to life with spring. Pearce had offered to take your bag with him on the golf cart, but with all of its occupants it was quite packed, so you’d waved him off as they went ahead of you to the outdoor set. You were about halfway there when yet another golfcart passed you. You looked up and furrowed your brow in confusion as Cloé was riding on the back. She was not on the call sheet for today, so you found her presence surprising. Seeing you, she loosened her grip on the papers in her hand, sending them fluttering into the trees.

“Can you…Thanks!” Was all you heard of her shouted statement, but the meaning was clear enough.

Clean up after me.

Sighing heavily, you set your heavy bag down on the side of the road and began picking up the sheets of loose paper, frowning to see it was script pages. Your hard work, carelessly tossed into the woods to put you back in the place she felt you ought to be in. Beneath her. You followed the trail of pages further into the long grass, under the trees, until you suddenly came across a rather steep hollowing running through the wooded area.

There were just four more pages down there, and you were not about to give up now. The slope was unfortunately not as stable as it appeared, and your feet slid down the turf as you plummeted to the bottom of the hollow. You had thankfully not landed in the water; however, your right ankle had definitely folded up under you and was not wanting any weight to be put on it. Stubbornly, you hopped and limped to gather the last of the pages, hissing and wincing at the hot lances of pain that seared up your leg when you tried to use the injured ankle.

“Fuck me…” You growled to yourself bitterly, looking up the steep wall of the hollow. You folded up the script pages and stuck them into the waistband of your pants at the small of your back, pulling your shirt down over them before trying to pull yourself out. Your yelp was uncontrollable and pathetic to your own ears. You turned to look down the length of the hollow, considering walking along it back toward the office. There must be flat ground somewhere. But a persistent ache had started in your joint, and you truly doubted your ability to get far.

 Footsteps sounded in the grass above you, and you gasped, looking up to see Austin staring down at you wide-eyed.

“Whatcha doin’ down here in tha grass, cricke’?” He tilted his head in confusion. “Saw yer bag back there. Pretty sure we’re filmin’ up tha road, no?” His eyes narrowed as he saw you holding your foot off the ground, only the tips of your toes on your right foot touching the turf. “Yer hur’…”

He slid down quickly to stand beside you, crouching down to assess your ankle. He barely touched it and you yelped again, immediately following it up with an apology. He straightened and frowned softly, taking a deep breath and turning to yell back up to the road.

“ME-” The rest of the word ‘medic’ was cut off by your palm sealing over his mouth with a little more force than you intended, but your reaction was filled with urgency.

“Please don’t make a fuss, please don’t…” Huge, hot tears of humiliation mingled with pain rolled down your cheeks. “I’m not even supposed to be here, please don’t make a fuss, I’m not, I don’t, please…” You rambled, leaning against the bank of the hollow in defeat.

He gently gripped your wrist and peeled your hand from his notably soft lips before gathering you to his chest in a reassuring hug.

“Hey, hey shhh…I gotcha, ok? We’ll getcha outta here…” He looked over the terrain thoughtfully before pulling his head back and craning his neck to catch your eyes with his. “Ok I got ‘n idea, ya trus’ me?”

You sniffled and nodded pathetically, leaning on him a little. He squeezed you once more before stepping back and turning around.

“Hop on my back.” He said, looking back at you over his shoulder as he bent his knees and your eyes widened in shock. “I mean it, we’ll climb out together.”

You wiped your eyes and bit your lip before hobbling forward and pushing up onto his back. His hands found the backs of your knees and hoisted you higher. You slid your arms under his to reach up through his armpits and grab at the fabric of the uniform covering the front of his shoulders, not wanting to choke him.

“Thank ya, cricke’. I do like breathin’.” He smiled and wrapped your legs around his slender waist. “Hold on tigh’ now, I need both han’s.” You tensed your leg muscles to hold on, pressing a whimper into the back of his neck at the pain. He lurched forward and scrambled his way out of the hollow before standing on flat ground. His hands quickly slid under your knees once more, releasing the pressure on your ankle as he carefully but quickly worked his way back to the road. “Yer doin’ so grea’, cricke’, almos’ there.”

You didn’t dare look over his shoulder, not wanting to see the faces of the people waiting on the golf cart. Didn’t even look up as he turned to deposit you in his empty spot on the backward facing bench. He knelt before you, looking up at you as you refused to look up at him.

“Can we getcha some help now, cricke’?” He tilted his head and you finally relented, nodding softly. He smiled warmly and it was not five minutes from the time the driver radioed the medical team to when their van showed up.

“Go on, I’ve taken enough of your time.” You looked to him firmly as the medics moved you to sit on the tailgate of their van.

“Ya sure?” He hesitated and you shooed him away with a gesture of your hand, offering him a brave smile which he returned before heading off to set.

Two hours, and a trip to the Accident & Emergency department, later, you knew it was not broken. It was, however, a nasty high ankle sprain. You were not allowed to bear weight on it for at least three days, so you were settled into the office with your leg propped up on the coffee table, an ice wrap around your ankle, and your shiny new set of crutches leaning against the wing of your armchair. That was how Austin found you near three o’clock that afternoon, carrying a cup of the same drink you’d enjoyed after your trip to craft services with him yesterday.

You looked up from your laptop where you were working on something for Pearce and scrunched your nose at his expression of sympathy.

“I really did it this time…” You sighed dejectedly, saving your document and closing the lid on the laptop. He set the warm drink in your hands and settled across from you in Pearce’s chair. It was then that you noticed he was in his own clothes, jeans and a light knit black sweater.

“Not broken, though?” He asked hopefully and you shook your head.

“Just a sprain. Thank you. Thank you very much for helping me at my most pathetic.” You looked down, slightly ashamed, in retrospect, at your overly dramatic behaviour.

His warm hand pressed against your left knee and squeezed gently.

“Be kind ta yerself there, cricke’. You were hur’. I’m jus’ glad I saw yer bag…” He smiled gently and you looked up to him slowly.

“I was wondering that…how you knew when to show up. Thank you.” You repeated again.

“Yer verra welcome. So, what are yer orders?” He glanced at your foot and then to your crutches before his eyes returned to yours.

“I’m working from home for the next few days, just came back to get my laptop then I’ll catch a cab. No walking on it at all for three days, then slowly add weight back on it over the next few weeks.” You leaned down to snag your laptop back from where it rested against your chair and packed up your laptop.

“Lemme drive ya again? We know tha way…” he offered hopefully, and you hesitated but found you did not have the strength to argue.

“I’m going to owe you a lot more than a conduit to a reclusive author...” You sighed in defeat, and he shook his head, standing to unplug and reel in your charging cord.

“Consider us even if I can cook yer dinner tonigh’.” He collected your things, sliding your bag over his own shoulder before holding out the crutches for you to help yourself to your feet.

It was awkward but he was patient and made sure you were steady.

“That does not compute.” You finally replied to his offer. “That puts me further in your debt.”

You slowly progressed along the hallway with him, swinging the crutches forward before swinging your left leg forward, alternating between the two as your right foot stayed bent at the knee behind you to keep it off the ground.

“Ah, but you’ve neglecte’ ta include tha coefficien’ where it makes me really happy ta cook fer people.” He countered and you laughed despite your struggle.

“Coefficient, hmmm?” You teased and breathed a sigh of relief to see his car and driver waiting outside the studio. Not much further now.

“ ‘xactly.” He replied firmly and took the crutches from you once you’d sunk down into the backseat. The driver then took the crutches from him, tucking them into the trunk as you carefully swung into the car completely and buckled in.

He slid in beside you and looked to you expectantly before you sighed fondly.

“I really don’t have the wherewithal to deny you, so do your worst.” You smiled wearily and leaned back in the seat.

“Perfect. D’ya need groceries?” He asked as the driver headed off toward Slough.

“No, thankfully I went to the store yesterday. Fully stocked.” You looked to him with a nod before giving the driver your precise address. He parked in the lot in front of your building. As you were working your way out of the car, the two men arranged for Austin to get home later that evening without the driver needing to just wait around for him.

You had never been more grateful for an elevator as you rode quietly up to the fourth floor, leading Austin down the hall to your simple one bedroom. You headed straight for the couch, needing a rest from the crutches, and Austin set your things down beside you before heading to the kitchen. You settled in, propping up your leg as you watched him assess the ingredients before preparing dinner for you. He also found time to deliver a fresh ice pack to ensure you were as comfortable as possible.

The kitchen, dining, and living room were all one open space in the apartment, and your view of him was unimpeded. He seemed confident in the kitchen, his knife skills were top calibre, and in what felt like no time he was presenting you with a bowl of pasta. The enticing aroma of it made your eyes water in gratitude.

“Thank you, Austin, this smells amazing…” You murmured in awe, blinking as he took a seat on the floor in front of the couch with his back propped against the coffee table, cradling his own bowl. “Wait, no I can move…”

He shook his head, looking up at you as he chewed his generous mouthful before swallowing.

“This is fine, cricke’. Eat up.” He took a smaller bite, eyes never leaving your face as you did the same, his lips flickering up into a smile at the happy sigh you emitted.

“So yummy…” You exclaimed softly and barely uttered another word as you ate every last bite, the fact that you had missed lunch only registering in that moment.

He beamed as he took the empty bowl from you.

“There’re two more servins’, I’ll put ‘em in tha fridge fer ya.”

He took the dishes to the kitchen and washed up, leaving things to dry in the drain tray. He came back and took the ice pack off your ankle.

“Don’t wan’ tha’ ta give ya frostbite. Now…” He crouched down in front of you, eyes level with yours. “Anythin’ else ya need afore I leave?”

You shook your head quickly, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks at his proximity.

“Then may I reques’ somethin’ selfish?” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Would ya be willin’ ta share yer numbe’? I…Pearce is so helpful, but I really ‘preciate yer input, too.”

Heat splotched down your neck and across your chest, but you managed a nod, pulling out your own phone and switching details with him.

“I will, quite literally, be right here on this couch so text whenever I can be of assistance.” You spoke once you were capable of coherent thought, eager to repay him for all his help today.

“It’ll be strange withoutcha on set…but ya rest up, ‘kay?” He unfolded his body to stand to his full, lanky height and you swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Austin…” You replied earnestly, watching him give a small wave before heading down to meet his driver.

You felt banished. Useless. There was only so much work to do remotely, so when the first text arrived from Austin the next day you practically dropped your phone in your haste to read it. To help him.

– Cloé is asking why Antoine doesn’t speak more fluent French, and I think I have the answer, but would you be able to confirm the reason for me? –

Seeing her name made you frown a little, but you were happy to provide the answer to him.

– Of course! The state of Louisiana removed Cajun French from the school curriculum in 1921, five years before Antoine was born. He understands more than he speaks, due to spending time with his parents and grandparents, but there was no formal Cajun French education for him. Hope that helps. –

His flood of grateful replies made you smile brightly and feel a little more purposeful. Later that afternoon, he informed you that he had written letters to Yvette for the hospital scene in Calais and asked if you would be open to reading them over for him. You happily agreed, at which point he informed you they were handwritten, and he would arrive with them in a few hours. Oh, and he was making dinner again.

Somehow, you managed to shower and change out of your sweats into jeans and a sweater, but your hair was still wet when he knocked on the door. You made your way to answer it on your crutches and opened it carefully.

“Hey there, cricke’.” He grinned and stepped in careful not to kick your crutches as he took his shopping bag to the kitchen counter before turning back to you. “How’s yer day been?” He walked with you to the living room where you settled into the comfy nook you had built on the couch with pillows and a blanket.

“Boring. I felt kind of useless until you came up with a question to amuse me.” You smirked fondly and he chuckled as he undid his jacket, lifting the right side to reach into the inner pocket to pull out a stack of five handwritten letters.

“It was a genuin’ question, but I’m glad it served a secondary purpose. Thank ya verra much fer lookin’ these over fer me. I know…they’ll only be set pieces but…” He held them out to you, and you took them carefully, cradling them between your hands.

“My pleasure I…get the impression it helps with your character development?” You tilted your head curiously and bit your lip as he rewarded you with a brilliant smile.

“ ‘xactly. Cloé won’ be writin’ hers, someone from props will, I guess. But it really does help me ta think like him…I brought ingredients for rice bowls this time, soun’ good?”

“I…are you sure? You worked all day…” You protested hesitantly.

“Completely sure. Thank ya for lettin’ me do this for ya, remin’s me that I’m a fully functional adul’.” He squeezed your shoulder in his lengthy grip before heading over to the kitchen.

You carefully unfolded the letters, smiling as they were written in historically accurate pencil. The pencil was the preferred writing tool for soldiers of Antoine’s financial means. They could be sharpened with a knife, were not affected by the cold, and did not require refills of ink.

Putting them in order, you read through the first one carefully, chewing on your own trusty pencil ruthlessly. It was shockingly good. Not to say that you doubted Austin’s abilities, just that…you could not have written the letter any better yourself and you had created the damn character. You devoured all five of the letters ravenously, vaguely aware of the sounds of him working in the kitchen, humming something to himself. The apartment was starting to smell very good, but you were completely absorbed.

You found your fingers itching before you reached for the laptop, opening up a word processing document to start typing up a reply from Yvette. She would have been too injured to reply until all five letters were received, so she would only have sent one reply. You continually referred back to the letters, wanting to tie it into the sequence. You played around a little with a few words, knowing it would have to be translated, but you wanted to capture the era, as well as Yvette’s feelings, correctly.

His warmth and the scent of cedar behind you soaked into your consciousness. You turned your head to look back at him. He had perched on the arm of the sofa, knee resting against your side as he faced the laptop screen over your shoulder.

“O…obviously, your letters are very good. Might be nice to put her reply in your kit for the later scenes as your unit closes in on Germany.” You bit your lip as it felt terribly personal to let him read it, but you scrolled up and held your breath as he leaned in to read through it. His arm reached around you to scroll down until he’d read the entire thing.

“God ya really get these characters don’cha…” He breathed against your ear, making you shiver slightly, before he sat up.

“I…” You shook your head, at a loss for words. “I’ll get it translated and sent to someone with pretty handwriting.”

“Antoine would put that in his breas’ pocke’…nex’ ta his heart.” He intoned thoughtfully, hand moving to press against his chest over his own heart.

His romanticism might just be the death of you, your own heart thumping loudly in beneath your ribs. You tried to focus on carefully folding up his letters and offered them back to him. He tucked them into his jacket again before standing to serving two rice bowls and returning to sit with you.

“So, when ya come back, day after next, I’ll drive ya.”

“Austin, please, you’ve done so much already. The cab won’t be that much from here…”

“Nah, selfish reasons. I get ta ask ya so many questions when yer ma captive audience.” He grinned and you managed a laugh despite the acrobatics your heart was performing inside your chest.

Was he flirting? Was he working? Lord only knew; you certainly did not. But you could hardly deny him anything at this point.

“Don’t get too excite’, ma call times are murder…” He teased.

“A small price to pay.” You shrugged in reply, digging into your dinner. “Especially because I got to eat your food. Damn you can cook.” You ate happily, savouring every bite.

He watched you for a few moments before starting to eat his own quietly. He didn’t stay late, just long enough to clean up after himself, wishing you a goodnight. He texted you a few more questions the next day before letting you know he’d be picking you up the next morning at six. You were dressed and downstairs, waiting for him. You were determined to be as little an imposition as possible.

The two of you fell into quite a tidy routine over the next two weeks, travelling to and from the studio together, eating the occasional meal together, digging deeper into his character to really capture Antoine’s essence for the film. Your ankle was getting stronger, too. By day eleven, you no longer needed the crutches at all, just patience and your ankle brace.

As the car pulled away from the studio at the end of the second week, Austin was shifting and fidgeting nervously next to you. His long fingers were pulling at one another, front teeth vicious against his lower lip. You took a breath before reaching out to set your hand on his forearm, gently squeezing.

“Are you ok?” You asked softly, quiet enough that the driver would not overhear.

He looked to you quickly and exhaled deeply, pausing a moment before he shook his head.

“I…we tried a pre-read o’ tha scene fer nex’ week ‘n’ I’m jus’…nah…”

You swallowed tightly as you knew what scenes were being filmed next week. The first time Yvette and Antoine made love, followed by a montage of their passionate love life.

“Is there anything I can do?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek as your mind went to some of your more descriptive lines in the book.

His brilliant blue eyes sought yours in the intermittent glow of the streetlights.

“Would ya be comfortable readin’ it through with me? Talkin’ it through with me?” His thumb and forefinger came up to pinch the cupid’s bow of his upper lip, tugging at it absentmindedly.

All the moisture seemed to evaporate from your mouth in that instant. As though you had swallowed a fistful of sand. Your tongue was not responding to the neurological signals from your brain, and it felt like a thick, dead weight.

The hesitant optimism melted from his face, expression returning to one of anxious dread. He may as well have driven your pencil through your heart, that look hurt so much. You forced a painful cough and squeezed his forearm again.

“Of course. I want to help you.” You rasped out and cleared your throat again. “I was just a little stunned but, yes of course.” You finished with a nod and exhaled in relief as he smiled softly.

“Thank ya so much, cricke’…We can do it in yer office? Neutral territory?” He offered and you swallowed tightly at the image of discussing sex with him in your living room. You nodded rapidly.

“Sounds good…But you should sleep in tomorrow. Like…ten o’clock?”

He chuckled fondly. “Deal…nigh’ cricke’.” He touched your cheek briefly, fingers running along your skin, as the car pulled up at your building.

Despite choosing neutral territory, you were nothing but an anxious wreck the next morning. You changed clothes four times. It was difficult to pick the best I’m-here-to-discuss-sex-with-you-in-a-totally-chill-way outfit. He greeted you in the car with your favourite Starbucks order and the pair of you sipped your beverages in mutual silence as the driver pulled up to the studio. It was still as busy as ever; other scenes being filmed in his absence. You led him up to the office, the two of you settling into the armchairs and opening your scripts.

“So…did you want to start by just…reading it through?” You asked quietly and he nodded quickly. “Full disclosure, I can’t act or read French that well…” You laughed self-deprecatingly and he shook his head.

“It’s gonna be so helpful, thank ya.” He nodded and started reading Antoine’s dialogue.

You replied with Yvette’s, reading aloud the stage directions as well. Every so often he would break out of character to ask questions, which you were happy to share your thoughts on. As always, you were careful to phrase your responses as though they were third-hand opinions rather than direct answers from the author. You may not be able to act, but apparently you were getting quite good at lying.

“Oh cherie ya have no idea what ya do ta me.” He purred from the chair opposite you, and you fumbled with your binder for a moment before supplying Yvette’s response.

“Oui, Antoine, toi aussi.” Your voice was tellingly thick.

You risked a glance at him as he read his next line and clenched your thighs together at the intense look in his notably darker eyes. You quickly dove back into the script, trying to breathe normally as you kept your eyes glued to the page. So close…almost there…The word choices did not help your current situation. You gripped the corners of the binder, hoping the feeling of plastic digging into your palms would give you the strength to make it through this scene.

You were barely mumbling the lines by the end, but somehow you made it through alive. Albeit completely flushed and aroused. You were extremely grateful Austin had suggested neutral territory. Until Cloé knocked on the door.

“Baaaaabe!” She squealed and hustled into the room without waiting for an invitation, plonking down on his lap.

He winced with a grunt, and you could not help but wonder if he too had found himself affected by the last two hours.

“Heya Clo, how’re yer scenes goin’ today?” He smiled to her politely and you immediately felt the sour taste of jealousy in your mouth.

Closing your script, you collected the empty takeout cups and deposited them in the garbage as she chatted idly about what she was filming that day, playing with his hair in what smacked of territoriality.

“So, you’re coming to my party tomorrow afternoon, right? Everybody’s gonna be there.”

There was silence and you looked over, startled to see her looking right at you.

“I … I, sure that sounds fun? What time and where?” You felt like a deer caught in headlights, committing yourself to be run over by this sudden party invite without time to think. She scribbled down her address on a piece of scrap paper from the coffee table and held it out to you.

“Tomorrow afternoon. I look forward to seeing you there! I’m sure Austin does, too.” She giggled and continued petting his hair. “So, Aus, I have a break now, can you come run lines with me? Pretty please?”

He blinked up at her helplessly before looking to you.

“I’ve got lots of work here, don’t worry about me. You should practice it until you feel ready.” You smiled encouragingly even as the sour taste intensified on your tongue.

He smiled at you sweetly before following Cloé out of your office. You puttered for a few hours before texting him that you were catching the shuttle home. He replied with an apology but, despite your dislike of the woman, it was good they were working on the scene.

You did some chores around the house before turning in early, hoping to catch up on some of your sleep deficit from adjusting to Austin’s hours. Your mind had other ideas. Your exhaustion allowed you to fall asleep quickly, but your mind…

The scent of straw is all around you. The stalks of it poking and scratching at the bare skin of your back. Contrasted by the slick, wet feel of Austin’s tongue on your neck. Reaching out you feel the rippling of muscle under the soft, tanned skin of his shoulders as he hovers above you. His golden curls fill your view, a haze of bright white light surrounding the two of you.

And his mouth is on you, between your thighs. Pillowy soft lips are pursed around your clit, sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your head is thrashing, his fingers are plunging in and out of you, your arousal squelching with the motion.

Your lips are stretching wide around the girth of his cock as your head bobs along his length, cheeks hollowing, the salty taste and velvety feeling of skin on your tongue. His sweet, desperate moans sounding above you. His fingers cupping your jaw, guiding your mouth.

The rough bite of weathered wood against your palms, your cheek. The ache in your lower abdomen as his deep thrusts nudge the tip of his cock against your cervix. The shudder that runs through you as you clench around him. The bite of his teeth on the soft skin connecting your shoulder to your neck. The splash of warm, explosive release inside you.

…You inhaled sharply, raising your head from where it was pressing face-first into your pillow. You found yourself laying on your stomach, you hand between your legs inside your sleep shorts. The tell-tale spasms of a recent orgasm fluttered low in your belly, slick covering your hand. The realization of what had just happened jolted you completely awake, and you nearly flung yourself out of the bed, yanking at the sheets tangled around your legs.

This was a mistake.

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Read Part Three

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